When Chris had recovered himself, the monk was deep in his story, but
Ralph had fallen out of it.

"You would not believe it," he was saying, "but on the very jury that
was to try Master Aske and Constable, there were empanelled their own
blood-relations; and that by the express intention of Norfolk. John Aske
was one of them, and some others who had to wives the sons of my Lord
Darcy and Sir Robert Constable. You see how it would be. If the
prisoners were found guilty, men would say that it must be so, for that
their own kin had condemned them; and if they were to be acquitted, then
these men themselves would be cast."

There again broke out a murmur from the listening faces, as the man
paused.

"Well, they were cast, as you know, for not taking the King to be the
supreme head of the Church, and for endeavouring to force the King to
hold a parliament that he willed not. And I was at York again when
Master Aske was brought back from London to be hanged, and I saw it!"

Again an uncontrollable emotion shook him; and he propped his face on
his hand as he ended his tale.

"There were many of his friends there in the crowd, and scarcely one
dared to cry out, God save you, sir.... I dared not...."

He gave one rending sob, and Chris felt his eyes prick with tears at the
sight of so much sorrow. It was piteous to see a brave man thinking
himself a coward.

Dom Anthony leaned forward.

"Thank you, father," he said, though his voice was a little husky, "and
thank God that he died well. You have touched all our hearts."

"I was a hound," sobbed the man, "a hound, that I did not cry out to him
and tell him that I loved him."

"No, no, father," said the other tenderly, "you must not think so. You
must serve God well now, and pray for his soul."

The bell sounded out for Compline as he spoke, and the monks rose.

"You will come into choir, father," said the Sub-Prior.

The man nodded, stood up, and followed him out.

Chris was in a strange ferment as he stood in his stall that night. It
had been sad enough to hear of that gallant attempt to win back the old
liberties and the old Faith--that attempt that had been a success except
for the insurgents' trust in their King--and of the death of the
leaders.

But across the misery had pierced a more poignant grief, as he had
learnt how Ralph's hand was in this too and had taken once more the
wrong side in God's quarrel. But still he had no resentment; the
conflict had p