under the protection of my Lord
Cromwell."

There was a swift rustle in the room. Nicholas faced sharply round to
the window-seat, his hands clenched and his face quivering. Ralph did
not move.

"Tell them, father," said Sir James.

The chaplain gave his account. He had been sent for by the parish priest
just before supper, and had gone with him to the barn that had been
hired for the performance. The carts had arrived that evening from
Maidstone; and were being unpacked. He had seen the properties; they
were of the usual kind--all the paraphernalia for the parody of the Mass
that was usually given by such actors. He had seen the vestments, the
friar's habit, the red-nosed mask, the woman's costume and wig--all the
regular articles. The manager had tried to protest against the priests'
entrance; had denied at first that any insult was intended to the
Catholic Religion; and had finally taken refuge in defiance; he had
flung out the properties before their eyes; had declared that no one
could hinder him from doing as he pleased, since the Archbishop had not
protested; and Lord Cromwell had given him his express sanction.

"We did all we were able," said the priest. "Master Rector said he would
put all the parishioners who came, under the ban of the Church; the
fellow snapped his fingers in his face. I told them of Sir James's
wishes; the death of my Lady--it was of no avail. We can do nothing."

The priest's sallow face was flushed with fury as he spoke; and his lips
trembled piteously with horror and pain. It was the first time that the
mummers had been near Overfield; they had heard tales of them from other
parts of the country, but had hoped that their own village would escape
the corruption. And now it had come.

He stood shaking, as he ended his account.

"Mr. Carleton says it would be of no avail for me to go down myself. I
wished to. We can do nothing."

Again he glanced at Ralph, who had sat down silently in the shadow while
the priest talked.

Nicholas could be restrained no longer. He shook off his wife's hand and
took a step across the room.

"And you--you sit there, you devil!" he shouted.

Sir James was with him in a moment, so swiftly that Beatrice did not see
him move. Margaret was clinging to her now, whispering and sobbing.

"Nick," snapped out the old man, "hold your tongue, sir. Sit down."

"God's Blood!" bellowed the squire. "You bid me sit down."

Sir James gripped him so fiercely tha