n him continually
for interviews, and Ralph went away, leaving the reports for his chief
to examine at his leisure.

* * * * *

The next morning there was a storm.

Cromwell burst out on him as soon as he came in.

"Shut the door, Mr. Torridon," he snapped. "I must have a word with
you."

Ralph closed the door and came across to Cromwell's table and stood
there, apparently imperturbable, but with a certain quickening of his
pulse.

"What is this, sir?" snarled the other, taking up the letter that was
laid at his hand. "Is it true?"

Ralph looked at him coolly.

"What is it, my Lord? Mr. Robert Benham?"

"Yes, Mr. Robert Benham. Is it true? I wish an answer."

"Certainly, my Lord. It is true."

"You hindered this piece being played? And you used my name?"

"I told them who I was--yes."

Cromwell slapped the paper down.

"Well, that is to use my name, is it not, Mr. Torridon?"

"I suppose it is."

"You suppose it is! And tell me, if you please, why you hindered it."

"I hindered it because it was not decent. My mother had been buried
that day. My father asked me to do so."

"Not decent! When the mummers have my authority!

"If your Lordship does not understand the indecency, I cannot explain
it."

Ralph was growing angry now. It was not often that Cromwell treated him
like a naughty boy; and he was beginning to resent it.

The other stared at him under black brows.

"You are insolent, sir."

Ralph bowed.

"See here," said Cromwell, "my men must have no master but me. They must
leave houses and brethren and sisters for my sake. You should understand
that by now; and that I repay them a hundredfold. You have been long
enough in my service to know it. I have said enough. You can sit down,
Mr. Torridon."

Ralph went to his seat in a storm of fury. He felt he was supremely in
the right--in the right in stopping the play, and still more so for not
destroying the complaint when it was in his hands. He had been scolded
like a school-child, insulted and shouted down. His hand shook as he
took up his pen, and he kept his back resolutely turned to his master.
Once he was obliged to ask him a question, and he did so with an icy
aloofness. Cromwell answered him curtly, but not unkindly, and he went
to his seat again still angry.

When dinner-time came near, he rose, bowed slightly to Cromwell and went
towards the door. As his fingers touched the handle he heard his nam