f marriage; he had
violated his consecration oath; he had blessed and annulled the frequent
marriages of the King with equal readiness; he was a heretic confessed
and open on numberless points of the Catholic Faith.

Mr. Herries pointed out with laborious minuteness that this was beside
the question altogether. He did not propose that Sir James Torridon
should go to the Archbishop as to a spiritual superior, but as to one
who chanced to have great influence;--if he were a murderer it would
make no difference to his advice.

Chris broke in with troubled eyes.

"Indeed, sir," he said to his father, "you know how I am with you in
all that you say; and yet I am with Mr. Herries too. I do not
understand--"

"God help us," cried the old man. "I do not know what to do."

"Will you talk with Mistress Beatrice?" asked Chris.

Sir James nodded.

"I will do that," he said.

* * * * *

The next day the bill was passed; and the party in the house at Charing
sat sick at heart within doors, hearing the crowds roaring down the
street, singing and shouting in triumph. Every cry tore their hearts;
for was it not against Ralph's master and friend that they rejoiced? As
they sat at supper a great battering broke out at the door that looked
on to the lane; and they sprang up to hear a drunken voice bellowing at
them to come out and shout for liberty. Nicholas went crimson with
anger; and he made a movement towards the hall, his hand on his hilt.

"Ah! sit down, Nick," said the monk. "The drunken fool is away again."

And they heard the steps reel on towards Westminster.

* * * * *

It was not until a fortnight later that they went at last to Lambeth.

Sir James had been hard to persuade; but Beatrice had succeeded at last.
Nicholas had professed himself ready to ask a favour of the devil
himself under the circumstances; and Chris himself continued to support
the lawyer's opinion. He repeated his arguments again and again.

Then it was necessary to make an appointment with the Archbishop; and a
day was fixed at last. My Lord would see them, wrote a secretary, at
two o'clock on the afternoon of July the third.

Beatrice sat through that long hot afternoon in the window-seat of the
upstairs parlour, looking out over the wide river below, conscious
perhaps for the first time of the vast weight of responsibility that
rested on her.

She had seen them go off in a w