had fallen back, and the Archbishop was speaking.

"Your Grace will remember that there is a Mr. Ralph Torridon in the
Tower--an agent of Mr. Cromwell's--"

The King's face moved slightly, but he said nothing.

--"Who is awaiting trial for destroying evidence. It is that, at least,
your Grace, that is asserted against him. But it has not been proved.
Master Torridon here tells me, your Highness, that it cannot be proved,
but that he wishes to acknowledge it freely on his son's behalf."

Henry's eyes shot back again at the old man, ran over the others, and
settled again on Cranmer's face, who was standing beside him with his
back to the window.

"He is here to plead for your Grace's clemency. He wishes to lay before
your Grace that his son erred through over-faithfulness to Mr.
Cromwell's cause; and above all that the evidence so destroyed has not
affected the course of justice--"

"God's Body!" jarred in the harsh voice suddenly, "it has not. Nor shall
it."

Cranmer waited a moment with downcast eyes; but the King was silent
again.

"Master Torridon has persuaded me to come with him to your Grace to
speak for him. He is not accustomed--"

"And who are these fellows?"

Chris felt those keen eyes running over him.

"This is Master Nicholas Maxwell," explained the Archbishop, indicating
him. "Master Torridon's son-in-law; and this, Mr. Herries--"

"And the priest?" asked the King.

"The priest is Sir Christopher Torridon, living with his father at
Overfield."

"Ha! has he always lived there then?"

"No, your Grace," said Cranmer smoothly, "he was a monk at Lewes until
the dissolution of the house."

"I have heard somewhat of his name," mused Henry. "What is it, sir, that
I have beard of you?"

"It was perhaps Mr. Ralph Torridon's name that your Grace--" began
Cranmer.

"Nay, nay, it was not. What was it, sir?"

Chris's heart was beating in his ears like a drum now. It had come,
then, that peril that had always been brooding on the horizon, and which
he had begun to despise. He had thought that there could be no danger in
his going to the King; it was so long since Lewes had fallen, and his
own part had been so small. But his Grace's memory was good, it seemed!
Danger was close to him, incarnate in that overwhelming presence. He
said nothing, but stood awaiting detection.

"It is strange," said Henry. "I have forgot. Well, my Lord?"

"I have told your Grace all," explained the Archbishop. "Mr. R