alph
Torridon has not yet been brought to trial, and his father hopes that
your Grace will take into consideration these two things: that it was a
mistake of over-faithfulness that his son committed; and that it has not
hindered the course of justice."

"Well, well," said Henry, "and that sounds to be in reason. We have none
too much of either faithfulness or justice in these days. And there is
no other charge against the fellow?"

"There is no other charge, your Grace."

There fell a complete silence for a moment or two.

Chris glanced up at his father, his own heart uplifted by hope, and saw
the old man's face trembling with it too. The wrinkled eyes were full of
tears, and his lips quivered; and Chris could feel the short cloak that
hung against him shaking at his hand. Nicholas's crimson face showed a
mingling of such emotion and solemnity that Chris was seized with an
internal hysterical spasm; but it suddenly died within him as he
brought his eyes round, and saw that the King was staring at him
moodily....

The Archbishop's voice broke in again.

"Are we to understand, your Grace, that your Grace's clemency is
extended to Mr. Ralph Torridon?"

"Eh! then," said the King peevishly, "hold your tongue, my Lord. I am
trying to remember. Where is Michael?"

"Shall I call him, your Grace?"

"Nay, then; let the lawyer ring the bell!"

Mr. Herries sprang to the table at the King's gesture, and struck the
little hand-bell that stood there. The door where the page had
disappeared five minutes before opened silently, and the servant stood
there.

"Michael," said the King, and the page vanished.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Cranmer stood back a little with an
air of patient deference, and his quick eyes glanced up now and again at
the party before him. There was a certain uneasiness in his manner, as
Chris could see; but the monk presently dropped his eyes again, as he
saw that the King was once more looking at him keenly, with tight pursed
lips, and a puzzled look on his forehead.

The thoughts began to race through Chris's brain. He found himself
praying with desperate speed that Michael, whoever he was, might not
know; and that the King might not remember; and meanwhile through
another part of his being ran the thought of the irony of his situation.
Here he was, come to plead for his brother's life, and on the brink of
having to plead for his own. The quiet room increased his sense of the
irony. It