h my mind; but before I could speak he was up again.

"An instant, Mr. Mallock," he said, as I rose up with him; and he turned
swiftly towards the door that was behind him, and was out through it,
leaving it open behind him. From where I stood I could see what he did.
There was a great press in the little chamber next door, and he flung
the doors of this open so that I could see him pull forward his
strong-box that lay within. This he opened with a key that he carried
hung on a chain, and fumbled in it a minute or two, drawing out at last
a paper; and so, bearing this, and leaving the strong-box open just as
it was, he came back to me.

"Look at that, Mr. Mallock," said he.

It was a sheet of paper, written very closely in His Majesty's own hand,
and was headed in capital letters.

Then there followed a set of reasons, all numbered, shewing that the
Holy Roman Church was none other than the very Church of Christ outside
of which there is no salvation. (It was made public later, as all the
world knows, so I need not set it out here in full.)

"There, sir," he said when I had done reading it. "What do you think of
that?"

I shall never forget how he looked, when I lifted my eyes and regarded
him. He was standing by the window, with the light on his face, and
there was an extraordinary earnestness and purpose in his features. It
was near incredible that this could be the man whom I had seen so
careless with his ladies--so light and indolent. But there are many
sides to every man, as I have learned in a very long life.

"Sir," I cried, "what am I to say? There is nothing that I can add. This
is Your Majesty's own conscience, written out in ink." (I tapped the
paper with my finger, still holding it.)

"Eh?" said he.

"And by conscience God judges us all," I cried. Again I stared into his
eyes, and he into mine.

"Your Majesty will have to answer to this," said I, "on Judgment Day."

I could say no more, so great was my emotion; and, as I hesitated a
change went over his face. His brows came down as if he were angry, but
his lips twitched a little as if in humour.

"There! there!" he said. "Give me the paper, Mr. Mallock."

I gave it back to him; and he stood running his eyes down it.

"Why, this is damned good!" he murmured. "I should have made a
theologian."

And with that I knew that his mood was changed again, and that I could
say no more.

CHAPTER III

I do not know which is the more strange