nd contracted again. I
went forward swiftly and noiselessly, threw myself on my knees, laid my
hand softly beneath his, and kissed it.

"Eh? eh?" murmured the heavy voice. "Who is it?"

I saw the curtain on the other side pulled a little, and the face of Sir
Charles Scarburgh all in shadow peer in: it looked very lean and sharp
and high-browed. The King flapped his hand in a gesture of dismissal,
and the face vanished again.

"Sir," whispered I, very earnestly, yet so low that I think none but he
could have heard me. "Sir: it is Roger Mallock--"

"Mallock," repeated the voice; yet so low that it could not have been
understood by any but me. His face was very near to me; and it was
shockingly lined and patched, and the eyes terribly hollow and languid:
but there was intelligence in them.

"Sir," said I, "you spoke to me once of an apostleship."

"So I did," murmured the voice. "So I--"

"Sir: I am come to fulfill it. It is not too late. Sir; the Bishops are
sent for. Have nothing to say to them! Sir, let me get you a true
priest--For Christ's sake!"

The cold fingers that I yet held, twitched and pressed on mine. I was
sure that he understood.

He drew a long breath.

"And what of poor little Ken?" he murmured. "Poor little Ken: he will
break his heart--if he may not say his prayers."

"Let him say what he will, Sir. But no sacrament! Let me send for a
priest!"

There was a long silence. He sighed once or twice. His fingers all the
while twitched in mine, pressing on them, and opening again. Ah! how I
prayed in my heart; to Mary conceived without sin to pray for this poor
soul that had such a load on him. The minutes were passing. I thought,
maybe, he was unconscious again. And the Bishops, if they were in the
Palace, might be here at any instant, and all undone. I am not ashamed
to say that I entreated even my own dear love to pray for us. She had
laid down her life in his service and mine. Might it not be, thought I,
even in this agony, that by God's permission, she were near to help me?

He stirred again at last.

"Going to be a monk," said he, "going to be a monk, Roger Mallock. Pray
for me, Roger Mallock, when you be a monk."

"Sir--"

He went on as if he had not heard me.

"Yes," murmured he. "A very good idea. But you will never do it. Go to
Fubbs, Roger Mallock. Fubbs will do it."

"For a priest, Sir?" whispered I, scarcely able to believe that he
meant it.

"Yes," he murmured again, "fo