The young squire moved forward a step, rigid and indignant.

"I am against your Grace," he said sharply.

Henry grew suddenly grave.

"Eh! that is no way to speak," he said.

"It is the only way I can speak," said Nicholas, "if your Grace desires the truth."

The King looked at him a moment; but the humour still shone in his eyes.

"Well, well. It is the truth I want. Michael, I sent for you to know about the priest here; but I know now. And is it true that his brother in the Tower--Ralph Torridon--was one of the Visitors?"

The man pursed his lips a moment. He was standing close to Chris, a little in front of him.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Oh! well. We must let him out, I suppose--if there is nothing more against him. You shall tell me presently, Michael."

The Archbishop looked swiftly across at the party.

"Then your Grace extends--"

"Well, Michael, what is it?" interrupted the King.

"It is a matter your Majesty might wish to hear in private," said the stranger.

"Oh, step aside, my Lord. And you, gentlemen."

The King motioned down to the further end of the room, as Michael came forward.

The Archbishop stepped off the low platform, and led the way down the floor; and the others followed.

Chris was in a whirl of bewilderment. He could see the King's great face interested and attentive as the secretary said something in his ear, and then suddenly light up with amus.e.m.e.nt again.

"Not a word, not a word," whispered Henry harshly. "Very good, Michael."

The secretary then whispered once more. Chris could hear the sharp sibilants, but no word. The King nodded once more, and the man stepped down off the dais.

"Prepare the admission, then," said the King after him.

The secretary bowed as he turned and went out of the room once more.

Henry beckoned.

"Come, gentlemen."

He watched them with a solemn joviality as they came up, the Archbishop in front, the father and son together, and the two others behind.

"You are a sad crew," began the King, eyeing them pleasantly, and sitting forward with a hand on either knee, "and I am astonished, my Lord of Canterbury, at your companying with them. But we will have mercy, and remember your son's services, Master Torridon, in the past.

That alone will excuse him. Remember that. That alone. He is the stronger man, if he turned out the priest there. And I remember your son very well, too; and will forgive him. But I shall not employ him again.

And his forgiveness shall cover yours, Master Priest; but you must be off--you must be off, sir," he barked suddenly, "out of these realms in a week. We will have no more treason from you."

The fierce overpowering personality flared out as he spoke, and Chris felt his heart beat sick at the force of it.

"And you two gentlemen," went on the King, still smouldering, "you two had best hold your tongues. We will not hear such talk in our presence or out of it. But we will excuse it now. There, sir, have I said enough?"

Sir James dropped abruptly on his knees.

"Oh! G.o.d bless your Grace!" he began, with the tears running down.

Henry made an abrupt gesture.

"You shall go to your son," he said, "and see how he fares, and tell him this. And she shall have the order of release presently, from me or another."

Again the little mouth creased and twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"And I hope he will be happy with his mother. You may tell him that from me."

The Archbishop looked up.

"Mistress Torridon is dead, your Grace," he said softly and questioningly.

"Oh, well," said the King; and thrust out his hand to be kissed.

Chris did not know how they got out of the room. They kissed hands again; the old man muttered out his thanks; but he seemed bewildered by the rush of events, and the supreme surprise. Chris, as he backed away from the presence, saw for the last time those narrow royal eyes fixed on him, still bright with amus.e.m.e.nt and expectancy, and the great red-fringed cheeks creased about the tiny mouth with an effort to keep back laughter. Why was the King laughing, he wondered?

They waited a few minutes in the ante-room for the order that the Archbishop had whispered to them should be sent out immediately. They said nothing to one another--but the three sat close, looking into one another's eyes now and again in astonishment and joy, while Mr. Herries stood a little apart solemn and happy at the importance of the role he had played in the whole affair, and disdaining even to look at the rest of the company who sat on chairs and watched the party.

The secretary came to them in a few minutes, and handed them the order.

"My Lord of Canterbury is detained," he said; "he bade me tell you gentlemen that he could not see you again."

Sir James was standing up and examining the order.

"For four?" he said.

"Why, yes," said the secretary, and glanced at the four men.

Chris put his hand on his father's arm.

"It is all well," he whispered, "say nothing more. It will do for Beatrice."