Cromwell's lips went up in scorn. 'Do you imagine the yellow duke speaking his mind to the King? He is too craven.'
A heavy silence fell between them. The fire rustled, the candles again needed snuffing.
'Best get to bed,' Cromwell said at last.
'Could I sleep?' Cranmer had the irritation of extreme fear. His master seemed to him to have no bowels. But the waiting told at last upon Cromwell himself.
'I could sleep an you would let me,' he said sharply. 'I tell you the King shall be another man in the morning.'
'Ay, but now. But now....' He imagined the pens in that distant room creaking over the paper with their committals, and he wished to upbraid Cromwell. It was his policy of combining with Lutherans that had brought them to this.
Heavy thundering came on the outer door.
'The King comes,' Cromwell cried victoriously. He went swiftly from the room. The Archbishop closed his eyes and suddenly remembered the time when he had been a child.
Privy Seal had an angry and contemptuous frown at his return. 'They have kept him from me.' He threw a little scroll on to the table. Its white silence made Cranmer shudder; it seemed to have something of the heavy threatening of the King's self.
'We may go to bed,' Cromwell said. 'They have devised their shift.'