He crossed himself at the recollection, and, coming out of his stupor, saw that Lascelles was finishing his writings. And he was glad that he was here now and not there then.
'Prithee, your Grace,' the gentleman's soft voice said, 'let me bear, myself, this letter to the Queen.'
The Archbishop shivered frostily in his robes.
'I will have no more Cromwell tricks,' he said. 'I have said it'; and he affected an obdurate tone.
'Then, indeed, all is lost,' Lascelles answered; 'for this Queen is very resolved.'
The Archbishop cast his eyes up to the cold stone ceiling above him. He crossed himself.
'You are a very devil,' he said, and panic came into his eyes, so that he turned them all round him as if he sought an issue at which to run out.
'The Papist lords in this castle met on Saturday night,' Lascelles said; 'their meeting was very secret, and Norfolk was their head. But I have heard it said that not one of them was for the Queen.'
The Archbishop shrank within himself.