Sir James sat quiet a minute or two, stroking his pointed grey beard softly, and looking into the hearth.
“God forgive me if I am wrong, my son,” he said at last, “but I wonder whether they let the my Lord Prior go to the Tower in order to shake the confidence of both. Do you think so, Chris?”
Chris too was silent a moment; he knew he must not speak evil of dignities.
“It may be so. I know that my Lord Prior—”
“Well, my son?”
“My Lord Prior has been very anxious—”
Sir James patted his son on the knee, and reassured him.
“Prior Crowham is a very holy man, I think; but—but somewhat delicate. However their designs have come to nothing. The bishop is in glory; and the other more courageous than he was.”
Chris also had a few words with Mr. Carleton before he went to bed, sitting where he had sat in the moonlight two years before.
“If they have done so much,” said the priest, “they will do more. When a man has slipped over a precipice he cannot save his fall. Master More will be the next to go; I make no doubt of that. You are to be a priest soon, Chris?”