“I entreat you, Master Layton—”
The Prior’s voice was convulsed with terror as he cried this with outstretched hands.
“Yes, sir, I will hear you.”
“I entreat you, sir, not to tell his Grace. Indeed I am innocent,”—his voice rose thin and high in his panic—“indeed, I did not know it was treason that was preached.”
“Did not know?” sneered the doctor, leaning forward over the table. “Why, you know your Faith, man—”
“Master Layton, Master Layton; there be so many changes in these days—”
“Changes!” shouted the priest; “there be no changes, except of such knaves as you, Master-Prior; it is the old Faith now as ever. Do you dare to call his Grace a heretic? Must that too go down in the charges?”
“No, no, Master Layton,” screamed the Prior, with his hands strained forward and twitching fingers. “I did not mean that—Christ is my witness!”
“Is it not the same Faith, sir?”
“Yes, Master Layton—yes—indeed, it is. But I did not know—how could I know?”