“Pray God that she will!” said Chris softly. “They will pray for her at least.”
“Pah!” shouted Nicholas, “an eye for an eye for me!”
Chris said nothing. He was thinking of all that this might mean. Who could know what might not happen? Nicholas broke in again presently.
“I heard a fine tale,” he said, “do you know that the woman is in the very room where she slept the night before the crowning? Last time it was for the crown to be put on; now it is for the head to be taken off. And it is true that she weeps and laughs. They can hear her laugh two storeys away, I hear.”
“Nick,” said Chris suddenly, “I am weary of that. Let her alone. Pray God she may turn!”
Nicholas stared astonished, and a little awed too. Chris used not to be like this; he seemed quieter and stronger; he had never dared to speak so before.
“Yes; I am weary of this,” said Chris again. “I stormed once at Ralph, and gained nothing. We do not win by those weapons. Where is Ralph?”
Nicholas knit his lips to keep in the fury that urged him.
“He is with Cromwell still,” he said venomously, “and very busy, I hear. They will be making him a lord soon—but there will be no lady.”
Chris had heard of Beatrice’s rejection of Ralph.