The Prior rose with a white face.
“No, no,” he cried. “God forbid! That is over and done with. I—we have made our peace with my Lord Cromwell in that affair.”
“Then why,” asked Dom Anthony, “are we required to yield it?”
The Prior glanced helplessly at him.
“I—it is as a sign that the King is temporal lord of the land.”
“We do not deny that,” said the other.
“Some do,” said the Prior feebly.
There was a little more discussion. Dom Anthony remarked that it was not a matter of temporal but spiritual headship that was in question. To meddle with the Religious Orders was to meddle with the Vicar of Christ under whose special protection they were; and it seemed to him at least a probable opinion, so far as he had had time to consider it, that to yield, even in the hopes of saving their property ultimately, was to acquiesce in the repudiation of the authority of Rome.
And so it went on for an hour; and then as it grew late, the Prior rose once more, and asked if any one had a word to say who had not yet spoken.
Chris had intended to speak, but all that he wished to ask had already been stated by others; and he sat now silent, staring up at the Prior, and down at the smooth boarded floor at his feet. He had not an idea what to do. He was no theologian.