He heard the pulse drumming in his ears, and his wet hands slipped one in the other as he gripped them together, but he made no sign till all the others had gone up. Then he looked up at the Prior.
It seemed an eternity before the Prior looked at him and nodded; and he could make no answering sign.
Then he heard his name called, and with a great effort he answered; his voice seemed not his own in his ears. He repeated Dom Anthony’s words.
“I cannot sign, My Lord Prior.”
Then he sat back with closed eyes and waited.
He heard movements about him, steps, the crackle of parchment, and at last Dr. Petre’s voice; but he scarcely understood what was said. There was but one thought dinning in his brain, and that was that he had refused, and thrown his defiance down before the King—that terrible man whom he had seen in his barge on the river, with the narrow eyes, the pursed mouth and the great jowl, as he sat by the woman he called his wife—that woman who now—
Chris shivered, opened his eyes, and sense came back.
Dr. Petre was just ending his speech. He was congratulating the Community on their reasonableness and loyalty. By an overwhelming majority they had decided to trust the King, and they would not find his grace unmindful of that. As for those who had not signed he could say nothing but that they had used the liberty that his Grace had given them. Whether they had used it rightly was no business of his.
Then he turned to the Prior.
“The seal then, My Lord Prior. I think that is the next matter.”