“The bag,” he said shortly; and then turned again to kiss his parents’ hands; as Christopher went back to the carriage, from which the priest was just stepping out. Sir James asked his son about the journey.
“Oh, yes,” he said; and then added, “Christopher was late at Begham.”
“And you are well, my son?” asked his mother, as they turned to walk up to the house.
“Oh, yes!” he said again.
Sir James waited for Christopher and Mr. Carleton, and the three followed the others a few yards behind.
“You saw her?” said his father.
Christopher nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “I must speak to you, sir, before I tell the others.”
“Come to me when you are dressed, then. Supper will be in an hour from now;” and he looked at his son with a kind of sharp expectancy.
The courtyard was empty as they passed through, but half a dozen servants stood crowded in the little flagged passage that led from it into the kitchen, and watched Ralph and his mother with an awed interest as they came out from the hall. Mr. Ralph had come down from the heart of life, as they knew; had been present at the crowning of Anne Boleyn a week before, had mixed with great folks; and what secrets of State might there not be in that little strapped bag that his brother carried behind him?