“Certainly!” said Cromwell, with an ill-disguised expression of irony and satirical joy; “they concealed it from you, that it might not be said you had pinned your opinion to the sleeve of another.”
“Sir,” answered More in a tone of profound sorrow, but with an expression of dignity greater still, “rest perfectly satisfied they will not say that. While bishops are appointed to do good and teach us
to do it, it does not follow that, if they fall into error, we should imitate them. I am deeply afflicted by what you tell me, but do not change my opinion for all that. My conscience alone has directed me; now she alone remains with me, but I cannot, neither must I, cease to listen to her. I blame nobody—nobody! O my friend! what anguish has been reserved for me. My God! thou hast permitted it. Rochester has fallen!” said More in a low voice. “Lord, if the cedars break, what, then, will become of the reeds?”
Sir Thomas was unable to comprehend how Fisher could have been induced to yield or become so weak, and he was reduced to a state of mortal affliction.
“What!” said Cromwell, “can you not make up your mind?”
“Nay, sir, nay; I cannot make up my mind to this. There remains nothing more for me to do in this world, and I pray the Lord to remove me from it!”
“The accused refuses everything,” replied Cromwell in a loud voice, as he turned away from him.
“What obstinacy!” exclaimed the lords in one voice. “Sir Thomas, swear!—we conjure you in the name of all you hold most dear.”
“Alas!” said Sir Thomas to himself, “this is why he has not appeared. Alas! each day when I have suffered so much seeing him stand so long by my side, pale with fatigue and weakness, I was nevertheless happy. To-day—can it be? No, he has not been able to endure their tortures longer. God forgive them and save this country! Your pardon, my lords,” he said, remembering that they had addressed him. “What were your words to me?”
“He does not even listen,” they remarked. “We conjure you to