“In that case I shall write you down as the former lord chancellor.”
“As you please,” said More. “But, sir,” continued Sir Thomas, “I have received an order to present myself before the council, and I should not be imprisoned before being heard.”
“Pardon me, sir,” replied the clerk quietly, “the order has been received this morning; and if you had not come to-day, you would have been arrested this evening.”
As he coolly said these words he passed to him a roll of paper from which hung suspended the seal of state. Sir Thomas opened it, and casting his eyes over the pages, the long and useless formula of which he knew by heart, he came at once to the signature of Cromwell below that of Audley. He recalled this man, who had coolly dined at his table yesterday, surrounded by his children. He then took up the great seal of green wax which hung suspended by a piece of amaranth silk. The wax represented the portrait of Henry VIII., with a device or inscription. He held the seal in his hand, looked at it, and turned it over two or three times.
“This is indeed the royal seal,” said he. “I have been familiar with it for a long time; and now the king has not hesitated to attach it to my name. Well, God’s will be done!” And he laid the seal and the roll of paper on the table.
“You see it,” said the clerk, observing from the corner of his eye that he had replaced the paper. “Oh! I am perfectly at home with everything since I came here. It was I who registered Empson and Dudley, the ministers of Henry VII., and the Duke of Buckingham. A famous trial that! High treason also—decapitated at Tower
Hill. A noble lord, moreover; he—listen, I am going to tell you; for it is all written here.” And he began to turn the leaves of the book. “Here, the 17th of May, 1521, page 86.” And placing the end of his finger on the page indicated, he looked at Sir Thomas complacently, as if to say: “Admire my accuracy, now, and my presence of mind.”
On hearing this Margaret arose involuntarily to her feet. “Silence, miserable wretch!” she cried. “What is it to us that you have kept an account of all the assassinations which have been committed in this place? No! no! my father shall not stay here; he shall not stay here. He is innocent—yes, innocent; it would be impossible for him to be guilty!”
The clerk inspected her closely, as if to determine who she could be. “That is the custom; they always say that, damsel. As for me, however, it concerns me not. They are tried up above; but I—I write here; that is all. Why do they allow themselves to be taken? People ought not to be called wretches so readily,” he added, fixing his eyes upon her. “I am honest, you see, and the worthy father of a family, you understand. I have two children, and I support them by the fruit of my labor.”
“Margaret,” said Sir Thomas, “my dearest daughter, you must not remain here!”