"It is a delicate subject," he said, and went on again.
"That is what puzzles me," said Ralph. "Will you not tell me your opinion, Mr. More?"
There was again a silence, and they reached the further end of the gallery and turned again before Sir Thomas answered.
"If you had not answered me so briskly at dinner, Mr. Torridon, do you know that I should have suspected you of coming to search me out. But such a good head, I think, cannot be allied with a bad heart, and I will tell you."
Ralph felt a p.r.i.c.k of triumph but none of remorse.
"I will tell you," went on More, "and I am sure you will keep it private. I think the Holy Maid is a good woman who has a maggot."
Ralph"s spirits sank again. This was a very non-committing answer.
"I do not think her a knave as some do, but I think, to refer to what we said just now, that she has a large and luminous eye, and no hand worth mentioning. She sees many visions, but few facts. That tale about the Host being borne by angels from Calais to my mind is nonsense. Almighty G.o.d does not work miracles without reason, and there is none for that.
The blessed sacrament is the same at Dover as at Calais. And a woman who can dream that can dream anything, for I am sure she did not invent it.
On other matters, therefore, she may be dreaming too, and that is why once more I tell you that to my mind you can leave her out of your thoughts with regard to your brother. She is neither prophetess nor pythoness."
This was very unsatisfactory, and Ralph strove to remedy it.
"And in the matter of the King"s death, Mr. More?" he said.
Again Sir Thomas stopped in his walk.
"Do you know, Mr. Torridon, I think we may leave that alone," he said a little abruptly. And Ralph sucked in his lip and bit it sharply at the consciousness of his own folly.
"I hope your brother will be very happy," went on the other after a moment, "and I am sure he will be, if his call is from G.o.d, as I think likely. I was with the Carthusians myself, you know, for four years, and sometimes I think I should have stayed there. It is a blessed life.
I do not envy many folks, but I do those. To live in the daily companionship of our blessed Lord and of his saints as those do, and to know His secrets--_secreta Domini_--even the secrets of His Pa.s.sion and its ineffable joys of pain--that is a very fortunate lot, Mr. Torridon.
I sometimes think that as it was with Christ"s natural body so it is with His mystical body: there be some members, His hands and feet and side, through which the nails are thrust, though indeed there is not one whole spot in His body--_inglorious erit inter viros aspectus ejus--nos putavimus eum quasi leprosum_--but those parts of His body that are especially pained are at once more honourable and more happy than those that are not. And the monks are those happy members."
He was speaking very solemnly, his voice a little tremulous, and his kindly eyes were cast down, and Ralph watched him sidelong with a little awe and pity mingled. He seemed so natural too, that Ralph thought that he must have over-rated his own indiscretion.
A shadow fell across the door into the garden as they came near it, and one of the girls appeared in the opening.
"Why, Meg," cried her father, "what is it, my darling?"
"Beatrice has come, sir," said the girl. "I thought you would wish to know."
More put out his arm and laid it round his daughter"s waist as she turned with him.
"Come, Mr. Torridon," he said, "if you have no more to say, let us go and see Beatrice."
There was a group on the lawn under one of the lime trees, two or three girls and Mr. Roper, who all rose to their feet as the three came up.
More immediately sat down on the gra.s.s, putting his feet delicately together before him.
"Will, fetch this gentleman a chair. It is not fit for Master Cromwell"s friend to sit on the gra.s.s like you and me."
Ralph threw himself down on the lawn instantly, entreating Mr. Roper not to move.
"Well, well," said Sir Thomas, "let be. Sit down too, Will, _et cubito remanete presso_. Mr. Torridon understands that, I know, even if Master Cromwell"s friend does not. Why, tillie-vallie, as Mrs. More says, I have not said a word to Beatrice. Beatrice, this is Mr. Ralph Torridon, and this, Mr. Torridon, is Beatrice. Her other name is Atherton, but to me she is a feminine benediction, and nought else."
Ralph rose swiftly and looked across at a tall slender girl that was sitting contentedly on an outlying root of the lime tree, beside of Sir Thomas, and who rose with him.
"Mr. More cannot let my name alone, Mr. Torridon," she said tranquilly, as she drew back after the salute. "He made a play upon it the other day."
"And have been ashamed of it ever since," said More; "it was sacrilege with such a name. Now, I am plain Thomas, and more besides. Why did you send for me, Beatrice?"
"I have no defence," said the girl, "save that I wanted to see you."
"And that is the prettiest defence you could have made--if it does not amount to corruption. Mr. Torridon, what is the repartee to that?"
"I need no advocate," said the girl; "I can plead well enough."
Ralph looked up at her again with a certain interest. She seemed on marvellously good terms with the whole family, and had an air of being entirely at her ease. She had her black eyes bent down on to a piece of gra.s.s that she was twisting into a ring between her slender jewelled fingers, and her white teeth wore closed firmly on her lower lip as she worked. Her long silk skirts lay out unregarded on the gra.s.s, and her buckles gleamed beneath. Her voice was pleasant and rather deep, and Ralph found himself wondering who she was, and why he had not seen her before, for she evidently belonged to his cla.s.s, and London was a small place.
"I see you are making one more chain to bind me to you," said More presently, watching her.
She held it up.
"A ring only," she said.
"Then it is not for me," said More, "for I do not hold with Dr.
Melanchthon, nor yet Solomon in the matter of wives. Now, Mr. Torridon, tell us all some secrets. Betray your master. We are all agog. Leave off that ring, Beatrice, and attend."
"I am listening," said the girl as serenely as before, still intent on her weaving.
"The King breakfasted this morning at eight of the clock," said Ralph gravely. "It is an undoubted fact, I had it on the highest authority."
"This is excellent," said Sir Thomas. "Let us all talk treason. I can add to that. His Grace had a fall last night and lay senseless for several hours."
He spoke with such gravity that Ralph glanced up. At the same moment Beatrice looked up from her work and their eyes met.
"He fell asleep," added Sir Thomas.
It was very pleasant to lie there in the shadow of the lime that afternoon, and listen to the mild fooling, and Ralph forgot his manners, and almost his errand too, and never offered to move. The gra.s.s began to turn golden as the sun slanted to the West, and the birds began to stir after the heat of the day, and to chirp from tree to tree. A hundred yards away the river twinkled in the sun, seen beyond the trees and the house, and the voices of the boatmen came, softened by distance and water, as they plied up and down the flowing highway. Once a barge went past under the Battersea bank, with music playing in the stern, and Ralph raised himself on his elbow to watch it as it went down the stream with flags flying behind, and the rhythmical throb of the row-locks sounding time to the dancing melody.
Ralph did his best to fall in with the humour of the day, and told a good story or two in his slow voice--among them one of his mother exercising her gift of impressive silence towards a tiresome chatterbox of a man, with such effect that the conversationalist"s words died on his lips, after the third or fourth pause made for applause and comment.
He told the story well, and Lady Torridon seemed to move among them, her skirts dragging majestically on the gra.s.s, and her steady, sombre face looking down on them all beneath half-closed languid eye-lids.
"He has never been near us again," said Ralph, "but he never fails to ask after my mother"s distressing illness when I meet him in town."
He was a little astonished at himself as he talked, for he was not accustomed to take such pains to please, but he was conscious that though he looked round at the faces, and addressed himself to More, he was really watching for the effect on the girl who sat behind. He was aware of every movement that she made; he knew when she tossed the ring on the little sleeping brown body of the dog that had barked at him earlier in the day, and set to work upon another. She slipped that on her finger when she had done, and turned her hand this way and that, her fingers bent back, a ruby catching the light as she did so, looking at the effect of the green circle against the whiteness. But he never looked at her again, except once when she asked him some question, and then he looked her straight in her black eyes as he answered.
A bell sounded out at last again from the tower, and startled him. He got up quickly.
"I am ashamed," he said smiling, "how dare I stay so long? It is your kindness, Mr. More."
"Nay, nay," said Sir Thomas, rising too and stretching himself. "You have helped us to lose another day in the pleasantest manner possible--you must come again, Mr. Torridon."