Anthony stood mute.  A thousand questions and replies seemed to spring to his lips, but no word passed them.  He felt that in argument he was no match for the cardinal, even had disputation with so eminent and august a personage been possible.  He felt that somewhere there was an answer to this irrefragable argument, but for the moment he could not find it; he stood tongue tied, silent.  The cardinal looked at him with his slight, peculiar smile, and then turned once again to Arthur.

“And now for your petition.  If it is for favour to be shown to your ardent young friend, after the statement he desired to make to me, with greater courage than discretion (for which, however, I like him none the less), then it is granted already.”

“It is not for him,” answered Arthur; “we have both come hither on the same errand.  But we do desire your Eminence’s good offices for one who was in somewhat similar case with Dalaber.  We have come to plead for the life and liberty of John Clarke, canon of your own beauteous and godly college in Oxford, who, with two other companions, one of them a canon and the other a singing man of that foundation, is lying near to death in a foul prison, and will without doubt perish miserably there, if release doth not speedily come.”

The cardinal’s steel-blue eyes took a new expression, and one which Arthur could in no wise interpret.

“Like to die!” He spoke somewhat more abruptly than had hitherto been the case.  “You are sure of that?”

“I am sure of it,” answered Arthur; “and Dr. Higdon, the dean, will tell you the same, if your Eminence will ask him of it.  And though Master Clarke lies under the imputation of heresy, I trow there is no sounder churchman nor godly and pure-living man in all Oxford than he, nor one whose life holds so fair a promise of shining like a light in a dark world.”

“I have heard of this man,” spoke the cardinal thoughtfully; “I have known of him many years.  I had report of him or ever he was sent to Oxford.”

“It is known in all Oxford how that your Eminence did send to us there this godly man, whom we have learned to love and revere,” spoke Arthur eagerly; “and many a time have we blessed you that your choice did fall upon one of so saint-like a walk in this world.  How should we, then, not plead with your Eminence for his life, when it lies thus in jeopardy?  If you would speak the word of release we would do the rest.”

The cardinal sat very still and thoughtful.

“John Clarke is not my prisoner.  He belongs to the Bishop of Lincoln.”

“I know that well,” cried Arthur eagerly.  “But surely the word of your Eminence would prevail with the bishop, and free him from his bonds.”

“My Lord of Lincoln is very bitter against heretics.”