It was a dark morning, heavy and lowering; and from where Chris sat at the lower end of the great chamber he could scarcely make out the features of those who sat under the high window at the east; but as soon as the Prior lifted his face and spoke, he knew by that tense strain of the voice that something impended.

“There is another matter,” said the Prior; and paused again.

For a moment there was complete silence.  The Sub-Prior leant a little forward and was on the point of speaking, when his superior lifted his head again and straightened himself in his chair.

“It is this,” he said, and his voice rang hard and defiant, “it is this.  It is useless to think we can save ourselves.  We are under suspicion, and worse than suspicion.  I have hoped, and prayed, and striven to know God’s will; and I have talked with my Lord Cromwell not once or twice, but often.  And it is useless to resist any further.”

His voice cracked with misery; but Chris saw him grip the bosses of his chair-arms in an effort for self-control.  His own heart began to sicken; this was not frightened raving such as he had listened to before; it was the speech of one who had been driven into decision, as a rat into a corner.

“I have talked with the Sub-Prior, and others; and they think with me in this.  I have kept it back from the rest, that they might serve God in peace so long as was possible.  But now I must tell you all, my sons, that we must leave this place.”

There was a hush of terrible tension.  The monks had known that they were threatened; they could not think otherwise with the news that came from all parts, but they had not known that catastrophe was so imminent.  An old monk opposite Chris began to moan and mutter; but the Prior went on immediately.

“At least I think that we must leave.  It may be otherwise, if God has pity on us; I do not know; but we must be ready to leave, if it be His will, and,—­and to say so.”

He was speaking in abrupt sentences, with pauses between, in which he appeared to summon his resolution to speak again, and force out his tale.  There was plainly more behind too; and his ill-ease seemed to deepen on him.

“I wish no one to speak now,” he said, “Instead of the Lady-mass to-morrow we shall sing mass of the Holy Ghost; and afterwards I shall have more to say to you again.  I do not desire any to hold speech with any other, but to look into their own hearts and seek counsel of God there.”

He still sat a moment silent, then rose and gave the signal.

* * * * *

It was a strange day for Chris. He did not know what to think, but he was certain that they had not yet been told all.  The Prior’s silences had been as pregnant as his words.  There was something very close now that would be revealed immediately, and meanwhile he must think out how to meet it.