There was a dead silence.

The news was almost expected by now.  Through the months of anxiety each monk had faced the probability of such tidings coming to him sooner or later; and the last few days had brought expectation to its climax.  Yet it was hard to see the enemy face to face, and to know that there was no possibility of resisting him finally.

The Sub-Prior rose to his feet and began to speak, glancing as if for corroboration to his superior from time to time.  His mouth worked a little at the close of each sentence.

“My Lord Prior has shown us his own mind, and I am with him in the matter.  His Grace treats us like his own children; he wishes us to be loving and obedient.  But, as a father too, he has authority behind to compel us to his will if we will not submit.  And, as my Lord Prior said yesterday, we do not know whether or no his Grace will not permit us to remain here after all, if we are docile; or perhaps refound the priory out of his own bounty.  There is talk of the Chertsey monks going to the London Charterhouse from Bisham where the King set them last year.  But we may be sure he will not do so with us if we resist his will now.  I on my part then am in favour of yielding up the house willingly, and trusting ourselves to his Grace’s clemency.”

There was again silence as he sat down; and a pause of a minute or two before Dom Anthony rose.  His ruddy face was troubled and perplexed; but he spoke resolutely enough.

He said that he could not understand why the matter had not been laid before them earlier, that they might have had time to consider it.  The question was an extremely difficult one to the consciences of some of them.  On the one hand there was the peril of acquiescing in sacrilege—­the Prior twisted in his seat as he heard this—­and on the other of wilfully and petulantly throwing away their only opportunity of saving their priory.  He asked for time.

Several more made speeches, some in favour of the proposal, and some asking, as Dom Anthony had done, for further tine for consideration.  They had no precedents, they said, on which to decide such a question, for they understood that it was not on account of treason that they were required to surrender the house and property.

The Prior rose with a white face.

“No, no,” he cried.  “God forbid!  That is over and done with.  I—­we have made our peace with my Lord Cromwell in that affair.”

“Then why,” asked Dom Anthony, “are we required to yield it?”

The Prior glanced helplessly at him.

“I—­it is as a sign that the King is temporal lord of the land.”

“We do not deny that,” said the other.

“Some do,” said the Prior feebly.

There was a little more discussion.  Dom Anthony remarked that it was not a matter of temporal but spiritual headship that was in question.  To meddle with the Religious Orders was to meddle with the Vicar of Christ under whose special protection they were; and it seemed to him at least a probable opinion, so far as he had had time to consider it, that to yield, even in the hopes of saving their property ultimately, was to acquiesce in the repudiation of the authority of Rome.