Ralph appeared not to notice the other’s scowl, and leaned easily back, his head against the carved heraldry, and rapped his fingers softly and rhythmically on the bosses of the arms.

Then she heard Nicholas draw a slow venomous breath; and the talk died on Mary’s lips.  Beatrice stood up abruptly, in desperation; she did not know what to say; but the movement checked Nicholas, and he glanced at her a moment.  Then Mary recovered herself, put her hand sharply on her husband’s, and slid out an indifferent sentence.  Beatrice saw Ralph’s eyes move swiftly and sideways and down again, and a tiny wrinkle of a smile show itself at the corners of his mouth.  But that danger was passed; and a minute later they heard the door of Sir James’s room opposite open, and the footsteps of the two men come out.

Ralph stood up at once as his father came in, followed by the priest, and stepped back to the window-seat; there was the faintest hint in the slight motion of his hands to the effect that he had held his post as the eldest son until the rightful owner came.  But the consciousness of it in Beatrice’s mind was swept away as she looked at the old man, standing with a white stern face and his hands clenched at his sides.  She could see that something impended, and stood up quickly.

“Mr. Carleton has brought shocking news,” he said abruptly; and his eyes wandered to his eldest son standing in the shadow of the curtain.  “A company of mummers has arrived in the village—­they—­they are to give their piece to-morrow.”

There was a dead silence for a moment, for all knew what this meant.

Nicholas sprang to his feet.

“By God, they shall not!” he said.

Sir James lifted his hand sharply.

“We cannot hinder it,” he said.  “The priests have done what they can. 
The fellow tells them—­” he paused, and again his eyes wandered to
Ralph—­“the fellow tells them he is under the protection of my Lord
Cromwell.”

There was a swift rustle in the room.  Nicholas faced sharply round to the window-seat, his hands clenched and his face quivering.  Ralph did not move.

“Tell them, father,” said Sir James.

The chaplain gave his account.  He had been sent for by the parish priest just before supper, and had gone with him to the barn that had been hired for the performance.  The carts had arrived that evening from Maidstone; and were being unpacked.  He had seen the properties; they were of the usual kind—­all the paraphernalia for the parody of the Mass that was usually given by such actors.  He had seen the vestments, the friar’s habit, the red-nosed mask, the woman’s costume and wig—­all the regular articles.  The manager had tried to protest against the priests’ entrance; had denied at first that any insult was intended to the Catholic Religion; and had finally taken refuge in defiance; he had flung out the properties before their eyes; had declared that no one could hinder him from doing as he pleased, since the Archbishop had not protested; and Lord Cromwell had given him his express sanction.