And meanwhile he would have the joy of knowing that Ralph was free of his hateful business; the King would not employ him again; he would live at home now, and rule Overfield well:  he and his father together.  Ah! and what if Beatrice consented to rule it with him!  Surely now—­He turned and looked at his father as he thought of it, and their eyes met.

Chris leaned a little closer.

“Beatrice!” he said.  “What if she—?”

The old man nodded tenderly, and his drawn eyes shone in his face.

“Oh!  Chris—­I was thinking that—­”

Then Nicholas came out of his maze.

Ever since his entrance into the palace, except when he had flared out at the King, he had moved and stood and sat in a solemn bewilderment.  The effect of the changed atmosphere had been to paralyse his simple and sturdy faculties; and his face had grown unintelligent during the process.  More than once Chris had been seized with internal laughter, in spite of the tragedy; the rustic squire was so strangely incongruous with the situation.  But he awoke now.

“God bless me!” he said wonderingly.  “It is all over and done.  God—­”

Chris gave a short yelp of laughter.

“Dear Nick,” he said, “yes.  God bless you indeed!  You spoke up well!”

“Did I do right, sir,” said the other to Sir James, “I could not help it.  I—­”

“Oh!  Nick,” said the old man, and leaned forward and put his hand on his knee.

Nicholas preened himself as he sat there; he would tell Mary how he had bearded his Majesty, and what a diplomatist was her husband.

“You did very well, sir,” put in Mr. Herries ironically.  “You terrified his Grace, I think.”

Chris glanced at the lawyer; but Nicholas took it all with the greatest complacency; tilted his hilt a little forward, smoothed his doublet, and sat smiling and well-pleased.

They reached the Stairs presently and put Mr. Herries ashore.

“I will be at your house to-morrow, sir,” he said, “when you go to take Mr. Ralph out of prison.  The order will be there by the morning, I make no doubt.”

He bowed and smiled and moved off, a stiff figure deliberately picking its way up the oozy steps to the crowded street overhead.

* * * * *

Beatrice’s face was at the window as they came up the tide half-an-hour later.  Chris stood up in the wherry, when he saw it, and waved his cap furiously, and the face disappeared.

She was at the landing stage before they reached it, a slender brilliant figure in her hood and mantle, with her aunt beside her.  Chris stood up again and cried between his hands across the narrowing space that all was well; and her face was radiant as the boat slipped up to the side, and balanced there with the boatman’s hand on the stone edging.

“It is all well,” said Chris again as he stood by her a moment later.  “He is to go free, and we are to tell him.”