“Oh, yes,” he said; and then added, “Christopher was late at Begham.”

“And you are well, my son?” asked his mother, as they turned to walk up to the house.

“Oh, yes!” he said again.

Sir James waited for Christopher and Mr. Carleton, and the three followed the others a few yards behind.

“You saw her?” said his father.

Christopher nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “I must speak to you, sir, before I tell the others.”

“Come to me when you are dressed, then.  Supper will be in an hour from now;” and he looked at his son with a kind of sharp expectancy.

The courtyard was empty as they passed through, but half a dozen servants stood crowded in the little flagged passage that led from it into the kitchen, and watched Ralph and his mother with an awed interest as they came out from the hall.  Mr. Ralph had come down from the heart of life, as they knew; had been present at the crowning of Anne Boleyn a week before, had mixed with great folks; and what secrets of State might there not be in that little strapped bag that his brother carried behind him?

When the two first had disappeared, the servants broke into talk, and went back to the kitchen.

* * * * *

Lady Torridon, with her elder son and the chaplain, had to wait a few minutes on the dais in the hall an hour later, before the door under the musicians’ gallery opened, and the other two came in from the master’s chamber.  Sir James looked a little anxious as he came across the clean strewed rushes, past the table at the lower end where the household sat, but Christopher’s face was bright with excitement.  After a word or two of apology they moved to their places.  Mr. Carleton said grace, and as they sat down the door behind from the kitchen opened, and the servants came through with the pewter dishes.

Ralph was very silent at first; his mother sat by him almost as silent as himself; the servants sprang about noiseless and eager to wait on him; and Sir James and the chaplain did most of the conversation, pleasant harmless talk about the estate and the tenants; but as supper went on, and the weariness of the hot journey faded, and the talk from the lower tables grew louder, Ralph began to talk a little more freely.

“Yes,” he said, “the crowning went well enough.  The people were quiet enough.  She looked very pretty in her robes; she was in purple velvet, and her gentlemen in scarlet.  We shall have news of her soon.”

Sir James looked up sharply at his son.  They were all listening intently; and even a servant behind Ralph’s chair paused with a silver jug.

“Yes,” said Ralph again with a tranquil air, setting down his Venetian glass; “God has blessed the union already.”

“And the King?” asked his father, from his black velvet chair in the centre.

There fell a deeper silence yet as that name was mentioned.  Henry dominated the imagination of his subjects to an extraordinary degree, no less in his heavy middle-age than in the magnificent strength and capacity of his youth.