“How can I tell?” remonstrated Ralph.  “I can only tell you that in this matter I know nothing that you do not.  Master More is under no suspicion.”

Beatrice drew a breath of relief.

“I am glad I spoke to you, sir,” she said.  “It has been on my mind.  And something that he said a few minutes ago frightened me.”

“What did he say?” asked Ralph curiously.

“Ah! it was not much.  It was that no man knew what might come next; that matters were very strange and dismaying—­and—­and that he wanted this paper copied quickly, for fear—­”

The girl stopped again, abruptly.

“I know what you feel, Mrs. Beatrice,” said Ralph gently.  “I know how you love Master More, and how terrified we may become for our friends.”

“What do you think yourself, Mr. Torridon,” she said suddenly, almost interrupting him.

He looked at her doubtfully a moment, and half wished that Margaret would come back.

“That is a wide question,” he said.

“Well, you know what I mean,” she said coolly, completely herself again.  She was sitting back in her chair now, drawing the paper serenely to and fro between her fingers; and he could see the firelight on her chin and brows, and those steady eyes watching him.  He had an impulse of confidence.

“I do think changes are coming,” he said.  “I suppose we all do.”

“And you approve?”

“Oh! how can I say off-hand?—­But I think changes are needed.”

She was looking down at the fire again now, and did not speak for a moment.

“Master More said you were of the new school,” she said meditatively.

Ralph felt a curious thrill of exultation.  Margaret was right then; this girl had been thinking about him.

“There is certainly a stirring,” he said; and his voice was a little restrained.

“Oh, I am not blind or deaf,” said the girl.  “Of course, there is a stirring—­but I wondered—­”

Then Margaret came in with the candles.

Ralph went away that evening more excited than he liked.  It seemed as if Mistress Roper’s words had set light to a fire ready laid, and he could perceive the warmth beginning to move about his heart and odd wavering lights flickering on his circumstances and business that had not been there before.

* * * * *

He received his first letter from Beatrice a few weeks later, and it threw him into a strait between his personal and official claims.

Cromwell at this time was exceedingly occupied with quelling the ardour of the House of Lords, who were requesting that the Holy Maid of Kent and her companions might have an opportunity of defending themselves before the Act of Attainder ordered by the King was passed against them; but he found time to tell his agent that trouble was impending over More and Fisher; and to request him to hand in any evidence that he might have against the former.