Cromwell laid the pen clown and leaned back in his chair, with his fingers together.

“I understand, sir,” said Ralph, in a perfectly even tone.

“Well, that is all that I have to say,” ended his master, still watching him.  “I need not tell you how necessary secrecy is in the matter.”

Ralph was considerably startled as he went home, and realized better what it was that he had heard.  While prudent persons were already trembling at the King’s effrontery and daring in the past, Henry was meditating a yet further step.  He began to see now that the instinct of the country was, as always, sharper than that of the individual, and that these uneasy strivings everywhere rose from a very definite perception of danger.  The idea of the King’s supremacy, as represented by Cromwell, would not seem to be a very startling departure; similar protests of freedom had been made in previous reigns, but now, following as it did upon overt acts of disobedience to the Sovereign Pontiff, and of disregard of his authority in matters of church-law and even of the status of Religious houses, it seemed to have a significance that previous protests had lacked.

And behind it all was the King’s conscience!  This was a new thought to Ralph, but the more he considered it the more it convinced him.  It was a curious conscience, but a mighty one, and it was backed by an indomitable will.  For the first time there opened out to Ralph’s mind a glimpse of the possibility that he had scarcely dreamed of hitherto—­of a Nationalism in Church affairs that was a reality rather than a theory—­in which the Bishop of Rome while yet the foremost bishop of Christendom and endowed with special prerogatives, yet should have no finger in national affairs, which should be settled by the home authorities without reference to him.  No doubt, he told himself, a readjustment was needed—­visions and fancies had encrusted themselves so quickly round the religion credible by a practical man that a scouring was called for.  How if this should be the method by which not only such accretions should be done away, but yet more practical matters should be arranged, and steps taken to amend the unwarranted interferences and pecuniary demands of this foreign bishop?

He had had more than one interview with Sir Thomas More in the Tower, and once was able to take him news of his own household at Chelsea.  For a month none of his own people, except his servant, was allowed to visit him, and Ralph, calling on him about three weeks after the beginning of his imprisonment, found him eager for news.

He was in a sufficiently pleasant cell in the Beauchamp Tower, furnished with straw mats underfoot, and straw hangings in place of a wainscot; his bed stood in one corner, with his crucifix and beads on a little table beside it, and his narrow window looked out through eleven feet of wall towards the Court and the White Tower.  His books, too, which his servant, John Wood, had brought from Chelsea, and which had not yet been taken from him, stood about the room, and several lay on the table among his papers, at which he was writing when Ralph was admitted by the warder.