what these lay before him with small search as to the truth or falsity.  Well, that’s the lot of monarchs who have but one man’s brain and one man’s time; who needs must trust their slaves until these become their masters, and there is naught left,” here his face grew fierce, “save to kill them, and find more and worse.  New servants, new wives,” and he glanced at Jane, who was not listening, “new friends, false, false, all three of them, new foes, and at the last old Death to round it off.  Such has been the lot of kings from David down, and such I think it shall always be.”

He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, “I know not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that young though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick heart.  Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you might think, and I forget nothing—­that’s my gift.  Dame Harflete, you are richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much of me.  Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it; but these wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have befriended you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for others who had shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of a sentence passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return for a loan of a pitiful L1000?  You huckster well, Lady Harflete, one would think that your father had been a chapman, not rough John Foterell, you who can drive so shrewd a bargain with your King’s necessities.”

“Sire, Sire,” broke in Cicely in confusion, “I have no more, my lands are wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband’s hall is burnt by his soldiers, my first year’s rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised——­”

“To whom?”

She hesitated.

“To whom?” he thundered.  “Answer, Madam.”

“To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh.”

“Ah!  I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it, the snuffling rogue.”

“The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that L1000, and I have no more.”

“A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell?  He did not bring you here for nothing.”

“Oh, my Liege, my Liege,” said Cicely, sinking to her knees, “ask not a helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore and honest need.  I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more than I know.”

“And I believe you, Dame Harflete.  We have plucked you bare between us, have we not?  Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end.  Now, Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone.”

“Sire,” said Jacob, “that is true, I copy my masters.  I have this lady’s jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them.  Still, Sire, there is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please the Queen to wear.  Here it is,” and he laid it upon the table.