"And Master Cromwell?" she asked.

"Master Cromwell is well enough. He asked me to give you both his
respects. I left him at Hackney."

* * * * *

The tall southern windows of the hall, above the pargetted plaster, had
faded through glowing ruby and blue to dusk before they rose from the
table and went down and through the passage into the little parlour next
the master's chamber, where they usually took their dessert. This part
of the house had been lately re-built, but the old woodwork had been
re-used, and the pale oak panels, each crowned by an elaborate foliated
head, gave back the pleasant flicker of the fire that burned between the
polished sheets of Flemish tiles on either side of the hearth. A great
globe stood in the corner furthest from the door, with a map of England
hanging above it. A piece of tapestry hung over the mantelpiece,
representing Diana bending over Endymion, and two tall candles in brass
stands burned beneath. The floor was covered with rushes.

Mr. Carleton, who had come with them as far as the door, according to
custom, was on the point of saying-good-night, when Sir James called him
back.

"Come in, father," he said, "we want you to-night. Chris has something
to tell us."

The priest came in and sat down with the others, his face in shadow, at
the corner of the hearth.