express himself. It would be a long time yet, he
recognised, before he could attain his final object; in fact he was not
perfectly certain what he wanted; but meanwhile he availed himself of
every possible opportunity to get nearer, and was content with his
progress.

He was sorely tempted now to discuss Sir Thomas's position and to
describe his own, but he perceived from her own aloofness just now that
it would seem a profanity, so he preserved silence instead, knowing that
it would be eloquent to her. At last she spoke again, and there was a
suggestion of a tremor in her voice.

"I suppose you can do nothing for him really? He must stay in the
Tower?"

Ralph threw out his hands, silently, expostulating.

"Nothing?" she said again, bending over her work.

Ralph stood up, looking down at her, but made no answer.

"I--I would do anything," she said deliberately, "anything, I think, for
the man--" and then broke off abruptly.

* * * * *

Ralph went away from Chelsea that afternoon with a whirling head and
dancing heart. She had said no more than that, but he knew what she had
meant, and knew, too that she would not have said as much to anyone to
whom she was indifferent. Of course, it was hopeless to think of
bringing about More's release, but he could at least pretend to try, and
Ralph was aware that to chivalrous souls a pathetic failure often
appeals more than an excellent success.

Folks turned to look after him more than once as he strode home.

CHAPTER VIII

A HIGHER STEP

As Chris, on the eve of his profession, looked back over the year that
had passed since his reception at the guest-house, he scarcely knew
whether it seemed like a week or a century. At times it appeared as if
the old life in the world were a kind of far-away picture in which he
saw himself as one detached from his present personality, moving among
curious scenes in which now he had no part; at other times the familiar
past rushed on him fiercely, deafened him with its appeal, and claimed
him as its own. In such moods the monastery was an intolerable prison,
the day's round an empty heart-breaking formality in which his soul was
being stifled, and even his habit, which he had once touched so
reverently, the badge of a fool.

The life of the world at such times seemed to him the only sanity; these
men used the powers that God had given them, were content with simple
and unostentatious doings a