self. She covered her mouth with the
back of her great white hand as if she wished to wipe the word away.

'Beseech you, spoil not your eyes with sitting to write at this hour
for the sake of this roaring boy.'

Katharine sat to the table: a gentle knocking came at the door. 'Let
no one come, I have told the serving knave as much.' She sank into a
pondering over the wording of her letter to Bishop Gardiner. It was
not to be thought of that her cousin should murder a Prince of the
Church; therefore the bishop must warn the Catholics in Paris that
Cromwell had this in mind. And Bishop Gardiner must stay her cousin on
his journey: by a false message if needs were. It would be an easy
matter to send him such a message as that she lay dying and must see
him, or anything that should delay him until this cardinal had left
Paris.

The great maid behind her back was fetching from the clothes-prop a
waterglobe upon its stand; she set it down on the table before the
rush-light, moving on tiptoe, for to her the writing of a letter was a
sort of necromancy, and she was distressed for Katharine's sake. She
had heard that to write at night would make a woman blind before
thirty. The light grew immense behind the globe; watery rays flickered
broad upon the ceiling and on the hangings, and the paper shone with a
mellow radiance. The gentle knocking was repeated, and Katharine
frowned. For before she was half way through with the humble words of
greeting to the bishop it had come to her that this was a very
dangerous matter to meddle in, and she had no one by whom to send the
letter. Margot could not go, for it was perilous for her maid to be
seen near the bishop's quarters with all Cromwell's men spying about.

Behind her was the pleasant and authoritative voice of old Sir
Nicholas Rochford talking to Margot Poins. Katharine caught the name
of Cicely Elliott, the dark maid of honour who had flouted her a week
ago, and had pinned up her sleeve that day in Privy Seal's house.

The old man stood, grey and sturdy, his hand upon her doorpost. His
pleasant keen eyes blinked upon her in the strong light from her globe
as if he were before a good fire.

'Why, you are as fair as a saint with a halo, in front of that
jigamaree,' he said. 'I am sent to offer you the friendship of Cicely
Elliott.' When he moved, the golden collar of his knighthood shone
upon his chest; his cropped grey beard glistened on his chin, and he
shaded his eyes with