chose, of the danger that threatened the religious houses, and of
Henry's intentions towards them--even these were but impotent cries of
the people raging round the throne of the Anointed.

So he knelt here now, pacified and content again, and thought with
something of pity of his brother dozing now no doubt before the parlour
fire, cramped by his poor ideals and dismally happy in his limitations.

His father, too, was content down below in the chapel. He himself had
at one time before his marriage looked towards the religious life; and
now that it had turned out otherwise had desired nothing more than that
he should be represented in that inner world of God's favourites by at
least one of his children. His daughter Margaret had written a week
earlier to say that her mind was turning that way, and now Christopher's
decision had filled up the cup of his desires. To have a priest for a
son, and above all one who was a monk as well was more than he had dared
to hope, though not to pray for; if he could not be one himself, at
least he had begotten one--one who would represent him before God, bring
a blessing on the house, and pray and offer sacrifice for his soul until
his time should be run out and he see God face to face. And Ralph would
represent him before men and carry on the line, and hand on the house to
a third generation--Ralph, at whom he had felt so sorely puzzled of
late, for he seemed full of objects and ambitions for which the father
had very little sympathy, and to have lost almost entirely that delicate
relation with home that was at once so indefinable and so real. But he
comforted himself by the thought that his elder son was not wholly
wasting time as so many of the country squires were doing round about,
absorbed in work that a brainless yeoman could do with better success.
Ralph at least was occupied with grave matters, in Cromwell's service
and the King's, and entrusted with high secrets the issue of which both