She performed her duties as punctually and efficiently as ever, dealt dispassionately and justly with an old servant who had been troublesome, and with regard to whom her husband was both afraid and tender; but never asked for confidences or manifested the minutest detail of her own accord.
* * * * * On the fourth day after Chris's arrival news came that Sir Thomas More had been condemned, but it roused no more excitement than the fall of a threatening rod.

It had been known to be inevitable.

And then on Chris's last evening at home came the last details.
* * * * * Sir James and Chris had been out for a long ride up the estate, talking but little, for each knew what was in the heart of the other; and they were just dismounting at the terrace-steps when there was a sound of furious galloping; and a couple of riders burst through the gateway a hundred yards away.
Chris felt his heart leap and hammer in his throat, but stood passively awaiting what he knew was coming; and a few seconds later, Nicholas Maxwell checked his horse passionately at the steps.
"God damn them!" he cried, with a crimson quivering face.
Sir James stepped up at once and took him by the arm.
"Nick," he said, and glanced at the staring grooms.
Nicholas showed his teeth like a dog.
"God damn them!" he said again.
The other rider had come up by now; he was dusty and seemed spent.

He was a stranger to the father and son who waited on the steps; but he looked like a groom, and slipped off his horse deftly and took Sir Nicholas's bridle.
"Come in Nick," said Sir James.

"We can talk in the house." As the three went up together, with the strange rider at a respectful distance behind, Nicholas broke out again in one sentence.
"They have done it," he said, "he is dead.