"
"Cannot call Sir Richard! Why, you are mad, sir!"
"Cannot consent; I have taken no oath."
"I know you have not. I do not ask it."
Elizabeth's voice came short and harsh; her patience was vanishing, and
Anthony knew it and looked at her. She had dropped her hand, and it was
clenching and unclenching on her knee. Her stick slipped on the polished
boards and fell; but she paid it no attention. She was looking straight
at the priest; her high eyebrows were coming down; her mouth was
beginning to mumble a little; he could see in the clear sunlight that
fell on her sideways through the tall window a thousand little wrinkles,
and all seemed alive; the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth
deepened as he watched.
"What a-Christ's name do you want, sir?"
It was like the first mutter of a storm on the horizon; but Anthony knew
it must break. He did not answer.
"Tell me, sir; what is it now?"
Anthony drew a long breath and braced his will, but even as he spoke he
knew he was pronouncing his own sentence.
"I cannot consent to leave the country and let it be given out that I had
taken the oath, your Grace. It would be an apostasy from my faith."
Elizabeth sprang to her feet without her stick, took one step forward,
and gave Anthony a fierce blow on the cheek with her ringed hand. He
recoiled a step at the shock of it, and stood waiting with his eyes on
the ground. Then the Queen's anger poured out in words. Her eyes burned
with passion out of an ivory-coloured face, and her voice rang high and
harsh, and her hands continually clenched and unclenched as she screamed
at him.
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