He took up his own paper, glanced at it once more; and then with a slightly dramatic gesture tore it across and across, and threw it on the ground. Then he took up his pen and wrote to Beatrice.
"I have only had access to one paper against our friend--that I have destroyed, though I do not know what Master Cromwell will say. But I tell you this to show at what a price I value your friendship.
"Of course our friend is threatened. Who is not in these days? But I swear to you that I do not know what is the design."
He added a word or two more for politeness' sake, prayed that "God might have her in His keeping," and signed himself as she had done, her "loving friend."
Then he dried the ink with his pounce box, sealed the letter with great care, and took it down to the courier himself.
He faced Cromwell in the evening with a good deal of terror, but with great adroitness; swore positively that More had said nothing actually treasonable, and had found, on putting pen to paper, that the accusations were flimsier than he thought.
"But it is your business to see that they be not so," stormed his master. Ralph paused a moment respectfully.
"I cannot make a purse out of a sow's ear, sir. I must have at least some sort of silk."
When Cromwell had ceased to walk up and down, Ralph pointed out with considerable shrewdness that he did not suppose that his evidence was going to form the main ground of the attack on More; and that it would merely weaken the position to bring such feeble arguments to bear.
"Why he would tear them to shreds, sir, in five minutes; he would make out that they were our principal grounds--he is a skilled lawyer. If I may dare to say so, Master Cromwell, let your words against Mr. More be few and choice."
This was bolder speaking than he had ever ventured on before; but Cromwell was in a good humour. The peers had proved tractable and had agreed to pass the attainder against Elizabeth Barton without any more talk of justice and the accused's right of defence; and he looked now at Ralph with a grim approval.
"I believe you are right, Mr. Torridon. I will think, over it."
Cromwell looked up at him one Sunday evening as he came into the room, with his papers, and without any greeting spoke at once.