"G.o.dbody!" he said, "I have a fool for a brother. Stand up, sir. I will have no mumming in my house."
He rapped his foot fiercely on the floor, staring down at Chris who had thrown himself back on his heels.
"Stand up, sir," he said again.
"Will you hear me, brother?"
Ralph hesitated.
"I will hear you if you will talk reason. I think you are mad."
Chris got up again. He was trembling violently, and his hands twitched and clenched by his sides.
"Then you shall hear me," he said, and his voice shook as he spoke. "It is this--"
"You must sit down," interrupted Ralph, and he pointed to the chair behind.
Chris went to it and sat down. Ralph took a step across to the door and opened it.
"Morris," he called, and came back to his chair.
There was silence a moment or two, till the servant"s step sounded in the hall, and the door opened. Mr. Morris"s discreet face looked steadily and composedly at his master.
"Bring the pasty," said Ralph, "and the wine."
He gave the servant a sharp look, seemed to glance out across the hall for a moment and back again. There was no answering look on Mr. Morris"s face, but he slipped out softly, leaving the door just ajar.
Then Ralph turned to Chris again.
Chris had had time to recover himself by now, and was sitting very pale and composed after his dramatic outburst, his hands hidden under his scapular, and his fingers gripped together.
"Now tell me," said Ralph, with his former kindly contempt. He had begun to understand now what his brother had come about, and was determined to be at once fatherly and decisive. This young fool must be taught his place.
"It is this," said Chris, still in a trembling voice, but it grew steadier as he went on. "G.o.d"s people are being persecuted--there is no longer any doubt. They were saints who died yesterday, and Master Cromwell is behind it all; and--and you serve him."
Ralph jerked his head to speak, but his brother went on.
"I know you think me a fool, and I daresay you an right. But this I know, I would sooner be a fool than--than--"
--"than a knave" ended Ralph. "I thank you for your good opinion, my brother. However, let that pa.s.s. You have come to teach me my business, then?"
"I have come to save your soul," said Chris, grasping the arms of his chair, and eyeing him steadily.
"You are very good to me," said Ralph bitterly. "Now, I do not want any more play-acting--" He broke off suddenly as the door opened. "And here is the food. Chris, you are not yourself"--he gave a swift look at his servant again--"and I suppose you have had no food to-day."
Again he glanced out through the open door as Mr. Morris turned to go.
Chris paid no sort of attention to the food. He seemed not to have seen the servant"s entrance and departure.
"I tell you," he said again steadily, with his wide bright eyes fixed on his brother, "I tell you, you are persecuting G.o.d"s people, and I am come, not as your brother only, but as a monk, to warn you."
Ralph waved his hand, smiling, towards the dish and the bottle. It seemed to sting Chris with a kind of fury, for his eyes blazed and his mouth tightened as he stood up abruptly.
"I tell you that if I were starving I would not break bread in this house: it is the house of G.o.d"s enemy."
He dashed out his left hand nervously, and struck the bottle spinning across the table; it crashed over on to the floor, and the red wine poured on to the boards.
"Why, there is blood before your eyes," he screamed, mad with hunger and sleeplessness, and the horrors he had seen; "the ground cries out."
Ralph had sprung up as the bottle fell, and stood trembling and glaring across at the monk; the door opened softly, and Mr. Morris stood alert and discreet on the threshold, but neither saw him.
"And if you were ten times my brother," cried Chris, "I would not touch your hand."
There came a knocking at the door, and the servant disappeared.
"Let him come, if it be the King himself," shouted the monk, "and hear the truth for once."
The servant was pushed aside protesting, and Beatrice came straight forward into the room.
CHAPTER XII
A RECOVERY
There was a moment of intense silence, only emphasized by the settling rustle of the girl"s dress. The door had closed softly, and Mr. Morris stood within, in the shadow by the window, ready to give help if it were needed. Beatrice remained a yard inside the room, very upright and dignified, a little pale, looking from one to the other of the two brothers, who stared back at her as at a ghost.
Ralph spoke first, swallowing once or twice in his throat before speaking, and trying to smile.
"It is you then," he said.
Beatrice moved a step nearer, looking at Chris, who stood white and tense, his eyes wide and burning.
"Mr. Torridon," said Beatrice softly, "I have brought the bundle. My woman has it."
Still she looked, as she spoke, questioningly at Chris.
"Oh! this is my brother, the monk," snapped Ralph bitterly, glancing at him. "Indeed, he is."
Then Chris lost his self-control again.
"And this is my brother, the murderer; indeed, he is."
Beatrice"s lips parted, and her eyes winced. She put out her hand hesitatingly towards Ralph, and dropped it again as he moved a little towards her.
"You hear him?" said Ralph.