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. “God’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 are 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 pass. 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 God’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 God’s enemy.”