"Go back!" he ordered. "I forbid you to come up here."
But he came up, put his arm around the old man and helped him up the stairs. "I know all," he said.
"All about what?"--this hoping against hope that Roman meant something else.
"About Joe, up in there."
"That narrow-eyed Muscovite told you. I suppose he scrupled not to break word to a priest."
The only thing left was to try and comfort these poor brothers. Whilst in the chapel, he had nursed hopes of saving Roman from the agony of seeing Joseph die. Now, all was lost; his brain was in a whirl and he felt, for the hundredth time since August, that old age is a terrible thing when you want to help the young and strong.
Roman went into the turret chamber first. He did not rush to his brother and weep; what he said was:
"You're writing to Her."
Joseph looked up at the familiar voice.
"Roman!" was all he said; but his haggard face flushed from ear to ear.