He pulled the ragged, black beard from his face and the chuddah from his head.
But Phil's eyes were opened, and he resisted.
"Heavens above, sir!" he said. "Do you think I'm going to do a thing like that?"
"You must!" Tudor answered.
He spoke quietly, but there was deadly determination behind his quietude. They faced one another in the gloom, and suddenly there ran between them a passion of feeling that blazed unseen like the hidden current in an electric wire.
For a few seconds it burnt fiercely, silently; then Tudor laid a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"You must," he said again. "The choice does not rest with you. It is made already. It only remains for you to yield—whatever it may cost you—as I am doing."
Phil started as if he had struck him.
"You are wrong, sir," he exclaimed. "On my oath, you are wrong. You don't understand. You never have understood. I—I—"