"You are what we need here," he said. "You shall shake some of our comfort from us--make a new life here for us."
Wistons was suddenly almost timid. He spoke as though he were waking from some dream.
"Good-bye.... Good-bye. No, don't come down. Thank you so much. Thank you. Very kind of you. Good-bye."
But Ronder insisted on coming down. They shook hands at his door. The figure was lost in the evening sun.
Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral.
Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon!
He looked across at the house as on the evening of his arrival from that same step he had looked.
Poor Brandon! He would like to do something for him, some little kindly unexpected act!
He closed the door and softly padded upstairs, humming happily to himself that little chant.