They could see that he was ill. His body swayed as though it were beyond his control. His hands were waving, turning, beseeching....
Suddenly tears were running down his cheeks.
"Not this shame!" he cried. "Not this shame!--kill me--but save the Cathedral!"
They were on their feet. Foster and Ryle had come round to him. "Archdeacon, sit down." "You're ill." "Rest a moment" With a great heave of his shoulders he flung them off, a chair falling to the ground with the movement.
He saw Ronder.
"You!...my enemy. Are you satisfied now?" he whispered. He held out his quivering hand. "Take my hand. You've done your worst."
He turned round as though he would go from the room. Stumbling, he caught Foster by the shoulder as though he would save himself. He bent forward, staring into Foster's face.
"God is love, though," he said. "You betray Him again and again, but He comes back."
He gripped Foster's shoulder more tightly. "Don't do this thing, man," he said. "Don't do it. Because Ronder's beaten me is no reason for you to betray your God.... Give me a chair. I'm ill."
He fell upon his knees.