"I have said too much, or not enough, Ripon. Shall I proceed?"
"By all means, proceed."
"But you understand—you see the consequence? You know enough to know whether or not you want to hear more."
Geoffrey was silent, and sat looking at the fire. He was moved by Dacre's words; but he was not filled with any new resolution. At last he raised his eyes and was about to speak. Dacre was regarding him intently, and now came and bent toward him.
"Come with us, Ripon," he said earnestly, dropping each sentence slowly. "We want you. You are needed. It is your duty."
"I am not sure, Dacre, about that," answered Geoffrey, looking at his friend.
Dacre drew back, with a flush on his pale face.
"I am not sure of that," continued Geoffrey, unheeding the movement; "but I am sure of you, John Dacre, and I am ready to take your word for it, even when you tell me what is my duty. I am sure that if the gentlemen of England are in a league of your founding, or of your choice, they are banded for no dishonor, but for some noble purpose; and if you want me I am ready."
Dacre's mouth quivered as he grasped the hand his friend held out to him. Then he took another turn across the room.
"Now, go on with your talk," said Geoffrey. "If there is any oath, propose it."