“Why, Chris!” said Ralph, and stopped, astonished at the other’s motionlessness.
Then Chris came round the table with a couple of swift steps, his hands raised a little from the wide, drooping sleeves.
“Ah! brother,” he said, “I have come to bring you away: this is a wicked place.”
Ralph was so amazed that he fell back a step.
“Are you mad?” he said coldly enough, but he felt a twitch of superstitious fear at his heart.
Chris seized the rich silk sleeve in both his hands, and Ralph felt them trembling and nervous.
“You must come away,” he said, “for Jesu’s sake, brother! You must not lose your soul.”
Ralph felt the old contempt surge up and drown his fear. The familiarity of his brother’s presence weighed down the religious suggestion of his habit and office. This is what he had feared and almost expected;—that the cloister would make a fanatic of this fantastic brother of his.
He glanced round at the door that he had left open, but the house was silent. Then he turned again.
“Sit down, Chris,” he said, with a strong effort at self-command, and he pulled his sleeve away, went back and shut the door, and then came forward past where his brother was standing, to the chair that stood with its back to the window.