The two went through the sacristy-door, locking it behind them, and up the winding stairs in the turret at the corner to the priest’s chamber. Chris threw himself down, relaxed and happy, in the tall chair by the window, where he could look out and see the moon, clear of the trees now, riding high in heaven.
“That was a pity at supper,” said the priest presently, as he sat at the table. “I love Sir Nicholas and think him a good Christian, but he is scarcely a discreet one.”
“Tell me, father,” broke out Chris, “what is going to happen?”
Mr. Carleton looked at him smiling. He had a pleasant ugly face, with little kind eyes and sensitive mouth.
“You must ask Mr. Ralph,” he said, “or rather you must not. But he knows more than any of us.”
“I wish he would not speak like that.”
“Dear lad,” said the priest, “you must not feel it like that. Remember our Lord bore contempt as well as pain.”
There was silence a moment, and then Chris began again. “Tell me about Lewes, father. What will it be like?”
“It will be bitterly hard,” said the priest deliberately. “Christ Church was too bitter for me, as you know. I came out after six months, and the Cluniacs are harder. I do not know if I lost my vocation or found it; but I am not the man to advise you in either case.”
“Ralph thinks it is easy enough. He told me last night in the carriage that I need not trouble myself, and that monks had a very pleasant time. He began to tell me some tale about Glastonbury, but I would not hear it.”