“My Lord Prior,” said Dr. Petre, with a slight bow. “If you are willing to sign this, I will beg of you to do so; and after that to call up your subjects.”
He laid the paper down. The Prior stepped briskly out of his seat, and passed round the table.
Chris watched his back, the thin lawyer beside him indicating the place for the name; and listened as in a dream to the scratching of the pen. He himself still did not know what he would do. If all signed—?
The Prior stepped back, and Chris caught a glimpse of a white face that smiled terribly.
The Sub-Prior stepped down at a sign from his Superior; and then one by one the monks came out.
Chris’s heart sickened as he watched; and then stood still on a sudden in desperate hope, for opposite to him Dom Anthony sat steady, his head on his hand, and made no movement when it was his turn to come out. Chris saw the Prior look at the monk, and a spasm of emotion went over his face.
“Dom Anthony,” he said.
The monk lifted his face, and it was smiling too.
“I cannot sign, My Lord Prior.”
Then the veils fell, and decision flashed on Chris’ soul.