ttle spinning
across the table; it crashed over on to the floor, and the red wine
poured on to the boards.

"Why, there is blood before your eyes," he screamed, mad with hunger and
sleeplessness, and the horrors he had seen; "the ground cries out."

Ralph had sprung up as the bottle fell, and stood trembling and glaring
across at the monk; the door opened softly, and Mr. Morris stood alert
and discreet on the threshold, but neither saw him.

"And if you were ten times my brother," cried Chris, "I would not touch
your hand."

There came a knocking at the door, and the servant disappeared.

"Let him come, if it be the King himself," shouted the monk, "and hear
the truth for once."

The servant was pushed aside protesting, and Beatrice came straight
forward into the room.

CHAPTER XII

A RECOVERY

There was a moment of intense silence, only emphasized by the settling
rustle of the girl's dress. The door had closed softly, and Mr. Morris
stood within, in the shadow by the window, ready to give help if it were
needed. Beatrice remained a yard inside the room, very upright and
dignified, a little pale, looking from one to the other of the two
brothers, who stared back at her as at a ghost.

Ralph spoke first, swallowing once or twice in his throat before
speaking, and trying to smile.

"It is you then," he said.

Beatrice moved a step nearer, looking at Chris, who stood white and
tense, his eyes wide and burning.

"Mr. Torridon," said Beatrice softly, "I have brought the bundle. My
woman has it."

Still she looked, as she spoke, questioningly at Chris.

"Oh! this is my brother, the monk," snapped Ralph bitterly, glancing at
him. "Indeed, he is."

Then Chris lost his self-control again.

"And this is my brother, the murderer; indeed, he is."

Beatrice's lips parted, and her eyes winced. She put out her hand
hesitatingly towards Ralph, and dropped it again as he moved a little
towards her.

"You hear him?" said Ralph.

"I do not understand," said the girl, "your brother--"

"Yes, I am his brother, God help me," snarled Chris.

Beatrice's lips closed again, and a look of contempt came into her
face.

"I have heard enough, Mr. Torridon. Will you come with me?"

Chris moved forward a step.

"I do not know who you are, madam," he said, "but do you understand what
this gentleman is? Do you know that he is a creature of Master
Cromwell's?"

"I know everything," said Beatrice.

"And you w