Nicholas withdrew again, and the brothers were once more alone.
Lionel ate very sparingly.

He thirsted and would have emptied the measure of posset, but that Sir Oliver restrained him, and refused him anything but water lest he should contract a fever.

Such a sparing meal as they made--for neither had much appetite--was made in silence.

At last Sir Oliver rose, and with slow, heavy steps, suggestive of his humour, he crossed to the fire-place.

He threw fresh logs on the blaze, and took from the tall mantelshelf his pipe and a leaden jar of tobacco.
He filled the pipe pensively, then with the short iron tongs seized a fragment of glowing wood and applied it to the herb.
He returned to the table, and standing over his brother, he broke at last the silence that had now endured some time.
"What," he asked gruffly, "was the cause of your quarrel ?" Lionel started and shrank a little; between finger and thumb he kneaded a fragment of bread, his eyes upon it.