There were continual communications going to and fro among the religious houses, for the prince of them, the contemplative Carthusian, had been struck at, and no one knew where the assault would end.
Meanwhile, Chris had heard no further news from Ralph.` He thought of writing to him, and even of visiting him again, but his heart sickened at the thought of it.

It was impossible, he told himself, that any communication should pass between them until his brother had forsaken his horrible business; the first sign of regret must come from the one who had sinned.

He wondered sometimes who the girl was, and, as a hot-headed monk, suspected the worst.

A man who could live as Ralph was living could have no morals left.

She had been so friendly with him, so ready to defend him, so impatient, Chris thought, of any possibility of wrong.