The Vicar had the grace to blush slightly.
"I say, no doubt, more than I should say," he admitted. Then he rose,
buttoning his long coat down his long body deliberately, as though by
the action he tried to restrain the surge within; but it overflowed all
the same. "I know now," he said, with a kindling eye, holding out a
gaunt hand in farewell, "what our Lord meant by sending, not
peace--but a sword!"
"So, no doubt, did Torquemada!" replied the doctor, surveying him.
The Vicar rose to the challenge.
"I will be no party to the usual ignorant abuse of the Inquisition," he
said, firmly. "We live in days of license, and have no right to sit in
judgment on our forefathers."
"_Your_ forefathers," corrected the doctor. "Mine burned."
The Vicar first laughed; then grew serious. "Well, I'll allow you two
opinions on the Inquisition, but not--" he lifted a gesticulating
hand--"_not_ two opinions on mines which are death-traps for lack of a
little money to make them safe--_not_ on the kind of tyranny which says
to a man: 'Strike if you like, and take a week's notice at the same time
to give up your cottage, which belongs to the colliery'--or, 'Make a
fuss about allotments if you dare, and see how long you keep your berth
in my employment: we don't want any agitators here'--or maintains,
against all remonstrance, a brutal manager in office, whose rule crushes
out a man's self-respect, and embitters his soul!"
"You charge all these things against Marsham?"
"He--or, rather, his mother--has a large holding in collieries against
which I charge them.
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