“But that we put up with,” said the Vicar, grimly.  “The joy of turning out Marsham is compensation.”

The doctor turned an observant eye on his companion’s clerical coat.

“Shall we hear these sentiments next Sunday from the pulpit?” he asked, mildly.

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.”

“H’m.  Lady Lucy isn’t standing for West Brookshire.”

“No matter.  The son’s teeth are set on edge.  Marsham has been appealed to, and has done nothing—­attempted nothing.  He makes eloquent Liberal speeches, and himself spends money got by grinding the poor!”

“You make him out a greater fool than I believe him,” said the doctor.  “He has probably attempted a great deal, and finds his power limited.  Moreover, he has been eight years member here, and these charges are quite new.”

“Because the spirit abroad is new!” cried the Vicar.  “Men will no longer bear what their fathers bore.  The old excuses, the old pleas, serve no longer.  I tell you the poor are tired of their patience!  The Kingdom of Heaven, in its earthly aspect, is not to be got that way—­no!  ’The violent take it by force!’ And as to your remark about Marsham, half the champions of democracy in this country are in the same box:  prating about liberty and equality abroad; grinding their servants and underpaying their laborers at home.  I know scores of them; and how any of them keep a straight face at a public meeting I never could understand.  There is a French proverb that exactly expresses them—­”