Peak’s reply was one of those remarkable efforts of mind—­one might say, of character—­which are sometimes called forth, without premeditation, almost without consciousness, by a profound moral crisis.  A minute or two ago he would have believed it impossible to recall and state in lucid terms the arguments to which, as he sat in the Cathedral, he had barely given ear; he remembered vaguely that the preacher (whose name he knew not till now) had dwelt for a few moments on the topic indicated, but at the time he was indisposed to listen seriously, and what chance was there that the chain of thought had fixed itself in his memory?  Now, under the marvelling regard of his conscious self, he poured forth an admirable rendering of the Canon’s views, fuller than the original—­more eloquent, more subtle.  For five minutes he held his hearers in absorbed attention, even Buckland bending forward with an air of genuine interest; and when he stopped, rather suddenly, there followed a silence.

‘Mr. Peak,’ said the host, after a cough of apology, ’you have made that clearer to me than it was yesterday.  I must thank you.’

Godwin felt that a slight bow of acknowledgment was perhaps called for, but not a muscle would obey his will.  He was enervated; perspiration stood on his forehead.  The most severe physical effort could not have reduced him to a feebler state.

Sidwell was speaking: 

‘Mr. Peak has developed what Canon Grayling only suggested.’

‘A brilliant effort of exegesis,’ exclaimed Buckland, with a good-natured laugh.

Again the young men exchanged looks.  Godwin smiled as one might under a sentence of death.  As for the other, his suspicion had vanished, and he now gave way to frank amusement.  Luncheon was over, and by a general movement all went forth on to the lawn in front of the house.  Mr. Warricombe, even more cordial than hitherto, named to Godwin the features of the extensive landscape.

’But you see that the view is in a measure spoilt by the growth of the city.  A few years ago, none of those ugly little houses stood in the mid-distance.  A few years hence, I fear, there will be much more to complain of.  I daresay you know all about the ship-canal:  the story of the countess, and so forth?’

Buckland presently suggested that the afternoon might be used for a drive.

‘I was about to propose it,’ said his father.  ’You might start by the Stoke Canon Road, so as to let Mr. Peak have the famous view from the gate; then go on towards Silverton, for the sake of the reversed prospect from the Exe.  Who shall be of the party?’