“I am speaking plainly, and I understand the situation thoroughly.  You will probably tell me, as others have done, that no one has ever opposed Eldon Parr who has not been crushed.  I go in with my eyes open, I am willing to be crushed, if necessary.  You have come here to warn me, and I appreciate your motive.  Now I am going to warn you, in all sincerity and friendship.  I may be beaten, I may be driven out.  But the victory will be mine nevertheless.  Eldon Parr and the men who stand with him in the struggle will never recover from the blow I shall give them.  I shall leave them crippled because I have the truth on my side, and the truth is irresistible.  And they shall not be able to injure me permanently.  And you, I regret deeply to say, will be hurt, too.  I beg you, for no selfish reason, to consider again the part you intend to play in this affair.”

Such was the conviction, such the unlooked-for fire with which the rector spoke that Langmaid was visibly shaken and taken aback in spite of himself.

“Do you mean,” he demanded, when he had caught his breath, “that you intend to attack us publicly?”

“Is that the only punishment you can conceive of?” the rector asked.  The reproach in his voice was in itself a denial.

“I beg your pardon, Hodder,” said the lawyer, quickly.  “And I am sure you honestly believe what you say, but—­”

“In your heart you, too, believe it, Langmaid.  The retribution has already begun.  Nevertheless you will go on—­for a while.”  He held out his hand, which Langmaid took mechanically.  “I bear you no ill-will.  I am sorry that you cannot yet see with sufficient clearness to save yourself.”

Langmaid turned and picked up his hat and stick and left the room without another word.  The bewildered, wistful look which had replaced the ordinarily benign and cheerful expression haunted Hodder long after the lawyer had gone.  It was the look of a man who has somehow lost his consciousness of power.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE VESTRY MEETS

At nine o’clock that evening Hodder stood alone in the arched vestry room, and the sight of the heavy Gothic chairs ranged about the long table brought up memories of comfortable, genial meetings prolonged by chat and banter....  The noise of feet, of subdued voices beside the coat room in the corridor, aroused him.  All of the vestry would seem to have arrived at once.

He regarded them with a detached curiosity as they entered, reading them with a new insight.  The trace of off-handedness in Mr. Plimpton’s former cordiality was not lost upon him—­an intimation that his star had set.  Mr. Plimpton had seen many breaches healed—­had healed many himself.  But he had never been known as a champion of lost causes.

“Well, here we are, Mr. Hodder, on the stroke,” he remarked.  “As a vestry, I think we’re entitled to the first prize for promptness.  How about it, Everett?”