"Yes, I am indeed a servant of the Lord, though for many years I have been withheld from openly preaching His word. For fifty years I have lived and worked secretly among the miners of the Mendip Hills, and when they marched to support the defender of our religion, I followed to give them the comfort of my words. I thank God that I shall follow them to the end. Ah, child," he continued earnestly, "you cannot understand what it is to be silenced, to be dumb, as ’twere, for twenty-three years; to be torn to pieces ’twixt the burning in my heart to speak the Word, the fear in my breast of meeting the punishment. It is worth a thousand deaths to have had at last this chance of testifying once again to the truth." Barbara looked at him gravely. "No," she said, "I do not understand." His earnestness vanished. He gave a soft resigned sigh and smiled at her, as at a child. "No, you do not understand; you are young and fearless." "It should be easy to me to be courageous," she answered lightly. "I have nought to fear. ’Tis for me but some few days in prison, and then perchance a fine. In justice they can do no more." He smiled at her a trifle sadly. "Aye, child, as you say, _in justice_ they could do no more." She looked up at him doubtfully, but forbore to question further the meaning of his words. "But these folk," she continued, looking round, "have doubtless more to fear." "There is indeed little hope for them this side the grave," he answered calmly, "save for a speedy and merciful death." Barbara was startled. "Surely not so—and yet—I had not thought on’t," she muttered. "Verily, sir, if this be true, my scorn was ill-timed, they have courage. They are but rude peasants, with neither pride of birth nor name to strengthen their hearts, yet they await death as calmly as any noble. How comes this?" "So thou deemest courage a monopoly of gentle folk, eh?" he asked, laughing softly. "Ah, child, thou art young. But indeed," he continued more seriously, "these men have fought in the Lord’s cause, there is no fear but He will send them strength to fight their battle bravely to the end." "How can it be God’s cause when it hath failed?" asked Barbara bluntly. "Failed, child? What mean you?" "Why, call you not this failure?" she asked, glancing round.