Then he answered, his words bursting out of his lips sharply, painfully at first, rolling as usual in his mighty chest voice afterward. The man twisted Scripture to his narrow purposes according to Luke Gospel usage. "'Forgive'? Who can forgive but the Lard, an' what is man that he should forgive them as the A'mighty's damned? 'Tis the sinners' bleat an' whine for forgiveness what's crackin' the ear o' God whensoever 'tis bent 'pon airth. Ain't your religion taught you that--you, Thomas Chirgwin? If not, 'tis a brawken reed, man. Get you gone, you fagot, you an' this here white-haired sawl, as is foolin' you an' holdin' converse wi' the outcast o' heaven. I ban't no faither o' yourn, thank God, as shawed me I weern't--never, never. Gaw! Gaw both of 'e. My God! the sight of 'e do sicken me as I stand in the same air. You--an auld man--touchin' her an' her devil-sent, filthy moneys. 'Twas a evil day, Thomas Chirgwin, when I fust seed them o' your blood--an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into my brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be--bad as that lyin', false, lost sinner theer--a-draggin' out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned sawl wi' falsehoods. _You_ knaws wheer she'm gwaine; an' your squeakin', time-servin' passon knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!" "Out on 'e, you stone-hearted wretch o' a man!" began Uncle Chirgwin in a small voice, shaking with anger; but the fisherman had not said his last word, and roared the other down. Gray Michael's self-control was less than usual; his face had grown very red and surcharged veins showed black on the unwrinkled sides of his forehead. "No more, not a word. Get you gone an' never agin set foot 'pon this here draxel. [Footnote: _Draxel_--Threshold.] Never--never none o' Chirgwin breed. Gaw! or auld as you be, I'll force 'e! God's on the side o' right!" Hereupon Joan, not judging correctly of the black storm signs on her father's face or the force of the voice, now grating into a shriek as passion tumbled to flood, prayed yet again for that pardon which her parent was powerless to grant. The boon denied grew precious in her eyes. She wept and importuned, falling on her knees to him. "God can do it, God can do it, faither. Please--please, for the sake o' the God as leads you, forgive. Oh, God in heaven, make en forgive me--'tis all I wants." But a religious delirium gripped Tregenza and poisoned the blood in him. His breast rose, his fists clinched, his mouth was dragged sidewise and his underlip shook. A damned soul, looking up with wild eyes into his, was all he saw--the very off scouring and filth of human nature--hell tinder, to touch which in kindness was to risk his own salvation. "Gaw, gaw! Else the Lard'll make me His weapon. He's whisperin'--He's whisperin'!"