"Hunted by the Christian conscience!--that it might lie comfortable o' nights," was the scornful reply. Newbury said nothing for a few moments. They emerged on the main road, crossed it, and entered the Hoddon Grey park. Here they were alone, out of sight of the crowd returning from the inquest to the neighboring village. As they stepped into one of the green rides of the park they perceived a motorcar descending the private road which crossed it a hundred yards away. A man was driving it at a furious pace, and Coryston clearly recognized his brother Arthur. He was driving toward Coryston. Up to the moment when the news of the farm tragedy had reached him that morning, Coryston's mind had been very full of what seemed to him the impending storm between his mother and Arthur. Since then he had never thought of it, and the sight of his brother rushing past, making for Coryston, no doubt, from some unknown point, excited but a moment's recollection, lost at once in the emotion which held him. Newbury struck in, however, before he could express it further; in the same dry and carefully governed voice as before. "You are Marcia's brother, Coryston. Yesterday morning she and I were still engaged to be married. Yesterday afternoon we broke it off--although--since then--I have received two letters from her--" He paused a moment, but soon resumed, with fresh composure. "Those letters I shall answer to-night. By that time--perhaps--I shall know better--what my future life will be." "Perhaps!" Coryston repeated, roughly. "But I have no claim to know, nor do I want to know!" Newbury gave him a look of wonder. "I thought you were out for justice--and freedom of conscience?" he said, slowly. "Is the Christian conscience--alone--excepted? Freedom for every one else--but none for us?" "Precisely! Because your freedom means other men's slavery!" Coryston panted out the words. "You can't have your freedom! It's too costly in human life. Everywhere Europe has found that out. The freedom you Catholics--Anglican or Roman--want, is anti-social. We sha'n't give it you!" "You will have to give it us," said Newbury, calmly, "because in putting us down--which of course you could do with ease--you would destroy all that you yourselves value in civilization. It would be the same with us, if we had the upper hand, as you have now. Neither of us can destroy the other. We stand face to face--we shall stand face to face--while the world lasts." Coryston broke into passionate contradiction. Society, he was confident, would, in the long run, put down Catholicism, of all sorts, by law. "Life is hard enough, the devil knows! We can't afford--we simply can't afford--to let you make it harder by these damned traditions! I appeal to those two dead people! They did what _you_ thought wrong, and your conscience judged and sentenced them. But who made you a judge and divider over them? Who asked you to be the dispenser for them of blessing and cursing?"