"Here, sit down," he cried, "I'm tired, bodily and mentally. I feel as if I want my mother-earth--to nurse me. There," he cried, settling himself upon the turf with a grim smile, "sometimes, lately, I've felt as if I should like her to take me in her cold, clayey arms, to sleep never to wake again." "Don't talk like that, Trethick," said the vicar, appealingly; "life is too real and good to be carelessly thrown away." "Right, Lee; you are right--quite right. Well, then," he said, "I won't; but look here, man, you want to win the people to your side--here is your opportunity. That poor girl--Margaret Mullion." "Yes," said the vicar, eagerly. "I wanted to talk to you about her." "Go on then." "I dared not commence," he said, "I shrank from beginning; but that was one reason why I longed to talk to you, Trethick." "Well," said the other, smiling. "I am all attention." "I wanted--not to reproach you for your sin, Trethick--" "That's right," said Geoffrey, smiling bitterly. "Don't treat it with levity, for heaven's sake, Trethick," cried the vicar. "Think of the poor girl--of her life blasted--of the wrecked fame, and of the expiation that might be made by way of atonement." "Yes," said Geoffrey, "I have thought of all that." "But an hour ago I was with the broken-hearted mother, who was sobbing at my feet." "And she asked you to see me?" "Yes. Begged me to see you and appeal to you, and I said I would. Mr Trethick, in our great Master's name, think of all this--think of the poor girl's fall, and try to make amends. No, no, don't interrupt me till I have done. I tell you I have knelt and prayed, night after night, that your heart might be softened, and that your reckless spirit might be tutored into seeing what was right, and into ceasing from this rebellion against the laws of God and man." "Laws of God and man, eh?" said Geoffrey, mockingly. "Yes; is it not written that the adulterer and adulteress shall be stoned?" "Yes," cried Geoffrey, fiercely; "and is it not written--`He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone'? Damn it all, Lee, I'm sick of this. I've been stoned to death ever since this cursed affair got wind. My mistress--the woman I was to marry--casts the first stone at my devoted head; every one follows suit, and I am battered so that I don't know myself." "You are mocking," cried the vicar. "I am not mocking," cried Geoffrey; "but I am half-mad. And you," he cried, passionately, "even you, who call yourself my friend, are like the rest. But what have you done for this wretched girl, abased and heart-broken in her sin--what have you done?--you and the better-class people? Treated her worse than the beasts that perish. One and all. And this is Christianity! Shame upon you! shame!" The vicar looked at him appealingly as Geoffrey went on. "Have you been to her and spoken words of comfort?" "No," said the vicar, humbly.