"Oh, Leef illustrates more than any one else how impossible it is, for me, at any rate, to do much good. Last week he said to me, 'It's a fine thing, religion, when you've got it at last, Mr. Gortre. When I look back at my unregenerate years I wonder at myself. Religion tells me to give up certain things. It only 'armonises with the experience of any sensible man of my age. I don't want to drink too much, for instance. My health is capital, and I'm not such a fool as to spoil it. To think that all those years I never knew that religion was as easy as winking, and with a certainty of everlasting glory afterwards. I'll always back you up, Mr. Gortre, in saying that religion's the finest thing out.'" "Well, dear boy, you will be in another environment altogether soon. It's no use being discouraged. _Tot homines, quot sententiæ_! We can't alter these things. The Essenes used to speak disrespectfully enough of 'Ye men of Galilee,' no doubt. Sometimes I think I would rather have these stubborn people than those of the South, men as easy and _commode_ as an old glove, and worth about as much. Have you seen the _Guardian_ to-day?" "No, I haven't. I've been at the schools all the morning, visiting in Timperley Street till Evensong, home for a wash, and then here." "I see Schuabe is going to address a great meeting in the Free Trade Hall on the Education Bill." "Then he is at Mount Prospect?" "He arrived from London yesterday." The two men looked at each other in silence. Mr. Byars seemed ill at ease. His foot tapped the brass rail of the fender. Then, a sure sign of disturbance with him, he put down his pipe, which was nearly smoked away, and took a cigarette from a box on the table and smoked in short, quick puffs. Gortre's face became dark and gloomy. The light died out of it, the kindliness of expression, which was habitual, left his eyes. "We have never really told each other what we think of Schuabe and how we think of him, vicar," he said. "Let us have it out here and now while we are thinking of him and while we have the opportunity." "In a question of this sort," said Mr. Byars, "confidences are extremely dangerous as a rule, but between you and me it is different. It will clear our brains mutually. God forbid that you and I, in our profession as Christ's priests and our socio-political position as clerks in Holy Orders, should bear rancour against any one. But we are but human. Possibly our mutual confidence may help us both." There was a curious eagerness in his manner which was reflected by that of the other. Both were conscious of feelings ill in accord with their usual open and kindly attitude towards the world. Each was anxious to know if the other coincided with himself. Men are weak, and there is comfort in community. "From envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness--" said Gortre. "Good Lord deliver us," replied the vicar gravely.