"'Far hence He lies In the lorn Syrian town, And on His grave, with shining eyes, The Syrian stars look down.'" Gortre answered him: "You lie and you know you lie! and by the powers given to me I'll tell you so from God Himself. Christ is risen! And as the day follows the night so the Spirit of God remains upon the earth God once visited, and works upon the hearts of men." "Are you going?" said Llwellyn, stepping towards Gortre. "No," the young man answered in sharp, angry tones. "It's you that are going, Sir Robert. You know as well as I do that I can do exactly as I like with you if it comes to force. And really I am not at all disinclined to do so, despite my parson's coat. Then you will have your remedy, you know. The newly made knight fighting a clergyman under such very curious circumstances! If this thing is to become open talk, then let us have it so. You can do me no harm. I came here at my vicar's request and Miss Hunt's. You know best if you can stand a scandal of this kind in your position. Now I'm going to use my last argument. Are you going at once or shall I knock you down and kick you out?" He could not help a note of exultation in his voice, try as he would. He was still a young man, full of power and virility. His life had brought no trace of effeminacy with it. And as he saw this splendid lying intellect, the slave of evil, and rejoicing in it, as he heard the arrogant denial of Christ's Godhead coming sonorously from those polluted lips, a wild longing flared up in him. Like a sudden flame, the impulse to strike a clean, hard blow fired all his blood. The old Oxford days of athletic triumphs on field, flood, and river came back to him. He measured the man scientifically with his eyes, judging his distance, alert to strike. But Llwellyn made no further movement of aggression and uttered no word of menace. He did not seem in the least afraid of Gortre or in any way intimidated by him. Indeed, he laughed, a laugh which was very hollow, mirthless, and cold. "Ah, my boy," he said, "I have a worse harm to work you than you can dream of yet. You will remember me some day. You can't frighten me now. I will go. I want no scandal. Good-bye, Gertrude. You also will remember and regret some day. Good-bye." He went noiselessly out of the room, still with the strange flickering smile of prescience and fate upon his evil face. When he had gone, Gertrude fell into a passion of weeping. The strain had been too great. Basil comforted her as well as he could, and before he went promised to see Father Ripon that night and make arrangements that she should quietly disappear the next day to some distant undiscoverable haven. Then he also went out into the night, through the silent squares of sleeping houses towards the Clergy House of St. Mary's. Once more his nerves were unstrung and the old fears and the sense of waiting--Damocles-like for some blow to fall--poured over him.