"Permit me to remind you," he said, "that you, at any rate, have to own an authority, and that the Master will be expecting you at six-thirty sharp. For the rest, sir, you cannot think that thoughtful Churchmen have no answer to these questions, if put by anyone with the right to put them. But you—not even a communicant! Will you dare to use these arguments to the Master, for instance?"
"He had the last word there," said Brother Copas, pocketing his snuff-box and gazing after the Chaplain's athletic figure as it swung away up the tow-path. "He gave me no time to answer that one suits an argument to the adversary. The Master? Could I present anything so crude to one who, though lazy, is yet a scholar?—who has certainly fought this thing through, after his lights, and would get me entangled in the Councils of Carthage and Constance, St. Cyprian and the rest?… Colt quotes the ignorant herd to me, and I put him the ignorant herd's question—without getting a reply."
"You did not allow him much time for one," said Brother Bonaday mildly.
Brother Copas stared at him, drew out his watch again, and chuckled.
"You're right. I lose count of time, defending my friends; and this is your battle I'm fighting, remember."
He offered his arm, and the two friends started to walk back towards St. Hospital. They had gone but a dozen yards when a childish voice hailed them, and Corona came skipping along the bank.
"Daddy! you are to come home at once! It's past six o'clock, and Branny says the river fog's bad for you."
"Home?" echoed Brother Bonaday inattentively. The word had been unfamiliar to him for some years, and his old brain did not grasp it for a moment. His eyes seemed to question the child as she stood before him panting, her hair dishevelled.
"Aye, Brother," said Copas with a glance at him, "you'll have to get used to it again, and good luck to you! What says the pessimist, that American fellow?—"
'Nowhere to go but out,
Nowhere to come but back '—