L'Estrange was so much frightened by the wild voice and wilder gesture of the man, that he could not utter a word in reply.
Bramleigh now came over, and leaning his hand on the other's shoulder, in a tone of kind and gentle meaning, said,—
“It is not your fault, my dear friend, that you are illogical and unreasonable. You are obliged to defend a thesis you do not understand, by arguments you cannot measure. The armory of the Church has not a weapon that has not figured in the Middle Ages; and what are you to do with halberds and cross-bows in a time of rifles and revolvers! If a man, like myself, burdened with a heavy weight on his heart, had gone to his confessor in olden times, he would probably have heard, if not words of comfort, something to enlighten, to instruct, and to guide him. Now what can you give me? tell me that? I want to hear by what subtleties the Church can reconcile me not to do what I ought to do, and yet not quarrel with my own conscience. Can you help me to that?”
L'Estrange shook his head in dissent.
“I suppose it is out of some such troubles as mine that men come to change their religion.” He paused; and then bursting into a laugh, said, “You hear that the other bank deals more liberally,—asks a smaller commission, and gives you a handsomer interest,—and you accordingly transfer your account. I believe that's the whole of it.”
“I will not say you have stated the case fairly,” said. L'Estrange; but so faintly as to show that he was far from eager to continue the discussion, and he arose to take his leave.
“You are going already? and I have not spoken to you one word about,—what was it? Can you remember what it was? Something that related personally to yourself.”
“Perhaps I can guess, sir. It was the mine at Liscon-nor, probably? You were kind enough the other day to arrange my securing some shares in the undertaking. Since that, however, I have heard a piece of news which may affect my whole future career. There has been some report made by the Commissioner about the parish.”
“That's it, that 's it. They 're going to send you off, L'Estrange. They 're going to draft you to a cathedral, and make a prebendary of you. You are to be on the staff of an archbishop,—a sort of Christian unattached. Do you like the prospect?”
“Not at all, sir. To begin, I am a very poor man, and could ill bear the cost of life this might entail.”