"'Twould be like Adam and Eve being driven out of the Garden if we'm forced to go," declared Eliza.
"With this difference, however, that the blame ban't with us, though the punishment may be. There's nobody can say we've ever done wrong here, or gone outside our duty to God or man by a hair. If we go, 'tis them that drive us out will have to pay for their wickedness."
"They'll certainly smart, if 'tis only in the long run," confessed Eliza. "'Twill be brought home against them at the appointed time."
Thomas nodded drearily.
"Cold comfort," he said, "but the only satisfaction there is to be got out of it by us. Yes, I shall go; I shall shake off the dust for a witness. I wish I thought as 'twould choke a party here and there; but, thank God, I know my place. I never offered to do His almighty work, and I never will. I never wanted to call down thunder from heaven on the evil-doer. But 'tis always a tower of faith to a righteous man when he sees the Lord strike. And to them as be weak in faith, 'tis often a puzzle and a temptation to see how long the Lord holds off, when justice cries aloud to Him to rise up and do His worst."
CHAPTER XIII
At the approach of another Christmas, Humphrey Baskerville stood in the churchyard of St. Edward's and watched two masons lodge the stone that he had raised to his brother Nathan. It conformed to the usual pattern of the Baskerville memorials, and was of slate. The lettering had been cut deep and plain without addition of any ornament. The accidental severity and simplicity of the stone contrasted to advantage with Vivian's ornate and tasteless marble beside it.
Dennis Masterman walked across the churchyard presently and, seeing Humphrey, turned and approached.
"Good morning," he said. "Glad you've put a slate here. I like them better than these garish things. They are more suited to this grey Moor world of ours."