"You wasn't no worse?"
"Not worth mentioning. I'll be all right down there. But it's rather like going into exile."
They spoke long about his health, his food, his winter clothes. She thought of these things, and had made him buy thicker and warmer garments.
Presently she asked him to come to the chapel of the Luke Gospellers.
"Mr. Matherson is a wonderful man, and that learned. The stars and the trees and the lightning come into his sermons. I do think you'd like them. As broad as charity he is—nought frights him."
"There are two Books," said Hilary; "and whether one was written by God is doubtful; but, God granted, there's no doubt about the other. Even Mr. Matherson won't deny who wrote the Book of Nature. And I'm glad he's not fool enough to forbid sane people from reading in it. But for me to hear him—would you have me play the hypocrite?"
"Why do you say that? There's no deceit. Ban't no harm to listen. Your conscience wouldn't say 'no' to that. You've often said you'd deny the light to none. He might change you."
"I only want to be changed when I feel death peeping at me by night. It might be very awkward for both of us if I was changed."
"I'm not thinking of that, but after. 'Twould be good to believe in a life beyond. You've often said so yourself."
"How many secrets will be carried on into that life—there is such a life, I wonder?"