And live cut off from all.
The vicar laughed. “Yes, it’s a pretty legend, Mrs. Slater, but remember this is the twentieth century, and nothing is likely to happen to Marshfielden, its inhabitants or its visitors, because of that. Why, I was a stranger when I came, yet nothing very terrible has happened to me during these last forty years.”
“Ah, sir, you don’t count. I mean, sir, you belong to the Priory; you are our priest. You wouldn’t come under the ‘Curse’ sir.”
“And neither will any one else, Mrs. Slater. It’s a stupid legend.—Have no fear.”
“But,” began Mrs. Slater. “How do you account for the case of—” But Mr. Winthrop lifted up a deprecatory hand.
“I cannot listen to any more, Mrs. Slater.” And a note of authority came into his voice. “Why, all this is against the religion I preach to you—never listen to tales of superstition. Have no fear, do the best you can for the two young gentlemen, and I think I can promise you that no harm will come to them or you.”
The woman shook her head, and disbelief shone in her eyes. The vicar saw it, and smiled again.
“Well, well! It remains to be proved that I am right,” said he.
“It remains to be proved, which of us is right, sir.”
“Very well, we’ll leave it at that. When do they arrive?”