“Not if the morning light come to you in Aylesbury or Cricklade—at least, perchance not. But if it dawn on you where you can hear the bell from yon tower—ay, I do.”
“I perceive your meaning. You would have me to fly.”
In the evening twilight, now fast darkening, Gerhardt could see a nod of Rubi’s black head.
“‘Should such a man as I flee?’ Friend, I am the leader of this band of my countrymen—”
“Just so. That’s the reason.”
“Were I to flee, would they stand firm?” said Gerhardt thoughtfully, rather to himself than to the young Jew.
“Firm—to what?”
“To God,” replied Gerhardt reverently, “and to His truth.”
“What does a Gentile care for truth? They want you to worship one dead man, and you prefer to worship another dead man. What’s the odds to you? Can’t you mutter your Latin, and play with your beads, before both, and have done with it?”
“I worship no saints, and have no beads.”