“Of course it is, or it wouldn’t be given to us. Bah! When you meet with a man who talks much about the weariness and wretchedness of the world, depend upon it there is something wrong.”
Father Brisdone bowed his head. “I’m afraid I have a good deal of the evil one in me, brother,” said Master Peasegood, helping himself to more tobacco. “See here, I try this herb to see what it is like, so that I may be able to follow out his Majesty’s wishes, and duly preach it down; and how do I find myself? Why, tied neck and heels, and given over to the hands of the tempter.”
“Ah, yes,” said Father Brisdone, re-lighting his own pipe, “it is a soothing and seductive weed.”
“Then again, about you? Sir Thomas at the Moat twitted me again with our intimacy, as not becoming the parson of Roehurst, and I told him I was converting you fast.”
“An untruth, brother Peasegood.”
“Yes; but it slipped out unawares. Ah, Brother Francis, I’m afraid that I resemble the unjust steward, and am making friends with such as thou against the days when thy party has the ascendancy once more, and we Protestants are of small account.”
Father Brisdone shook his head sadly.
“Nay,” he said, “the day is gone; and, if it were not, thou art not the man to stand on the order of taking care of self. But was not that a step?”
They ceased speaking, for it was plainly enough a step, and directly after the door was unceremoniously opened and a figure stood on the threshold.
“Gilbert Carr!” cried Master Peasegood; “why I thought thee miles away.”