“Not worship the idol—condemn it, Master Peasegood,” said the founder, smiling.
“Well, but we believe it,” cried the other. “Out upon us all, but we are sorry-fools.”
“I’ll go and do this thing, Master Peasegood,” said the founder, after musing for a few minutes.
“That’s right; I knew thou would’st.”
“But maybe she will not go.”
“Then take her, like the angels did Lot of old, and thrust her out of the place. Tell her Roehurst will prove a Sodom to her if she does not go, for i’ faith she’ll go to the flames, in spite of all I can do or say.”
“I’ll go to her this very evening, Master Peasegood.”
“Then I will go my way,” cried the parson; and, paying one more attention to the flagon, he rose, shook hands, and left.