"The time goes very fast," Hibbert answered, "yet look at the changes! The man has become almost a power in the land, or at least he seems to be. It is his talent for organisation. It's supreme. Look how this wretched 'League' has grown. It has its spies and agents everywhere, its committee has names of importance among its members, the amount of money that rolls into Hamlyn's coffers must be very large."
"I'm afraid so. But think of the turmoil and unrest one man can create—the misery and pain churchmen feel every day now as they see the jocose blasphemies of these people and see the holiest things held up to an utterly vulgar and soulless ridicule. It's a wrong thought, Hibbert, perhaps, but I do sometimes long to be out of it all, to start afresh on such new work as God may give one in another life!"
"Such a thought comes to all of us at times, of course. But it's physical mainly. It's merely a languor of overstrain and a weak nervous state. You know yourself how such thoughts come chiefly at night, and how after your tub, in the morning light and air they all go."
"Materialist! But you're right, Hibbert, quite right."
"You go on taking the physic I've sent you and you'll pick up soon. But, of course, this is a very trying time. The parish is in a constant turmoil. These Sunday evening Protestant meetings when folk are coming out of church are a bad nuisance. That's a new move, too."
"Yes. They found that the hooligan riot-provoking business was very simply dealt with, and so they are trying this. It is that poor, silly old creature, Miss Pritchett. The Hamlyns are hand and glove with her. I suppose she is sincere, poor old lady! I hope so. She was an ardent Catholic, and I hope she does honestly believe in the new substitute for the Faith. I am very sorry for her."
"I'm less charitable, Blantyre; she's a spiteful old cat. I am not violating any professional confidence in telling you that she won't live long if she goes on living in the thick of this noisy Protestant agitation. I do my best for her, of course, but she won't do as she's told."
"She's a nuisance," the vicar said, "but I hope she won't go yet. I should like to make friends with her before she dies. And I should like her to die in the Faith."
"She won't do that, I'm afraid, Blantyre. She has gone too far away from the Church. But, now, what do you honestly think the effect of this Luther crusading business has been on the Church."
"Well, I think there can be no doubt of that. I was talking it over with Lord Huddersfield last week and we both agreed. The Church has gained enormously. People who were simply attracted by ceremonial and what was novel to them have gone out, in a restless endeavour to find some new thing. But that is all. Our congregations here, our communicants, have grown very much. There is a deeper spiritual fervour among us, I am sure of it. No churchman has taken Hamlyn seriously for a moment. He has failed in every attempt he has made to interfere with our teaching or our ceremonial, failed absolutely. All his legal cases have fallen through, or proved abortive, or are dragging on towards extinction. The days of ritual prosecutions are utterly dead. All the harm Hamlyn has done the Church itself is to weary our ears and hearts with a great noise and tumult, with floods of empty talk. He has stung our nerves, he hasn't penetrated to any vital part."