"A professor?—what of?"
"Of religion, zur. Be 'ee a perfessin' Christian?"
"I'm afraid not," he replied.
"Ah," she said, "I thot I ded'n see the joy of the Lord in yer eyes."
Try as he would, he could not help laughing. But there was nothing derisive in his laughter. The woman was too sincere.
"I am afraid I've seen too much of the devil to have the joy of the Lord," he replied.
"Aw, my deear," she said, dropping into the Cornish vernacular, "you do mind me of a gen'l'man wot called 'ere years and years agone, afore my 'usband and my pore dear boy died."
"Oh," said Leicester, "what gentleman?"
"Not that you be anything like en," assured Mrs. Pethick. "Aw, my deear, 'ee was as pale as a ghost, and as thin as a coot, 'ee was. Not but wot 'ee was a fine 'an'some gen'leman, for oal that. 'Twas, lev me zee, six years agone this last spring. Aw, 'ee ded talk funny, he ded. He zed 'ee loved the devil, 'ee ded, and towld me 'ow the devil tempted un to go to Crazzick pool, and sink, and sink, and sink, and thus find paice."
"And what did you say to him?"