"What does Almighty God, if there is an Almighty God, Who made all the worlds, care whether a man goes to Church or to Chapel?"
I remember propounding this question quite suddenly, and it seemed to take them aback.
"You are a Churchman, aren't you?" asked Mr. Robartes eagerly.
"I suppose so, if I am anything," I laughed. "I was confirmed while I was at Winchester, but for the life of me I can't see that it matters whether a man goes to Church or to Chapel."
"But surely you have no sympathy with these dissenters?"
"I hardly know," was my reply. "I have been to the Methodist Chapel down here two or three times. I went out of curiosity. You see, my lease of life is very short, and I was wondering whether any of them could tell me what lies beyond the grave."
I saw Mr. Trelaske look on the floor as I spoke. He evidently remembered our conversation.
"It seems to me that we have to leave such things as that," said the Squire. "The Bible and the Church teach us that there is a life beyond the grave, and we had better let it stand at that. As for the Church, it makes a man a good neighbor, a good citizen, and a good Englishman. Besides, the Church doesn't cramp a man. He can be a good sportsman, enjoy a glass of wine, play a game of cards, and still be a good Churchman. That is why I am glad the Methodists are still losing ground. Of course they must."
There was nothing harsh in the way he said this. He seemed to regard dissenters as a class apart—a people with a kink in their brains, who out of pure stubbornness adopted a form of religion which somehow made them outsiders. I dare say, if I had gone deeper into the matter, I should have found something which had not appeared in their conversation, but such was the impression I received.
"By the way," said Mr. Trelaske presently, "this is bad news about Serbia, isn't it?"