“One of the grooms shall be sent to Hawthorn to-morrow morning, sir. If your man be afraid of infection he may ride around the town and come in from this side.”
But the Carthews—for both brothers would ride from Hawthorn to the castle—were not afraid of infection. The older was unimaginative. As long as you did not touch nor go too near, you were safe enough. The younger brooded on other things, and was sincerely careless of any danger riding through the town might present. Neither was averse to seeing how the stricken place might look. The younger, who, truly, greatly influenced his brother, came with him primarily that he might be at hand if the castle, which was prelatical, opened upon religion.
It opened, but only in the person of the old nobleman. Sir Richard sat a little to one side in the great hall where the armour hung and listened as to three actors in the same play. The physician standing by the fire faintly shrugged his shoulders. The nobleman ridiculed and vituperated, the younger Puritan—for the elder was no match for his lordship—came back with verse and Scripture. Finally the first was reduced to “Insolent!” and a fine, foaming rage. Squire Carthew plucked his brother’s sleeve. “No, no, Harry! Don’t go so far—”
The younger Carthew made a stiff bow to his lordship and stood silent. He had answered, he knew, boldly and well, and it was much to him now to answer well and know it, to feel that he had been God Almighty’s able champion. In subtle ways it tended to balance matters. It eased the sore and fearful feeling within, the anguished sensation that he was slipping, slipping, that the hand of Grace was trembling beneath him....
The quarrel was too deep for any reconciliation. The old nobleman advanced no olive branches. Instead, with a “Fare you well, gentlemen! If this goes much further in England there’ll be hangings and beheadings!” he rose from his cushioned chair and stalked from the hall. Sir Richard offered food and canary, but the two Carthews misliked his suavity, and the younger, at least, meant to keep no terms of any kind. They refused entertainment. They must needs at once return to Hawthorn.
“As you please, gentlemen!—I am glad to know that the sickness has not touched your neighbourhood.”
The physician now came forward; they all stood about the great table in the hall. “You are lucky if it reaches you not,” said the London doctor. “I understand that you are not more than six miles away. But in great cities I have seen it skip one parish and slay its hundreds all around. For some reason the folk just there were more resistive.”
A servant entering with a message from the old nobleman, he turned aside to receive it.
“Nay,” said the younger Carthew with sternness, “the plague falls where God would have it fall, and falls not where he is willing to spare. He saith to his Angel, ‘Smite here!’ or He saith, ‘Pass me by this door!’—and where is the resistance of man that you prate of? As well might the worm resist the master of the vineyard’s treading foot!”