He spoke without rudeness but with a certain arrogance and an obvious satisfaction at the situation. Here was a parson cornered, literally, forced to listen to him, with no way of escape. Gortre imagined that he was congratulating himself that this was not a corridor train.
"I think Disestablishment is very likely to come indeed," said Gortre, "and it will come the sooner for recent events. Of course I think that it will be most barefaced robbery to take endowments from the Church which are absolutely her own property, and use them for secular purposes, but I'm not at all sure that it wouldn't be an excellent thing for the Church after all. But you seem to think that Disestablishment will destroy religion. That is an entire mistake, as you will find."
"It's destroyed already," said the man, "let alone what's going to happen. Since what they've found out in Jerusalem the whole thing's gone puff! like blowin' out a match. You can't get fifty people together in any town what believe in religion any more. The religion of common sense has come now, and it's come to stay."
A voice with a curious singing inflection came from the comer of the carriage, a voice utterly unlike the harsh North-country accent of the workman. The old woman was beginning to speak.
Gortre recognised the curious Cornish tones at once, and looked up with sudden interest.
"You 'm wrong, my son," said the old woman, "bitter wrong you be, and 't is carnal vanity that spakes within you. To Lostwithul, where I bide, I could show 'ee different to what you do say."
The workman, a good-humoured fellow enough, smiled superior at the odd old thing. The wrinkled face had become animated, two deep lines ran from the nostrils to the comer of the lips, hard and uncompromising. The eyes were bright.
