Geoffrey read it that he was to go up to. An Morlock, where he was
informed that Mr Penwynn was engaged, but would be at liberty in a few
minutes, and he was shown into the drawing-room, where he found the
young vicar and Rhoda, who rose eagerly, but the next moment seemed
rather constrained.
"The vicar has been discoursing of spiritual love," said Geoffrey to
himself, as he declined to notice, either Rhoda's constraint or the
young clergyman's stiffness, but chatted away in his free-and-easy
manner.
"By the way, Miss Penwynn," he said, after a few moments' conversation,
during which he felt that he was in the way, "I saw you were at church
last Sunday."
"I was very glad to see you there, Mr Trethick," interposed the vicar,
hastily.
"Thanks," said Geoffrey, bluffly. "I shall come--sometimes. Don't you
set me down as a heathen. I went to the chapel in the evening."
"Indeed!" said the vicar, gazing at him in a horrified way, his looks
plainly saying--"You a University man, and go to that chapel!"
"Yes," said Geoffrey, "and heard a capital sermon."
"Indeed!" said the vicar again, with a slightly supercilious smile.
"Capital," said Geoffrey, "by a miner--a rough fellow--one Pengelly."
"Yes, yes. I know Amos Pengelly," said Rhoda, hastily.
"Then you know a capital preacher, Miss Penwynn," cried Geoffrey,
nodding to her. "He's as rough and uncultivated as can be--rather
illogical sometimes; but the fellow's earnestness, and the way he swayed
the congregation, were something startling."
"He is one of the local preachers," said Rhoda, "and, I believe, a very
good man."
As she spoke Rhoda involuntarily glanced at her visitor's feet.
"With a most awful temper," said Geoffrey, laughing. "He got quite
angry with the people's sins while he was preaching."
"I must confess," said the vicar, flushing, and speaking rather
warmly--"hem! I must confess, Mr Trethick, that the way in which the
people down here usurp the priestly office is very shocking, and--and
really gives me a great deal of pain."
"Yes," said Geoffrey, coolly, "I dare say it would. But I do not see
why it should. Here, for instance, is a truly earnest man who finds his
way right to the hearts of the people, and he does what you do--prays
that they may be led into better ways. His language is rough, I grant,
but they understand its homeliness; and if they wouldn't be so fond of
groaning and shouting out `Glory' and `Hallelujah' at incongruous times
I should not care. One thing is very evident: he rouses people out of
what your clerical gentlemen would call their sinful lethargy."
"I must say," said the vicar, "that this is all very terrible to me."
"Well, I suppose so," continued Geoffrey. "You see, Mr Lee, you view
it all from a University and High Church point of view."
"And pray, sir, how would you view it?" said the vicar, with his usual
nervousness dropped, and speaking like a doughty champion of the church
militant, while Rhoda's lips parted, and a slight flush came into her
cheeks, as she grew quite excited over the verbal battle.
"How would I view it?" said Geoffrey. "Why, from a common-sense point
of view--matter-of-fact--human nature."
"Mr Trethick," cried the vicar, "you--but I beg pardon, Miss Penwynn;
this is not a discussion to carry on before you. Mr Trethick, we may
talk of this again."
"Oh, go on!" cried Rhoda, naively, with her excitement flashing out of
her eyes. "I like it."
"Then I will speak," said the vicar, angrily. "Mr Trethick, you pain
me by your remark, and I feel it my duty to say that your words savour
of most heterodox opinions."
"Yes," said Geoffrey, "I suppose they do. I am decidedly unorthodox.
I've studied nature too much to hold to many of our old college
notions."
"Perhaps you would advocate free thinking?" said the vicar, with a
slight sneer; and Rhoda flushed a little more, as she eagerly looked at
Geoffrey for his reply.
"Free thinking? Not I. 'Pon my word, Mr Lee, I believe I'm too
religious for that."
"Religious?"
"Yes! Why not? Cannot a man go to chapel, or, in other words, leave
off going to church sometimes, without being taxed with irreligion?
Look here, Mr Lee, you and I are about contemporaries, and do you know
I think if we want to get on here in our different lines of life, the
first thing we have to do is to learn of the people."
"My duty here, sir," said the vicar, coldly, and growing very pale and
upright, "is to teach."
"So is mine," said Geoffrey, laughing; "yours spiritual, mine carnal;
but, my dear fellow, the first thing we have to do, it seems to me, is
to learn the right way to the people's hearts."
Rhoda glanced from one to the other, and her pulses began to beat, as
she clasped her hands on her lap and excitedly listened for more.
"Perhaps so," said the vicar, coldly, and he glanced at the door, as if
to bring the interview to an end, and yet not liking to leave Geoffrey
there the master of the situation.
"For instance, take your sermon last Sunday."
"Mr Trethick!" cried the vicar, half rising.
"Don't be offended, I mean no harm," said Geoffrey, smiling, "and I am
not talking to an elder, but a contemporary, as I said before. Besides,
Miss Penwynn heard it, and she shall be judge."
"I beg, Mr Trethick," began the vicar, but on glancing at Rhoda's eager
face, he determined not to be mastered in argument, especially upon his
own ground.
"I maintain," said Geoffrey, coolly, "that your sermon was a masterly
bit of logic."
The vicar stared.
"A capital line of argument."
Rhoda nodded.
"Most scholarly."
A faint flush began to appear in the vicar's cheeks.
"In fact, an excellent sermon," said Geoffrey.
"Then why do you allude to it?" said the vicar, rather warmly.
"Because I maintain that it was perfectly unsuited for a simple-minded,
ignorant congregation of fishermen and miners. What do they care about
how Saint Augustine wrote, or Polycarp thought, or the doings of
Chrysostom the Golden Mouthed? Your words about the heresies and the
Gnostics and Manichaeans were all thrown away. The early days of the
Church don't interest them a bit, but they can understand about the
patriarchs and their troubles and weaknesses, because the masterly hand
that wrote their lives painted them as men similar to themselves."
"Mr Trethick!"
"All right; I've just done," said Geoffrey. "There was another sermon
of yours too, I heard you preach, a well-meant one, but somehow you did
not get hold of them. You had taken the text about the apostles
becoming fishers of men, and the rough fellows could not see that it was
their duty to give up their boats and nets, and forsake their wives and
little ones, as you downright told them they ought."
"I hope I know my duty, Mr Trethick," said the vicar, sternly.
"I hope you do, sir; but somehow, as I say, you don't get hold of them.
Now Pengelly seems to fit what he says to their everyday life, and shows
them how to follow the apostles' example in their self-denial and
patience. Why, my dear sir, the people here care no more for the early
fathers of the Church than--than I do," he added, at a loss for a
simile.
"Mr Trethick, you surprise me," gasped the vicar, "you pain me."
"Do I?" said Geoffrey. "Well, I don't want to do so. Now that man on
Sunday night; he took for his text--"
"Miss Penwynn, Mr Trethick," said the vicar, rising, "I find--the
time--I must say good-morning."
"I'm afraid I've been too free-speaking," said Geoffrey, earnestly, as
he held out his hand. "It's a bad habit of mine to get warm in
argument; and I dare say I've been preaching most heretically."
The vicar hesitated for a moment, but Geoffrey's manner disarmed him,
and besides, Rhoda was looking on.
The result was that he shook hands warmly, and said, with a smile, "Mr
Trethick, we must have a few more arguments. I am not beaten yet.
Good-morning."
"Beaten? no," said Geoffrey. "Good-morning. Miss Penwynn, I'm afraid
I've shocked you," he said, merrily, as soon as they were left alone;
and as he spoke he could not help admiring the bright, animated face
before him; for after the vicar's smooth, flowing speeches that morning,
Geoffrey's brisk, sharp way had seemed to her like the racy breeze of
the sea, fanning her spirit, and making her very pulses tingle.
"Shocked?" she said, eagerly; "I liked the discussion. I do love to
hear a man speak as he really feels."
"Do you?" said Geoffrey, showing his white teeth. "Well really, Miss
Penwynn, if we ever meet much in the future you will invariably hear me
speak as I feel. I always did it, and invariably got myself into
trouble."
"For being honest?" said Rhoda.
"Yes, for being honest. We're a strange people, Miss Penwynn. Every
one advocates the truth, and straightforwardness, but, as a rule, those
two qualities find very little favour."
"I'm afraid there is a great deal in what you say," said Rhoda,
thoughtfully.
"I'm sure there is," exclaimed Geoffrey. "It's a queer world
altogether, but I like it all the same."
"I hope we all do," replied Rhoda, smiling.
"Of course; and we do all like it," said Geoffrey, in an imperious way;
"and when next you hear any one, my dear young lady, calling it a vale
of tears, and wanting to be somewhere else, you set that person down as
an impostor or a fool."
Rhoda raised her eyebrows, feeling half-annoyed at his freedom, half
amused.
"It's a splendid world, and it's half bitters, half sweets."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, and wisely so. The bitters make us like the sweets. I find old
Mr Paul up yonder do me no end of good when I'm put out. He's all
bitters."
"And Madge Mullion supplies the sweets," thought Rhoda.
"Don't you think I ought to have gone into the Church, Miss Penwynn?"
said Geoffrey, abruptly.
"No. Why?"
"Because I'm so fond of preaching. Somehow it always sets me going if I
come across a man with about two notions only in his head, which he
jumps to the conclusion will do admirably for the north and south poles
of the world, and that he has nothing else to do but set the world
turning upon them; and gets cross if some one tells him the world is
really turning the other way. But I'm preaching again. There, I
frightened the parson away, and if I don't change my tone, or Mr
Penwynn does not soon send for me, I shall scare you as well."
"I am not so easily alarmed," said Rhoda, laughing; "but I hope you are
meeting with success in your efforts, Mr Trethick?"
"Success, my dear madam?" replied Geoffrey, laughing outright. "Why, I
have been hammering away ever since I came down, months now, and have
not succeeded in any thing but in making the people harder against me."
"I am sorry to hear that."
"Thank you. Sympathy's nice," said Geoffrey. "But I'm not beaten yet,
Miss Penwynn, and now I think the sun is going to shine, for Mr Penwynn
has sent me a line asking me to come and see him; and I have a shrewd
suspicion that it means business."
"Mr Penwynn will see you, sir, in the study," said a servant, opening
the door; and, after a frank good-by, Geoffrey swung out of the room,
Rhoda's eyes following him till the door closed.
But she did not sigh, she did not go to the glass and look conscious,
she did not begin to commune with her spirit, she only said, quietly,--
"There is a something about him that I like!"