Go your ways, an' knaw you'm in the
prayers of a man whose prayers be heard."
"Then pray for Joan. If you'm so cocksure you gets a hearin' 'fore us
church folks, 'tis your fust duty to plead for her."
"It was," he said. "Now it is too late, I've sweated for her, an' wrastled
wi' principalities an' powers for her, an' filled the night watches by sea
an' shore wi' gert agonies o' prayer for her. But 'tweern't to be. Her
name's writ in the big Book o' Death, not the small Book o' Life. David
prayed hard till that cheel, got wrong side the blanket, died. Then he
washed his face an' ate his meat. 'Twas like that wi' me. Joan's dead now.
Let the dead bury theer dead."
"'Tis awful to hear 'e, Tregenza."
"The truth's a awful thing, Chirgwin, but a lie is awfuler still. 'Tis the
common fate to be lost. You an' sich as you caan't grasp the truth 'bout
that. Heaven's no need to be a big plaace--theer 'edn' gwaine to be no
crowdin' theer. 'Tis hell as'll fill space wi' its roominess."
"I be gwaine," answered Mr. Chirgwin. "Us have talked three hour by the
clock, an' us ain't gotten wan thot in common. I trusts in Christ; you
trusts in yourself. Time'll shaw which was right. You damn the world; I
wouldn't damn a dew-snail. [Footnote: _Dew-snail_--A slug.] I awnly
sez again, 'May you live to see all the pints you'm wrong.' An' if you do,
'twill be a tidy big prospect."
They exchanged some further remarks in a similar strain.
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