"What I mean is, might you not soften it without hurting your cause?"

"I think not. I conscientiously believe the accusation to be true.
I endeavour so to live among my neighbours that I may not disgrace
them, or you, or myself. This man has dared to accuse me openly of
the grossest immorality and hypocrisy, when I am only doing my duty
as I best know how to do it; and I do now believe in my heart that in
making these charges he did not himself credit them. At any rate, no
man can be justified in making such charges without evidence."

"But all that had nothing to do with the bit of ground, Frank."

"It is part and parcel of the same thing. He has chosen to treat me
as an enemy, and has used all the influence of his wealth and rank to
injure me. Now he must look to himself. I will not say a word of him,
or to him, that is untrue; but as he has said evil of me behind my
back which he did not believe, so will I say the evil of him, which I
do believe, to his face." The letter was sent, and before the day was
over the Vicar had recovered his good humour.

And before the day was over the news was all through the parish.
There was a certain ancient shoemaker in the village who had carried
on business in Devizes, and had now retired to spend the evening of
his life in his native place. Mr. Bolt was a quiet, inoffensive old
man, but he was a dissenter, and was one of the elders and trustees
who had been concerned in raising money for the chapel. To him the
Vicar had told the whole story, declaring at the same time that, as
far as he was concerned, Mr. Puddleham and his congregation should,
at any rate for the present, be made welcome to their chapel. This
he had done immediately on his return from Salisbury, and before the
letter to the Marquis was written. Mr. Bolt, not unnaturally, saw
his minister the same evening, and the thing was discussed in full
conclave by the Puddlehamites. At the end of that discussion, Mr.
Puddleham expressed his conviction that the story was a mare's nest
from beginning to end. He didn't believe a word of it. The Marquis
was not the man to give away anything that did not belong to him.
Somebody had hoaxed the Vicar, or the Vicar had hoaxed Mr. Bolt; or
else,--which Mr. Puddleham thought to be most likely,--the Vicar
had gone mad with vexation at the glory and the triumph of the new
chapel.

"He was uncommon civil," said Mr. Bolt, who at this moment was
somewhat inclined to favour the Vicar.