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Charles had been at first surprised to find that his brother had so few personal links with the movement that had cost him his living, but on reflection he realized that it was like Gervase to enter alone, to work himself with the aid of a few books and pamphlets and many lonely thoughts, into a state of belief and action that most men achieve only in consultation and combination. No doubt, at the bottom of it all, his brother had grown weary of Leasan and had found an escape more exciting and vainglorious than a common resignation. But he was sorry for the way it had all turned out.

"Shouldn't you like to go to London again for a few weeks?" he asked him once, "or to Oxford? I understand that's where most of your fellow-thinkers are."

"Nay; I hate towns."

"You are no country bumpkin, and I should think would be glad to mix with scholars for a while."

"They're all Jacobites—I am no Jacobite, nor yet a Williamite."

"You're in a delicate position," said Charles, concealing a smile.

"I'm in no position at all," said Gervase. "I'm waiting to see which way affairs will go. I cannot believe that such men as Canterbury or Chichester will let 'em all run to politics and high treason."