"When a man sets up to preach, and then throws away his influence over
his own brother for a little finery opposition, it's more than being a
blackguard. What does a man mean by standing up to preach if he doesn't
mean that he's taking some responsibility for other people?"

"Well, but it wasn't he that threw away his influence over you; it was
you. He never said 'Don't be influenced any more by me.' If ye thought
he was an angel before then, more fool ye were, for no man is an angel.
What business had you to make all the influence of his godly life
condeetion on his doing right, or what you thought right, on a certain
point of opinion?"

"He's living a lie, I tell you."

"I'm not sure but he's right not to have blazoned it. I'm not sure but
I'd have done the same myself."

"Well, as you just remarked, men are not angels. That you would have
done it doesn't prove anything."

Next morning Trenholme, whose half-awaked mind had not yet recurred to
the night's dispute stepped out of the house into a white morning fog,
not uncommon in fierce weather when holes for fishing had been made in
the ice of the lake. The air, seemingly as dry as smoke, but keen and
sweet, was almost opaque, like an atmosphere of white porcelain, if such
might be. The sun, like a scarlet ball, was just appearing; it might
have been near, it might have been far; no prospect was seen to mark the
distance. Trenholme was walking round by the white snow path, hardly
discerning the ox-shed to which he was bound, when he suddenly came
upon the dark figure of Bates, who was pitching hay for his Cattle.