"Surely not. Wheer's the justice o' that? If He done that, how'd the godly
get their fair dues--eh? Be the righteous man to share God's Heaven wi'
publicans an' sinners? That ed'n justice anyhow. Don't fret, lad; tears
won't mend bad years. Bide quiet an' listen to me whiles I pray for 'e."

The man in the bed had grown very white, his eyes burned wildly out of a
shrunken face, and he gripped the sheets and shivered in pure physical
terror.

"I caan't die, I caan't die, not yet," he groaned, "pray to the Lard to
keep me from dyin' yet a while, mister. Arsk en to give me just a lil time,
'cause I'm that sorry for my scarlet sins."

Thereupon Michael knelt, clasped his hands so close that the bent
finger-joints grew white, raised his massive head upward and prayed with
his eyes closed. The intercession for life ended, he rose up, shook Vallack
by the hand, and so departed.

"Allus, when you've got the chance, bear the balm o' Gilead to a sinner's
couch," he said to his daughter as they walked home. "'Tis the duty of man
an' maid to spread the truth an' bring peace to the troubled, an' strength
to the weak-hearted, an' rise up them that fall."

A week later Mr. Tregenza heard how Albert Vallack had burst a blood-vessel
and died, fighting horribly with awful invisible terrors.

"Another sawl gone down into the Pit," he said. "I reckon fewer an' fewer
be chosen every year as the world do grow older an' riper for the last
fires."