Pete was a very innocent soul. He had spoilt many a man's beauty for him, but he had never been the slave of a woman's. He had broken arms and ribs, and noses by the score--and he had once nearly killed a man, and only just escaped being arrested for manslaughter; but he had remained through it all an innocent soul. He had always lived in the open air, always worked hard, always fought hard--his recreations had been whistling and sleep. He had never thought about sin or evil of any kind, he had never troubled about sex except as it manifested itself in the brutes he had the care of, he had never read or talked bawdry. All the energies of his nature had been poured into hard work and hard blows. Therefore the confessions of a man like Albert came upon him as a revelation. Indeed, at first he scarcely understood them. They disquieted him and sometimes made him nervous and miserable, not because he had any very definite moral recoil, but because they forced him to think. Few can gauge the tragedy of thinking when it visits an unthinking soul. For the first time in his life Pete found himself confused, questioning, lying awake of nights and asking "why?" The world suddenly showed itself to him as a place which he could not understand. It frightened him to think about it. Sometimes he was acutely miserable, but he would not betray his misery to Albert, as the poor fellow seemed to find relief in his confidences. And on and on the stream flowed, swifter and muddier every day. § 12. At last matters reached a climax. It was late in March; Albert was much worse, and even the doctor looked solemn. "He won't last till the summer," he said in answer to one of Pete's questions, and unluckily the sick man heard him. When Pete went back into the room he found him struggling under the bedclothes, the sweat trickling down his face. "Pete!" he cried chokingly--"I won't die!--I won't die!" "And you wöan't, nuther," said Pete, soothing him. "But I heard what the doctor said to you." Pete was at a loss. He could lie if the lie were not too constructive, but in a case like this he was done for. "Well, döan't you fret, nohow," he murmured tenderly. But it was no good telling Albert not to fret. He threw himself from side to side in the bed, moaned, and almost raved. For months now he had known that he must die soon, but somehow the idea had not really come home to him till this moment. He would not let Pete leave him, though there was a load of mangolds to be brought in; he clung to his brother's hand like a child, and babbled of strange sins. "I've been so wicked--I daren't die. I've been the lowest scum. I'm lost. Pete, I'm damned--I shall go to hell." Albert had been known openly to scoff at hell, whereas Pete had never thought much about it. Now it confronted them both under a new aspect--the scoffer trembled and the thoughtless was preoccupied.