Reuben said nothing, in spite of the entreaty in Pete's honest eyes, but his heart warmed towards his son. Albert had shown at last proper spirit; he had no doubt realised his baseness, and acknowledged that he had been a fool and villain to betray Odiam. Now he saw how mightily the farm prospered in spite of adversity, he praised its greatness, and no man could praise Odiam without winning a little of Reuben's goodwill. He softened towards the prodigal, and felt that he would like to see the boy--he still called him "the boy," though he was thirty-seven--and if he behaved penitently and humbly, forgive him before he died. That evening he went up to Pete's room. The sound of voices came from it, one exceedingly loud, and it struck Reuben that "that hemmed Methody" was there. He opened the door and looked in. Albert lay propped up in the bed, his hands, wasted into claws, clasped in the attitude of prayer, his eyes protruding strangely above his sunken cheeks, where the skin was stretched on the bones. Pete knelt beside him, his eyes closed, his hands folded, like a child saying its prayers, and at the foot of the bed stood the Rev. Roger Ades, his face contorted with fervour, his arms waving in attitudes that were reminiscent of the boxing ring in spite of his efforts. None of them saw or heard Reuben's entrance, and at that moment they all burst into a hymn: "There's life in the crimson Fountain, There's peace in the Blood of the Slain." A long shudder of disgust went over Reuben's flesh. He was utterly shocked by what he saw. That such things could go on in his house struck him with horror, tinctured by shame. He went out, shutting the door noisily behind him--the softer feelings had gone; instead he felt bitterly and furiously humiliated. The hymn faltered and stopped when the door banged, but the next moment the minister caught it up again, and hurled it after Reuben's indignant retreat: "My soul is all washed to whiteness, And I'll never be foul again. Salvation! Salvation full and free!" § 14. Early in May, Pete came out to Reuben on Boarzell and told him that Albert was dead. Reuben felt a little awkward and a little relieved. "He died quiet, I hope?" "Oh, yes," said Pete, "he laid hold on the merits of Jesus." Reuben started. "It wur a präaper death," continued Pete; "his soul wur washed as white as wool. He wur the prodigal son come höame; he wur the Lord's lost sixpence, I reckon." "And that son of a harlot from Little Bethel wurn't wud him, I trust?" "No, I'm going to fetch him now." His father opened his mouth to forbid him angrily, but changed his mind and said nothing. Pete walked off whistling--"When the cleansing Blood is poured."