"For your comfort I can tell you that hell's not what it was," said Henry Norseman kindly. "The more understanding way with respect to it, so parson says, is to believe that it won't last for ever. 'Tis a noble discovery, if true. No man was better pleased to hear the sermon he preached about it than I was. I can say that honestly. If hell's only a matter of centuries and not eternity--think what an uplifting thought for a death-bed! I don't say you're on your death-bed, Friend, and I hope you're not. But some day you will be for certain. And 'tis a great thought that the Lord may be found so forgiving that He'll abolish the place of torment once and for all--so soon as justice have been done. Justice first, of course. Even you, as can't be called a church member, or even chapel--very likely a thousand years will see you through it--or less." "God is Love, my mother used to tell," said the sufferer. "And for that reason we have a right to be hopeful," declared the churchwarden. "And I'm for limiting hellfire heart and soul; though, I warn you, everybody ban't of the same opinion. 'Tis justice against love weighed in the balance of the Almighty Mind; and ban't for us worms to say which will come out top." Sarah Jane returned a little later, and found her father somewhat agitated. "This man reckons I shan't have more than a thousand years in hell, if I'm lucky, Sarah," he said. "'Twas kind of him to come and lift my thoughts. And I said that I'd like to be buried up here 'pon Amicombe Hill, in the peat; but he reckons 'twould be against high religion." "A most profane wish without a doubt," answered Mr. Norseman; "and as a Christian man, let alone other reasons, I shall object to it." Gregory's daughter looked at him, then she turned to her father. "Try and eat a little bit of this, dear heart," she said. "'Twill strengthen you, I'm sure." A moment later she drew herself up, regarded Mr. Norseman, and pointed to the entrance with a simple gesture. "And you--you that could talk of hell to this poor stricken man, whose good life don't harbour one dark hour--you, that can bring your poor church stuff to my father--I'll ax you to leave him if you please. When he dies--and may it be far off from him--he'll go where the large, gentle hearts go--to the God that made him and that watches over the least. He's done man's work and been faithful. He's been loving and kind to all. Not here, nor in heaven, can any harsh word be spoke against my dear, dear father." Mr. Norseman pulled his black beard and began to get annoyed. "This isn't at all the way that Brendon would speak," he said--from the door. "No," she answered. "He's a man, and strong in the arm. He wouldn't speak: he'd do. He'd take you by the neck and fling you back into Lydford--and your horse after you."