"Tell me one thing," he said. "Be you sure that to do this is not to wrong some other--somebody of your own kin who have a right to it all? Can you swear that?" "None has a right. I'm alone in the world. My kin are remote and nothing to me. They are well-to-do, and have no anxiety. You must keep John Prout easy and comfortable until he dies, and also his sister--that's the only condition." "I can't bring it home to my mind. 'Tis too much to happen to a man. I don't know what to say." "Say you're my friend, that's all I want you to say." "'Your friend'! This is not friendship. This is a thing greater than friendship. I know how to thank my God; I don't know what to say to you, master." "Not master. Thank me by calling me 'master' no more. Thank me by seeing me oftener--both of you. Talk to me. Tell me all you believe, and why you believe it. Help me, if you can. Perhaps your God will look to it that you pay me so well that my gift shall be dross to your gold. Stranger things have happened. I'd dearly like to believe in a world beyond this, Daniel, before I go to find out for myself. Now be off for a while. Good-bye--friend Daniel." "Good-bye. I be dumb still--in a maze. I'm surely dreaming this." "Tell nobody--not a soul except your wife. But ask her not to mention it." Brendon went away entranced, and was nearly run over at the corner of the street by a waggon laden with straw. The carter laughed at him. "Ban't often us catches you mooning about in the middle of the road!" he said. Daniel climbed White Hill presently and looked down at Ruddyford. Then his eyes atoned for his lack of imagination, and helped him to understand and realize the prodigious thing that had happened. This place would be his own. He would be master presently, and his child would follow him. It rushed upon him in a wave--drowned him almost, so that he panted for air. His mind turned to Woodrow, and, with heart and soul, he hoped that the farmer might enjoy length of days. He determined with himself that evermore he would add to his prayer for Woodrow that it might please God to let him see Truth before he died. He thought of himself being allowed to make Woodrow a Christian. For a while he gazed, then considered Sarah Jane's joy. Suddenly his mind turned back to Hilary, and next he turned his body back also. He began to understand at last; he yearned to go before the giver again and say a little of what he felt. As for God, Dan believed that he was in His presence all the time. An under-current of thanksgiving rose from his soul, like smoke of incense. Words from his favourite, Isaiah, ran through his head as he swept with great strides back to Lydford: "That He may do His work, His strange work; and bring to pass His act, His strange act," the man kept repeating.