Before the row of dwellings wherein the sick man lay, Daniel became puzzled, for he had forgotten the house. It was only by chance that he rang at the right one. Some time elapsed before any answer came; then the door opened upon darkness, and Brendon did not know that it was Prout who stood before him. "Who bides here?" he asked, and his voice startled him, for the tone was strange. "Death, my son," answered the other. Brendon pushed the old man aside, strode in, and then found that John told the truth. Hilary Woodrow lay in his bed. The room was lighted by a gas chandelier, but only one jet burnt there. Brendon's mind leapt over the abysses of the last four-and-twenty hours. "This is not him," he said. "You've dragged that doll back again to deceive me!" "He died afore noon to-day, and yours was the last name on his lips in this world. Maybe the first in the next." "Let him scream it in hell--the blasted, faithless villain! Dead--he's not dead--he knows what I'm here for--he's foxing now, as he has foxed me all his life--foul, heartless, godless monster that he was!" "Daniel--Daniel--for God's sake--a dead man, Daniel!" "Out on his death and out on you, you go-between! To hold my hand and swear friends, and help them into each other's arms behind my back--God of light and reason! why be such rank poison as you allowed to----?" He broke off and stared where the colourless clay of his master gazed blankly up--just as the doll had gazed. Insolence seemed to sit on the dust--the insolence of a mean spirit that had narrowly escaped harm and now, in safety, turned to jeer. Brendon roared and cursed the corpse, while Prout implored him to be sane. "This happened five years ago and more," cried the old man; "'twas all over then for ever." "All over--for them it might have been. What of me? ... All over but the payment.... What of me, I say? ... Blight his dim, damned eyes--blight him lying there and telling the truth with his dumb lips now he's safe from me.... What of me? 'All ended'! It's only begun for me. The reaping's mine--the reaping of this devil's crop. Mine to put in God's sickle now!" "Nought but the whirlwind will you reap, poor man. Turn to your God, and don't blaspheme Him. Call on Him, afore you do what can't be undone. For pity, Daniel--for pity. He's gone to answer for what he did. Leave her to God too." The man grew calmer and reflected before answering. "Mine's a difficult God, you must know," he said. "He's come between again. Only vengeance be God's, but justice belongs to us seemingly. This wasn't justice--to let that lying adulterer slip away in peace like he has! I comed to strangle him, and God's stepped between again--robbed me again. 'Tis almost more than a faithful soldier and servant can endure, John Prout. Job's self wasn't called to face a thing like this. I've been deserted, look you, for no fault of my own. Robbed--robbed of all my earnings, and my honour, and my hopes."