He was silent a moment, then rage broke bounds again. "Let Him take care--let Him that's reigning above Heaven take care, else one more soul will be damned. He can steal everything from me but hell; but that's in all men's reach. We can rob Him of our immortal souls! That's in my power, and why not? What's Heaven to me now? I'd rather follow this devil down--down--if 'tis only to hunt and harry him through raging fire for evermore! ... Even that I'll do ... when she's gone. Evil for evil will I pay my God, and choose my portion with them that ruined me!" "Man, man--I implore you by my grey hairs, Daniel!" "Curse your grey hairs! who are you to squeak? You helped this man to hell--you know it! Cold he be now--but he'll roast for it for ever; and may it be mine to trample him into the hot eye of the fire, till he's red through, and the marrow runs out of his damned bones! Why is he dead--why is he dead now? I was his death--fashioned by the Almighty's plan to be his death--born to be his death. Bring him back! Bring him back! Be the God of Ages a fool to let all His planning and plotting fall to nought? Who is Death to stand grinning between me and this filthy clay? Be he stronger than the God that conquered him? Curse him, and curse heaven and hell that's caught this man away from me in his last hour." Now he seemed to realize the other's absolute escape; and he lifted his voice, howled horribly, turned upon the dead, and struck Woodrow's forehead. Thereupon Prout flung himself at Brendon with all his weak might, and cried shame, and called upon him to be a man and not a beast. But Daniel swept him off and went out. CHAPTER XIV THE LONELY ALTARS Before noon on the day after Hilary Woodrow's death two men advanced towards Ruddyford farm. One went slowly on foot; the other rode as hard as his horse could carry him. While Brendon climbed White Hill and stopped for several minutes beside the cairns upon its summit, Jarratt Weekes leapt off his horse at the farmyard gate and hurried into the house. He had learnt that Brendon was returning home from Lydford station, and he had instantly set out to go before him and give Sarah Jane warning. Not, however, until his arrival at Ruddyford did he realize the whole truth or appreciate the effects of his recent action. It was Sarah Jane herself who told him, and his terror at the recital contrasted forcibly with her calmness. "Agg broke all to me yesterday," she said. "My husband went to Dawlish to kill Woodrow. I want no words with you, nor any other man now. You can't alter what's got to be." "For God's sake let me save you!" he implored. "'Tis murder on my soul for ever if he does you any hurt." "See you to that," she said; then she turned to Tabitha Prout. "I know my way clear enough. The man's on the road. When he comes, you can tell him that I be gone up-along to the peat works, and have taken the boy with me. He'll understand."