"You don't blame me?"
"Who be I to blame you? No man on earth have ever had a better master than what you have been to me."
"And no man ever loved a man better than you have loved me, John. Well I know it."
So oftentimes they talked, and when Hilary was unequal to speech he made Prout read to him and rehearse those things that he best liked to hear repeated.
Sometimes, however, the sick man cared for no company other than his thoughts; and then he would bid John depart, and for hours together brood upon the past and survey his vanished deeds in the light of present belief. A fading memory served to dim their details, and what was left faith much distorted. He remembered the glow and glory of the first kiss, and loathed that damnable contact as the beginning of the master-sin of his days; he beheld himself imparadised in those lovely arms; and he shuddered and saw all hell watching with hungry eyes.
Woodrow knew that he would not return to Ruddyford. He had planned to die there; but now he was indifferent, and already pictured his own mound under the shadow of the old church at Dawlish. He was desirous, however, to take leave of his few friends, and invited Prout to plan their visits in such a way that they should not know these meetings must be the last.
Miss Prout first came and spent three days. With her she brought little dishes made with her own hands; and while she remained at Dawlish she spent most of her time in the kitchen, to the concern of the landlady, who resented Tabitha. Hilary cared not much for Prout's sister, and bade her good-bye indifferently. She returned home with a black story of his decline, and foretold that he must soon pass. Next Daniel went down, but the time was full of work, and he stayed a very short while. To speak became increasingly difficult for Woodrow; yet he liked to listen to Daniel, and came to him in some respects as a learner. He invited Brendon to preach to him, and the earnestness and conviction of the big man impressed him. Old instincts awoke to the challenge at these dogmatic utterances, but the sufferer smothered them. He believed them no more than a mere mechanical process of the brain—a reflex action persisting after the death of the habit of thought that was responsible for it. He made himself believe all that Brendon did. And, last of all, he believed in hell, because Christ did.
Hilary was frank with Daniel, and did not hide his approaching end.
"I shall hope to see you once more," he said. "And that will be the last time. I should much wish you to be with me when I die, if that is not a selfish wish. Would you mind?"
"No. I want to be with you then. Do you like the minister here? Is he the right man for you?"