Hell's bigger'n Heaven; an' er's need to be, for Heaven's like to
be a lonely plaace, when all's said. I won't speak no more 'bout that
subjec'. 'Tis good fashion weather for 'e just now, an us'll hope as you
ban't gwaine to die for many a day."
"Say it out, mister, say it out. I knaws what you means. You reckons if I
gaws I'm lost."
"My poor sawl, justice is justice; an' the Lard's all for justice an' no
less. Theer's no favorin' wi' Him, Albert."
"But mightn't He favor the whole bilin' of us--good'n bad--cause He made
us?"
"Surely not. Wheer's the justice o' that? If He done that, how'd the godly
get their fair dues--eh? Be the righteous man to share God's Heaven wi'
publicans an' sinners? That ed'n justice anyhow. Don't fret, lad; tears
won't mend bad years. Bide quiet an' listen to me whiles I pray for 'e."
The man in the bed had grown very white, his eyes burned wildly out of a
shrunken face, and he gripped the sheets and shivered in pure physical
terror.
"I caan't die, I caan't die, not yet," he groaned, "pray to the Lard to
keep me from dyin' yet a while, mister. Arsk en to give me just a lil time,
'cause I'm that sorry for my scarlet sins."
Thereupon Michael knelt, clasped his hands so close that the bent
finger-joints grew white, raised his massive head upward and prayed with
his eyes closed. The intercession for life ended, he rose up, shook Vallack
by the hand, and so departed.
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