"Mercy," cried the soldier uplifting his hand.

"What mercy did you show her?"

The priest could not see but he could feel. His hand seized the other's
throat.

"My father," interposed the nun. "He has confessed. God will forgive,
even as I."

"Who are you?" asked the blind priest, fearfully.

"The woman!" cried the dying man shaking off the other's hand and
lifting himself up.

The sight came back to the priest on the instant. The fierce agony that
filled his blinded eyes seemed to give place to the gentle touch of a
hand upon them. He seemed to hear a mighty word--_Ephphatha_--that meant
"be opened." Light flooded his soul. Looking up he was aware of two
figures. One of the twain, an old man, gray bearded, was appealing to
the other, clad in white raiment and youthful. And the priest suddenly
recalled an old and well-known story of a fellow servant who would not
have mercy.

"Father, forgive--" whispered the man before him.

As the voice of the dying sinner died away in the silence all was dark
again. The priest saw no more, but the horrible pain in his eyes did not
return. Over his torn features came a look of calm. He lifted his arm.
His wavering hand cut the air in the sign of the cross.