And Pete replied meditatively, 'I dunno but what it air.'
By degrees, as they reflected upon the incredible idea that a mistake could have been made between the two men, the truth percolated through their minds. It was a voluntary sacrifice.
'He war always preachin' agin killin',' said the old man, 'an' callin' folks,' his voice fell to a whisper—'Cain!'
It was well for him, perhaps, when he presently fell into mental decrepitude, and in vacancy was spared the anguish of remorse.
And Pete fearfully noted the fulfilment of the prophecy.
No one could account for the change in Pete Cayce. He patched up old feuds, and forgave old debts, and forgot his contentious moods, and was meek and very melancholy. And although the parson preached no more, who shall say his sermons were ended? As to him, surely his doubts were solved in knowing all, and perhaps in the exaltations of that sacrificial moment he found Christ.
The mystery of his fate remained unexplained. The search for him flagged after a time, and failed. There were many conjectures, all wide of the truth.
Dorinda believed that, like the prophet of old, he had not been suffered to taste death, but was caught up into the clouds. And with a chastened solemnity she cherishes the last of her illusions.