There was a clatter on the ice as a gun dropped and another clatter as a similar weapon struck the stone opposite. The two men bent forward, their hands outstretched. They took a step as if to touch the figure and there was nothing there! The hands met. They clasped warmly in the cold against each other.
"My God, what was that?" said the stalker.
"I don't know," answered the other.
"A pierced side!"
"Was it—"
"No. It couldn't be."
"Well, we worship the same God and—"
Ah, they were seen. There were quick words of command from the trenches, a staccato of rifle-shots, and two bodies lay side by side, hands still clasped, while the snow reddened and reddened beneath them.
And it was Christmas eve.