The priest suddenly sat upright. He shook off the sister's restraining hand. He tore the bandage from his own face. He bent over the dying man as he murmured the woman's name.
"Wretch," he cried, "look at me."
His face was gashed and cut and torn but something remained by which the other recognized him.
"You!" he cried shrinking away.
"I loved her, too," said the priest. "I would have married her. When she went away with you Holy Church received me."
"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.