"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.
"Absolvo te," he murmured as he pitched forward dead upon the breast of the dying.
And the woman tenderly covered them over.
Absolvo te.