There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly watching the struggle.
It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul.
The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them.
Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started up, and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled—madly—blindly—away from the house.
Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone—he only fell upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground.
When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot of an ancient prostrate Cross.
He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!”
He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp stone.
This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward.
He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance.