For the first time she spoke.
“Yes, I saw him,” she said. “He was just the same as when, you saw him last. He was not the man to change, nor was he the man to expect that others would change.”
He looked at her with something of a puzzled expression on his face.
“Change? Change? You mean that he—I don't quite know what you mean, Agnes. Change?”
“He never changed in his belief in you. When people took it for granted that you were dead—years ago—how many years ago?—he believed that you were alive—that you would one day return. He believed that and never changed in his faith. I believed it too.”
“And that is the man whose life was taken by a ruffian who remains alive to-day!”
He had sprung to his feet once more, and was speaking in a voice tremulous with passion. He had ignored her reference to herself and her changeless faith.
“He was a man whose soul was full of mercy,” she said. “Every one here has heard of his many acts of mercy. There was no one too black for him to pardon. The merciful are those whom Christ pronounced blessed.”
“It is not possible that you have set yourself to exculpate the murderer,” he cried.
“It is not for me to exculpate him,” she replied. “But I know that our God is a God of mercy. Are you not a living witness to that? Were not you spared when every one of your company was lost?”