“If I could believe you now....”
“You can—you must. It is long since these lips framed a lie—never in the life of Guest the One-eyed have they spoken falsely.”
The widow looked at him earnestly, doubt and hope struggling in her mind. Guest the One-eyed leaned towards her, his face deathly pale, and whispered:
“He of whom I speak—he, too, was born as the fruit of a sin—but a sin that is, or will be soon, I trust, atoned for.”
The woman was weeping now, but they were tears of relief rather than despair. “I cannot fathom it all,” she murmured. “But I believe you.”
Guest the One-eyed smiled sadly, and cast a grateful glance to heaven.
Later in the day, Guest the One-eyed became feverish, and the pain in his shoulder became acute. He could not hide the fact that he was suffering, and the widow wished him to go to bed at once and remain there for the present. But he obstinately refused even to stay in the house.
“I have farther yet to go,” he said, with his sad, kindly smile.
As he was leaving, he asked suddenly: