“He went with Norby to town that time when he signed the paper,” said the wife, who now stood by the table with her hymn-book in front of her, looking anxiously at the priest.
Pastor Borring sat looking at the floor for a little while.
“And now he thinks there’s no pardon for him,” said the wife, wiping her eyes. “But I tell him that Christ died for that sin too?”
The priest still looked down at the floor, but he felt the eyes of the dying man eagerly fixed upon him, and he knew that he must answer when he met those eyes.
If Pastor Borring had been alone and uninfluenced by the moment, he would have answered: “Even if Christ died for your sins, and even if you get to heaven, Wangen may suffer just as much in consequence of your sin.” He had it in his mind to say it, too, but it was another matter to look up and meet the old, frightened eyes.
“Do you think there’s pardon for me?” came at last from the bed; and the priest had to answer.
“Yes,” he said looking up.
“Will you pray for me?” said Lars, turning his quid in his mouth. The priest rose and folded his hands; but what should he pray? He thought of Wangen. But the sun shone brightly in upon the fir-strewn floor, throwing a few beams across the old skin coverlet and on the old man’s shirt. It was like a message from Him who shines upon the good and the evil, thought the priest, and there was such poverty and helplessness in this little cottage, and the two poor old people filled him with a desire to be merciful, and he began to pray God to be merciful.
When he ended, the wife was crying, and the old man lay with his hands folded upon the coverlet, and the tears running down his cheeks. When the priest sat down, he said: “Will you give me the sacrament?”
The priest rose mechanically and opened his bag. He heard the swallows flying past the window outside in the sunshine, and the starling that had its nest up under the eaves. It was like another message to tell him that life was greater than man’s idea of right and wrong.