“No, no,” cried the girl. “Not my hand!” and leaning over him she kissed him on the brow. His eyes were still upon her.
“Thank you,” he said feebly, a rare, beautiful smile lighting up the white face. “You make me believe in God's mercy.”
There was a quick movement in the group and Smith was kneeling beside the dying man.
“God's mercy, Mr. Raven,” he said in an eager voice, “is infinite. Why should you not believe in it?”
Raven looked at him curiously.
“Oh, yes,” he said with a quaintly humorous smile, “you are the chap that chucked Jerry away from the door?”
Smith nodded, then said earnestly:
“Mr. Raven, you must believe in God's mercy.”
“God's mercy,” said the dying man slowly. “Yes, God's mercy. What is it again? 'God—be—merciful—to me—a sinner.'” Once more he opened his eyes and let them rest upon the face of the girl bending over him. “Yes,” he said, “you helped me to believe in God's mercy.” With a sigh as of content he settled himself quietly against the shoulders of his dead horse.
“Good old comrade,” he said, “good-by!” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. They waited for another, but there was no more.