The Special Messenger, white to the lips, looked up: “We were on our knees together, Father Corby. You had said the amen, and the bullet struck him—here!... He had no chance for confession.... But you said——”
Her voice failed.
The priest looked at her; she took the dead man’s right hand in hers.
“He was a brave man, Father.... And you said—you said—about those who fell fighting for—their own land—absolution—Christian burial——”
She choked, set her teeth in her under lip and looked down at the dead. The priest knelt, too.
“Is—is all well with him?” she whispered.
“Surely, child——”
“But—his was the—other flag.”
There was a silence.
“Father?”