The darkness was lifting; a faint, nebulous colour
was spreading quietly over the landscape, a faint
breeze was stirring the hair on his brow. Listen . . .
what was that sound to the left? He stood motionless
staring towards the sound. And surely that was a low
white wall with a few poor, straggling buildings
behind it, and beyond those again a close huddle of
roofs? More sounds ... the sudden wail of a child
over there among that huddle of roofs; then wheels
and a short, sharp word of command. Were they
evacuating the village? Did it actually lie in the line
of the troops? It must lie in the line of those oncoming
troops; and with them . . . who was it that mattered
so much, that had always mattered because greatly
loved and greatly loving? Jan, it was Jan . . . love
alone could unveil the eyes of the Spirit. A small
point of light that flashed out through the gloom for
a moment — someone was lighting a lantern.
He had turned from the track and was walking
swiftly towards that dim but incautious glimmer,
His arms were thrust forward and his hands clasped
the rood as though they were clasping a most
precious gift, a priceless gift, 'We are coming/ he
whispered.
And now he had reached the dejected outskirts of
the place and was conscious that he was speaking.
He could hear his own stumbling, choking words;
they amazed him, they sounded very like madness,
but a madness so sublime that his soul leapt and sang:
*I am Christophe. I have come to ask your for-
giveness. With these hands of mine I have killed our
brothers, and yet with these hands I now bring you
God's peace — the peace that passes all understanding.
I have come first to you whom I have most wronged,
but presently I will go out into the world so that the
world may be healed by my message. In the name of
Jesus Christ lay down your arms. He is here, and
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