seized and made me over. My palms still bleed from the wounds you gave out of your secret mind.”
The Priest shook his head, dazed.
“Just a moment more … wait …”
He gazed steadily, hungrily, at the darkness where the Ghost stood out of the light. That face was beautiful. And, oh, those hands were loving and beyond all description.
The Priest nodded, a sadness in him now as if he had within the hour come back from the true Calvary. And the hour was gone. And the coals strewn dying on the sand near Galilee.
“If—if I let you go—”
“You must, oh you must!”
“If I let you go, will you promise—”
“What?”
“Will you promise to come back?”
“Come back?” cried the figure in the darkness.
“Once a year, that’s all I ask, come back once a year, here to this place, this font, at the same time of night—”
“Come back … ?”
“Promise! Oh, I must know this moment again. You don’t know how important it is! Promise, or I won’t let you go!”
“I—”
“Say it! Swear it!”
“I promise,” said the pale Ghost in the dark. “I swear.”
“Thank you, oh thanks.”
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