I write of this at some
length, since the matter has been a trouble to me. I never could say
that I was in charity with all men living and dead, and because of this,
some years since, a worthy and learned rector of this parish took upon
himself to refuse me the rites of the church. Then I went to the bishop
and laid the story before him, and it puzzled him somewhat.
But he was a man of large mind, and in the end he rebuked the rector
and commanded him to minister to me, for he thought with me that the
Almighty could not ask of an erring man, that he should forgive one who
had wrought such evils on him and his, even though that enemy were dead
and gone to judgment in another place.
But enough of this question of conscience.
When de Garcia was gone into the pit, I turned my steps homewards, or
rather towards the ruined city which I could see beneath me, for I had
no home left. Now I must descend the ice cap, and this I found less
easy than climbing it had been, for, my vengeance being accomplished, I
became as other men are, and a sad and weary one at that, so sad indeed
that I should not have sorrowed greatly if I had made a false step upon
the ice.
But I made none, and at length I came to the snow where the travelling
was easy. My oath was fulfilled and my vengeance was accomplished, but
as I went I reckoned up the cost.
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