By an' by he stood
looking up at the green, round wall o' the palace. Above him were
its treasure an' its purple dome. He started upward an' fell
suddenly into a moat, full o' sticky gum, an' there perished. Men,
'tis the law o' God: unless ye sow the seed that bears it, ye shall
not have the honey o' forgiveness. An' remember the seed o'
forgiveness is forgiveness. If any have been hard upon thee,
bearing false witness an' robbing thee o' thy freedom an' thy good
name, go not hence until ye forgive.
"Ah, then the White Guard shall no longer sit in the tower."
The voice had stopped. There was a moment of deep silence. Some
power, greater, far greater, than his words, had gone out of the
man. Those many who sat before him and they standing there by the
door had felt it and were deeply moved. There was a quick stir in
the audience--a stir of hands and handkerchiefs. Trove entered;
the chaplain was now reading a hymn. Darrel sat behind him on a
raised platform, the silken spray upon his brows, long and white as
snow, his face thoughtful and serious. The reading over, he came
and sat among the men, singing as they sang. The benediction, a
stir of feet, and the prisoners began to press about him, some
kissing his hands.
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