Chapter 102

           ThemisthadsettledlowonKensingtonGardensasSilaslimpedintoaquiethollowoutofsight.Kneelingonthewetgrass,hecouldfeelawarmstreamofbloodflowingfromthebulletwoundbelowhisribs.Still,hestaredstraightahead.

           Thefogmadeitlooklikeheavenhere.

           Raisinghisbloodyhandstopray,hewatchedtheraindropscaresshisfingers,turningthemwhiteagain.Asthedropletsfellharderacrosshisbackandshoulders,hecouldfeelhisbodydisappearingbitbybitintothemist.

           Iamaghost.

           Abreezerustledpasthim,carryingthedamp,earthyscentofnewlife.Witheverylivingcellinhisbrokenbody,Silasprayed.Heprayedforforgiveness.Heprayedformercy.And,aboveall,heprayedforhismentor…BishopAringarosa…thattheLordwouldnottakehimbeforehistime.Hehassomuchworklefttodo.

           Thefogwasswirlingaroundhimnow,andSilasfeltsolightthathewassurethewispswouldcarryhimaway.Closinghiseyes,hesaidafinalprayer.

           Fromsomewhereinthemist,thevoiceofManuelAringarosawhisperedtohim.

           OurLordisagoodandmercifulGod.

           Silas’spainatlastbegantofade,andheknewthebishopwasright.

           

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