The trumpet sounded the capture of the city in the morning. The
Avenger, waking late from his troubled sleep, led his soldiers
through the open gate.
It was like a city of the dead, and the bodies of those who had been
killed in the last defense, lay where they had fallen. Empty and
silent were the streets where lie had so often walked in humiliation.
Gone were the familiar faces that had frowned on him and mocked
him. The houses at whose doors he had often knocked were vacant.
His wrath sank within him, and the arrow of solitude pierced him
to the heart.
Then he came to the belfry, and there was the bell-ringer, one of
the worst of his ancient persecutors, standing at the entrance of
the tower.
“Why are you here?” said the Avenger.
“By the orders of King Alaric,” answered the bell-ringer, “to ring
the bells when peace comes to the city.”
“Ring now,” said the Avenger, “ring now!”
Then, at the sound of the bells, the people who had concealed themselves
at Alaric's command came trooping forth from the cellars and caves
where they had been hiding,--old men and women and children, a
motley throng of sufferers.
The Avenger looked at them and the tears ran down his cheeks,
because he remembered.
“Listen,” he said, “don't be afraid. These soldiers are going on
to join their army. You have done me great wrong. But the fire of
hatred is burnt out, and in the ashes of vengeance we are going to
plant the seeds of peace.”
December, 1918.