During the night his fever increased. He could not sleep, and lay tossing uneasily from side to side, murmuring often to himself:
“Lord, I feel now that Death is near. Good that it comes at last, and yet I fear it. What will Death mean for me? Some hell more terrible than I have lived through all these years? Thy will be done! It will not be tonight, I think. Another day, and then ... Death.... Lord, Thy will be done!”
He lapsed into a state of drowsy helplessness, murmuring still to himself:
“Lord, Lord ... two children were granted me of Thy grace. And to the one was given Thy peace in death; the other has found happiness in life.... I thank Thee, Lord....”
He lay bathed in perspiration; dust and fragments of hay clung to his face and hands.
“Two Women ... Lord, forgive me.... Mercy, Lord....”
He flung himself over on his side and hid his face.
“Father, how often have I sinned against Thee! And knowing my sin, yet hardening my heart. Even then I suffered, but I would not heed, and persevered in sin. Forgive me, Lord.”
For a while he lay still, then turned again. He strove to raise himself, but his strength failed him, and, sinking back, he cried aloud:
“Forgive me, Lord—forgive me, Lord....”