Then I would go out swaying, and Nikodime would support me and say hardly audibly:
"God will pardon you, my benefactor."
Nikodime was an insignificant looking little old man, who hid his face from all and called every one his "benefactor." Once I asked him:
"Say, Nikodimushke, are you silent because of a vow?"
"No," he answered; "but just so." Then he sighed. "If I had anything to say, I would say it." "Why did you leave the world?"
"Because I left it."
If you questioned him further, he did not answer at all, but looked into jour face with guilty eyes, and said in a whisper:
"I don't know why, my benefactor."
At times I thought to myself: "Perhaps this man, also, had sought an answer at one time."
And I wanted to run away from the monastery.