"'Forgive me, forgive me, my own mother. I am very guilty,' repeated the dying man.
"'My son, my dear son Paul, God will forgive you,' wept the sorrowing woman.
"I could stand the scene no longer, and I withdrew. When later I returned, some of the sick prisoners came up and thanked me for the great joy I had given to Rostchin.
"Once more was I thrilled to find such feelings in these poor prisoners, themselves suffering and outcast, yet rejoicing with their fellow-sufferer. It is easy to weep with those who weep, but when one's own heart is sad and suffering, is it so easy to rejoice with those that rejoice? Envy so easily creeps in.
"Rostchin did not live long after the visit of his mother. Having received her pardon, he became calmer, asked for the clergyman, and once more received the Holy Sacrament. His death was that of a good Christian. His sufferings were great, but he remained still in the same peaceful disposition. Before he breathed his last, he repeated again and again, 'Forgive, forgive!'
"It is interesting to note that his mother did not remain until the end, but, having pardoned and blessed her son, asked to be sent back to her home.
"This is characteristically Russian. Having satisfied herself that his soul was prepared to meet his God, she was less anxious about the dying body, asking only to be informed when God had called him away.
"I let her know when all was over, and in reply received a simple and touching letter, in which she begged me to 'go to his grave, take from it a handful of earth, and send it to me.'
"What treasures lie hidden in the faithful soul of the simple Russian!"