Then the prior began to suffer the agonies of the disease, terrible pains shot through his head and neck; he could not swallow. It was a slow starvation; the torment kept him awake through night after night, and only occasionally his very exhaustion gave him a little relief so that he slept. Thinner and thinner he became, and his whole mouth was turned into a putrid, horrible sore. But yet he never murmured. Brother Jasper knelt by his bed, looking at him pitifully.
'How can you suffer it all? What have you done that God should give you this? Was it not enough that you were blind?'
'Ah, I saw such beautiful things after I became blind—all heaven appeared before me.'
'It is unjust—unjust!'
'My son, all is just.'
'You drive me mad!... Do you still believe in the merciful goodness of God?'
A beautiful smile broke through the pain on the old man's face.
'I still believe in the merciful goodness of God!'
There was a silence. Brother Jasper buried his face in his hands and thought brokenheartedly of his own affliction. How happy he could be if he had that faith.... But the silence in the room was more than the silence of people who did not speak. Jasper looked up suddenly.
The prior was dead.