"We waited several days in this place, and he grew very weak, suffering
much, but always suffering patiently and with a brave cheerfulness
that was inexpressibly sorrowful. It was on a Sunday morning that he
touched me just between the dawn and the daylight, and said 'Richard,
I have been dreaming of Hallam and of my mother. She is waiting for
me. I will sleep no more in this world. It is a beautiful world!'
During the day I never left him, and we talked a great deal about the
future, whose mystery he was so soon to enter. Soon after sunset he
whispered to me the wrong he had done, and which he was quite sure you
were retrieving. He acknowledged that he ought to have told me before,
but pleaded his weakness and his dread of losing the only friend he
had. It is needless to say I forgave him, forgave him for you and for
myself; and did it so heartily, that before I was conscious of the act
I had stooped and kissed him.
"About midnight he said to me, 'Pray, Richard;' and surely I was helped
to do so, for crowding into my memory came every blessed promise, every
comforting hope, that could make the hour of death the hour of victory.
And while I was saying, 'Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the
sin of the world,' he passed away. We were quite alone. The men were
sleeping around, unconscious of 'Him that waited.
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