On the Saturday morning he awoke as from a hideous nightmare. Before
there was time for thought he was aware of what oppressed and frightened
him. The knowledge of his terrible position weighed him down. He was
worn out and feverishly ill; incapable of reflection or resolution,
conscious chiefly of pain and weariness, and a deep dumb revolt against
his impending condemnation. After lying thus for some time, drinking the
cup of bitterness to the very dregs, he got up, and went downstairs.
Yielding to habit he opened the Bible. But the Book had no message for
him. His tired brain refused, for minutes together, to take in the sense
of the printed words. The servant found him utterly miserable and
helpless when she went to tell him that "the dinner was a-gittin' cold."

The food seemed to restore him, and during the first two hours of
digestion he was comparatively peaceful in being able to live without
thinking; but when the body had recovered its vigour, the mind grew
active, and the self-torture recommenced. For some hours--he never knew
how many--he suffered in this way; then a strange calm fell upon him.
Was it the Divine help which had come at last, or despair, or the
fatigue of an overwrought spirit? He knelt down and prayed once more,
but this time his prayer consisted simply in placing before his Heavenly
Father the exact state of the case. He was powerless; God should do with
him according to His purpose, only he felt unable to resist if the
temptation came up against him. Jesus, of course, could remove the
temptation or strengthen him if He so willed. His servant was in His
hands.

After continuing in this strain for some time he got up slowly, calm but
hopeless. There was no way of escape for him. He took up the Bible and
attempted again to read it; but of a sudden he put it down, and throwing