Darkness, the darkness as of the
crucifixion night, seemed over and around him. Poor wretch! he
thought he was struggling with his weakness; but he was in reality
struggling against his own strength. WHY had God so decreed? Do
what he could, that fatal WHY, the protest of his reason, asserted
itself; and yet he cursed himself for permitting it, believing it to
be a sin. He walked about his room for some relief. He looked out
of the window. It was getting late; the sky was clearing, as it does
in London at that hour, and he saw the stars. There was nothing to
help him there. They mocked him rather with their imperturbable,
obstinate stillness. At last he turned round, fell upon his knees,
and poured out himself before his Maker, entreating Him for light.
He rose from the ground, looked again out of the window, and the
first flush of the morning was just visible. Light was coming to the
world in obedience to the Divine command, but not to him. He was
exhausted, and crept into his bedroom, undressing without candle, and
without a sound. For a few minutes he thought he should never sleep
again, save in his grave; but an unseen Hand presently touched him,
and he knew nothing till he was awakened by the broad day streaming
over him.
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