But the weight would go on, and somehow from
somewhere she would summon strength to bear it. But after a while his
frail strength would be exhausted, and he would have to fall back on the
bed, fighting for breath and with every struggle increasing the sense of
suffocation. But all the time, when his breath would let him, he would
pray for courage--as time went on he prayed more for courage to bear his
burden than for alleviation of it, though sometimes a Gethsemane prayer
would be wrung from him.
"O Lord," he would whisper, his trembling hand gripping the girl's arm
until it bruised the flesh, "I am the work of Thy hands. Break me if
Thou wilt. But give me courage not to cry out at the breaking."
One night when it became impossible, because of the stiffness and
heaviness of his swollen legs, for him to walk about, he prayed for
death, and Marcella, forced to her knees by his passionately pleading
eyes, sobbed at his words.
"Lord, I am trying hard to be patient with Thee," he gasped. "But I am
man and Thou art God. I cannot match Thy patience with mine. I am trying
so hard not to cry out beneath Thy hand. But give me more courage--more
courage, O Lord, or I must play the coward. Take Thy cup from me until
to-morrow, when I shall have more strength to lift it to my lips--or let
me die, Lord, rather than crack like this.
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