“I said nothing.  I could say nothing.  For my fever was surely as his fever.

“‘Where are we going?’ he asked when we reached the little house of the keeper of the gate by the cemetery.

“‘We cannot walk in the sun,’ I answered.  ’Let us go into the eucalyptus woods.’

“The first Trappists had planted forests of eucalyptus to keep off the fever that sometimes comes in the African summer.  We made our way along a tract of open land and came into a deep wood.  Here we began to walk more slowly.  The wood was empty of men.  The hot silence was profound.  He took off his white helmet and walked on, carrying it in his hand.  Not till we were far in the forest did he speak.  Then he said, ’Father, I cannot struggle on much longer.’

“He spoke abruptly, in a hard voice.

“‘You must try to gain courage,’ I said.

“‘From where?’ he exclaimed.  ’No, no, don’t say from God.  If there is a God He hates me.’

“When he said that I felt as if my soul shuddered, hearing a frightful truth spoken about itself.  My lips were dry.  My heart seemed to shrivel up, but I made an effort and answered: 

“‘God hates no being whom He has created.’

“’How can you know?  Almost every man, perhaps every living man hates someone.  Why not—?’

“‘To compare God with a man is blasphemous,’ I answered.

“’Aren’t we made in His image?  Father, it’s as I said—­I can’t struggle on much longer.  I shall have to end it.  I wish now—­I often wish that I had yielded to my first impulse and killed her.  What is she doing now?  What is she doing now—­at this moment?’

“He stood still and beat with his stick on the ground.

“’You don’t know the infinite torture there is in knowing that, far away, she is still living that cursed life, that she is free to continue the acts of which her existence has been full.  Every moment I am imagining—­I am seeing—­’

“He forced his stick deep into the ground.

“‘If I had killed her,’ he said in a low voice, ’at least I should know that she was sleeping—­alone—­there—­there—­under the earth.  I should know that her body was dissolved into dust, that her lips could kiss no man, that her arms could never hold another as they have held me!’

“‘Hush!’ I said sternly.  ‘You deliberately torture yourself and me.’  He glanced up sharply.

“‘You!  What do you mean?’

“‘I must not listen to such things,’ I said.  ’They are bad for you and for me.’

“‘How can they be bad for you—­a monk?’

“‘Such talk is evil—­evil for everyone.’

“‘I’ll be silent then.  I’ll go into the silence.  I’ll go soon.’

“I understood that he thought of putting an end to himself.

“‘There are few men,’ I said, speaking with deliberation, with effort, ’who do not feel at some period of life that all is over for them, that there is nothing to hope for, that happiness is a dream which will visit them no more.’