At my feet was the small bay, with its white
row of houses buried among the olive trees; the water broke in a long,
thin, white line of foam along the shore; and I leaned my elbows on my
knees. I was tired, very tired; tired with a tiredness that seemed older
than the heat of the day and the shining of the sun on the bricks of the
Roman road; and I lay my head upon my knees; I heard the breaking of the
water on the rocks three hundred feet below, and the rustling of the wind
among the olive trees and the ruined arches, and then I fell asleep there.
I had a dream.
A man cried up to God, and God sent down an angel to help him; and the
angel came back and said, "I cannot help that man."
God said, "How is it with him?"
And the angel said, "He cries out continually that one has injured him; and
he would forgive him and he cannot."
God said, "What have you done for him?"
The angel said, "All--. I took him by the hand, and I said, 'See, when
other men speak ill of that man do you speak well of him; secretly, in ways
he shall not know, serve him; if you have anything you value share it with
him, so, serving him, you will at last come to feel possession in him, and
you will forgive.' And he said, 'I will do it.' Afterwards, as I passed
by in the dark of night, I heard one crying out, 'I have done all. It
helps nothing! My speaking well of him helps me nothing! If I share my
heart's blood with him, is the burning within me less? I cannot forgive; I
cannot forgive! Oh, God, I cannot forgive!'
"I said to him, 'See here, look back on all your past.
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