human
I do not wish to live, mother, repeated Mittie, after this ebullition of sensibility had subsided.
gpt
I can never again be happy. I never can make others happy. I am willing to die. Every time I close my eyes I pray that my sleep may be death, my bed my grave.
human
Ah! my child, pray not for death because you have been saved from the curse of a granted prayer. Pray rather that you may live to atone by a life of meekness and humility for past errors. You ought not to be willing to die with so great a purpose unaccomplished, since God does not now _will_ you to depart. You mistake physical debility for resignation, weariness of life for desire for heaven. Oh, Mittie, not in the sackcloth and ashes of _selfish_ sorrow should the spirit be clothed to meet its God.
gpt
I will tell you why I wish to die. I am now humbled and subdued--conscious and ashamed of my errors, grateful for your unexampled goodness. If I die now, you will shed some tears over my grave, and perhaps say, 'Poor girl! she was so young, and so unhappy--we remember her faults only to forgive them.' But if I live to be strong and healthy as I have been before, I fear my heart will harden, and my evil temper recover all its terrible power. It seems to me now as if I had been possessed by one of those fiends which we read of in the Bible, which tore and rent the bosom that they entered. It is not cast out--it only sleeps--and I fear--oh!--I dread its wakening.
human
Oh, Mittie, only cry, 'Thou Son of David, have mercy on me--' only cry out, from the depths of a contrite spirit--and it will depart, though its name be legion.
gpt
But I fear this contrition may be transitory. I do pray, I do cry out for mercy now, but to-morrow my heart may harden into stone. You, who are so perfect and pious, think it easy to be good, and so it is, on a sick bed--when gentle, watching eyes and stilly steps are round you, and the air you breathe is embalmed with blessings. With returning health the bosom strife will begin. Your thoughts will no longer centre on me. Helen will once more absorb your affections, and then the serpent envy will come gliding back, so cold and venomous, to coil itself in my heart.
human
My child--there is room enough in the world, room enough in our hearts, and room enough in Heaven, for you and Helen too.