The sword of the eternal is too heavy for my arm.

Allow me, then, to avoid dishonor by death; let me take refuge in martyrdom.

I do not ask you for liberty, as a guilty one would, nor for vengeance, as would a pagan.

Let me die; that is all.

I supplicate you, I implore you on my knees--let me die, and my last sigh shall be a blessing for my preserver." Hearing that voice, so sweet and suppliant, seeing that look, so timid and downcast, Felton reproached himself.