"Falsely accused, exiled, starving and cold, I faltered--this I confess. As the death-chills overcame me, I lost will and purpose, and felt the bottomless callousness of fate. But then, a vision: I saw in my mind's eye an endless white plain, with only a single figure, waiting. It was you. And I knew, in death if not in life, I would see you again. When the chills faded, I rose with new hope. I paint my mark here for you, in anticipation of our meeting, and leave you this offering, though it will never touch the warmth of your hands."