"Surely, now," he thought, "the time of my journey draws near."  But one year and a second and yet a third passed away, and there came to him no call, and he grew wearied with waiting, and weariness begot sullenness and discontent, and he questioned himself: "Was it not a dream of sickness which deceived me?  An illusion of pain and darkness? Why should I waste my life within these walls?"  But immediately afterwards he was filled with remorse, and confessed his thoughts to the Abbot.