He knew he had passed sentence of death upon himself, knew he had been led to sin by his own arrogance of soul.
It came to him in all its bare, hard simplicity, stripped of the illusions and conceits in which his pride had draped it, thrusting sharp blades of self-condemnation through his heart.

In that moment he doubted all things.

He knew he had sinned past his own forgiveness, even if pardon had come from on high; knew that no agony of spear and thorns upon the cross could avail to take him from the hell to which his own conscience had sent him.
He was quite broken.

Not since the long-gone night on the river-flat across from Nauvoo had tears wet his eyes.

But they fell now, and from sheer, helpless grief he wept.