by any act of his own. He really believed their treatment mistaken. 'My malady is beyond your skill,' he said to them; and again to Wylie, 'Ah, my friend, I think you are deceived as to the nature of my illness; it is my nerves that need a cure.' Wylie bore witness afterwards that throughout those days, so sad for the watchers, and to the very end, he 'continued to rest upon Christ as his only hope. His greatest pleasure was to have the Scriptures read to him; and he often requested his attendants to leave him alone, doubtless that he might hold communion with God in prayer.'[1]
"One loving, tireless watcher scarcely quitted him night or day. New strength seemed poured upon the feeble frame and timid spirit of the gentle Elizabeth. Rising almost from her own bed of sickness to watch beside his, yet she never failed, never faltered; even in the most terrible hours of agony no entreaties could win her from his side. And strength was given her to the end. His last word, his last look was for her. She had her reward."
"Thank God!" murmured Clémence—"thank God!"
"When at last Wylie told him his danger,—'Then you really believe I am dying?' he said, looking him earnestly in the face. Wylie assented. 'The best news I have heard for many years,' returned he, pressing Wylie's hand. The Archimandrite Fedotof was summoned to act as his confessor. Their interview was very brief; but the priest said that 'he had never seen more Christian humility, or a dying man more thoroughly prepared.' Afterwards, with Elizabeth, he partook for the last time of the memorials of his Saviour's love. No doubt Christ drew very near him then; for a look of exceeding peace and rest came over his worn, suffering face, and he said to Elizabeth that he had never been so happy in all his life. Summoning the physicians again, he gently told them to do what they pleased, he would no longer object to anything.
- ↑ Life of William Allen.
