He knew his own danger, but he heeded it not. All things, he was persuaded, worked together for good to them that loved God; besides, what had he to live for?—his poor sheep—the lepers? Yes; but God could raise up a better man than he, so in his humility he thought; and if he were—called home——
Did not the thought of that Purgatory, which was in the Creed of his time, come between him and the notion of rest?
Not at all; he was content to leave all that; if his Father thought he needed such correction, he was willing to pass through it; and like a dear son to kiss the rod, as he had done on earth, safe in the hands of his Father.
Neither did his thoughts turn much to the Saints. Of course he believed, as every one did then, that it was right to invoke them—and he had done so that day in the prescribed commendatory prayers for the dying; but, as stars fade away in the presence of the sun, so did all these things fade away before his love for the central sun of his soul—his crucified Lord.
The hours passed away in rapt emotion; he never felt so happy as that afternoon.
Then came the grave-digger.
"The grave is ready."
"Tell brother John to come and help."
"I do not think he is able; he seems unwell himself."