“Are you particular about seeing him now? I suppose you are not aware how late it is.”
“Yes,” he answered, “it is twelve o’clock;” and his eye shone with a strange intelligence. “I should have sent for him a year ago, had not my heart been so proud and bitter. But I know him. He’ll come now, if it is late.”
There was something unearthly in his manner, and Mrs. McElroy said, rising,–
“It shall be as you request.”
As Mr. Payson entered, the sick man extended his hand, saying,–
“I’m almost through, my friend. I’ve had 235 some sore trials in life,–not so much on my own account as because of those who were too dear to me. We were cruelly wronged, and I have not been quite right here,”–placing his hand upon his forehead,–“and what has made it worse, I have been all wrong here,”–laying his hand upon his heart. “I have doubted everybody, and distrusted my God. I have been hard and scornful, and hated my fellows; but it is different with me now. I have heard that voice speaking to me, that you told us of in the little cabin. He has said unto me, even me, ‘Come,’ and he has given me ‘rest.’ I have had a long, long struggle, but the conflict is over. Ah, He is so different from human creditors! I have been a poor debtor, chased, hunted, oppressed, goaded almost to insanity, and none took pity on me, because I owed them a few paltry dollars, which I had the heart to pay, but, through the robberies of another, and their oppressions, could not. But what a debt I owed my Savior! Yet, without a word of reproach, he has forgiven me all!”
This was spoken with a wondrous energy and clearness of voice; but a deathly paleness began to overspread his face; partial delirium supervened, not raging, as before, but his features lighted up the while with a smile of heavenly 236 beauty, and repeating again, his voice sinking to a whisper,–
“What did the preacher say? ‘Come unto me, and I will give you rest.’ Rest! Rest! It is mine.” His spirit was gone.