"Such an excellent man! so interested in everything—a clergyman, my dear Miss Bates, and so good! How could there be anything painful connected with his death?" etc. etc.
I suggested that, as Christians, we had the most overwhelming proof that holiness of life does not always preclude even mental suffering at death; but she would not hear of this argument, and doubtless considered it blasphemous.
By dint of questioning, however, I made two discoveries—first, that the death was quite unexpected. The man had only been a fortnight in the house, and when I expressed surprise that he should have been moved there so late in a fatal illness, she said unguardedly:
"Oh, but he was very slightly ill when he came—it was more a preventive measure. None of us had any idea that he was a dying man, the symptoms developed so suddenly."
I also elicited another fact—i.e. that this delightfully interesting personality "so intellectual—so full of interest in everything" (to quote Miss Hunter's words), had died at the age of forty, in the very prime of life. No wonder, under the circumstances of so short an illness, in the very zenith of life and enjoyment, that body and soul should have been loath to separate, and thus free the imprisoned spirit! But Miss Hunter was adamant, and would admit nothing.
Just before leaving her, it struck me that I had not yet told her about the text, so I repeated that episode, and then, for the first time, a startled look came into her eyes. She was taken by surprise, and said hastily: "That is extraordinary! I was with him when he died in the night, and he kept on asking for that text. That is not so remarkable, many might have asked for that text, but I stopped once or twice after the first sentence, and he kept on urging me: "Say it to the end, Miss Hunter! Say it to the end!"
Later the good lady even consented to write out the evidential points in this story, which I sent at once to my friend Dr Richard Hodgson.
Immediately upon my return to London on this occasion, I was attacked quite suddenly by a very acute form of rheumatism, which laid me on my back—perfectly helpless—for several days.
When the doctor arrived, his first question was: "Have you had any special shock lately? This particular form of rheumatism does not generally come on with so little warning unless there has been a previous shock."
I was about to deny this, thinking he referred to unexpected news, but with the memory of my Devonshire experience so keen and clear, I felt bound to tell him that I had certainly had a shock to my nerves twenty-four hours previously.