“Do you trust in Lord Gaudama in a moment like this?” inquired the missionary, uncertain for whom the act of worship was intended. There was a quick tremor in the shut lids, and the poor Sah-ya unclosed his eyes with an expression of mingled pain and disappointment; while the death-heavy hands slid from their position back upon the pillow.
“Lord Jesus, receive his spirit,”[spirit,”] exclaimed the missionary, solemnly.
A bright, joyous smile flitted across the face of the dying man, parting the lips, and even seeming to shed light upon the glazed eyes; a sigh-like breath fluttered his bosom for a moment; the finger which he had before striven to lift, pointed distinctly upward, then fell heavily across his breast; and the disembodied spirit stood in the presence of its Maker.
The thrilling death-wail commenced with the departure of the breath; for although several who had been most assiduous in their attentions, glided away when it was ascertained that he who would have awarded their fidelity was gone; there were yet many who were prevented, some by real affection, some by family pride, from so far yielding to their fears, as to withhold the honors due to the departed.
“You had better go now,” whispered the woman, “you can do no further good, and may receive harm.”
“And who are you that you have braved the danger to yourself of bringing me here?”
“Pass on, and I will tell you.”
They drew near the body of the child, which, by the rush to the other apartment, had been left, for a moment, alone.
“See!” said the woman, lifting the cloth reverently. A copy of the Gospel of Matthew lay on his bosom.
“Who placed it there?”