He stooped over her to hear what she might wish to say.
“Dear friend, must I die?” she whispered.
“I pray not—I earnestly pray not, my child,” answered the pastor, with ill-suppressed emotion.
“But you believe that I must.”
“No, no—”
“Don’t try to deceive yourself or me, dear friend. You believe that I must die. All the others seem to know that I must. I see it in every face.”
“My child, my child, the Lord of Heaven and earth is also the Lord of life and death. He is able to save to the uttermost the body as well as the soul. Pray and believe and live,” said the pastor, trying to control his agitation.
“I would rather submit myself to His will. I do not fear death. But——”
Erminie paused, her strength failed, her senses wandered for a moment, her eyes filmed over, and her chin dropped.
Was it a swoon? Or was it death?