"Almighty, ever-living God, Maker of mankind, who dost correct those whom Thou dost love——"
All the time the triumphant words reverberated through the room the dying woman was praying fervently, her lips moving to her unspoken words and her eyes shining as if the Lord of Life she had always loved was with her now and she was giving herself to Him—her soul, her all.
The Consul-General was praying too—praying for the first time to the God he did not know and had never looked to—
"If Thou art God, let her die in peace. It is all I ask—all I wish."
Thus the two old people took the sacrament together, and when the Communion Service came to a close, the old lady looked again at the Consul-General and asked, with a little confusion, if they might sing a hymn.
The old man bent his head, and a moment later the Chaplain, after a whispered word from the dying woman, began to sing—
"Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near ..."
At the second bar the old lady joined him in her breaking, cracking voice, and the Consul-General, albeit his throat was choking him, forced himself to sing with her—
"When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep..."
It was as much as the Consul-General could do to sing of a faith he did not feel, but he felt tenderly to it for his wife's sake now, and with a great effort he went on with her to the end—