"Lydia, I have a pain in my side. Be quick, my dear, it is very acute."
The remedy was brought but gave no relief.
On the 11th of January, a woman sat with tightly-closed hands and wild agonized eyes watching the breath of the being she loved better than life itself, slowly cease.
"Lydia," the dying voice faintly whispered, "it is necessary for me to go. Joseph wants me. It is needful that a messenger be sent with the true condition of the Saints. Don't grieve too much, for you will be protected."
"Oh Newel, don't speak so; don't give up; oh I could not bear it. Think of me. Newel, here in an Indian country alone, with seven little children. No resting place for my feet, no one to counsel, to guide, or to protect me. I cannot let you go."
The dying man looked at her a moment, and then said with a peculiar look: "I will not leave you now Lydia."
As the words left his lips, an agony of suffering seemed to seize him. His very frame trembled with the mighty throes of pain.
The distracted wife bore his agony as long as she could, but at last, flinging herself on her knees, she cried to God to forgive her if she had asked amiss, and if it was really His will for her husband to die, that the pain might leave him and his spirit go in peace.
The prayer was scarcely over ere a calm settled on the sufferer, and with one long loving look in the eyes of his beloved wife, the shadow lifted and the spirit fled.