There was no house
in sight, and we were obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the
merciless storm. We covered him with mats and blankets, and held our
umbrellas over him, all to no purpose. I was obliged to stand and see
the storm beating upon him till his mattress and pillows were drenched
with rain. We hastened on, and soon came to a Tavoy house. The
inhabitants at first refused us admittance.... After some persuasion,
they admitted us into the house, or rather veranda; for they would not
allow us to sleep inside, though I begged the privilege for my sick
husband with tears.... The rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so
that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor. Having found a place
where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through
openings in the floor, I threw myself down, without undressing, beside
my beloved husband."
Thus they passed the last night of his life; and, before another night,
it was but a lifeless corpse that the attendants were bearing back to
her now desolate home.
In her grief and loneliness, her heart doubtless yearned for the
soothing sympathy of her kindred and friends in her native land. Who
would have censured her, if in view of what had been achieved among the
natives since their coming to Tavoy, and of all the trials and toils and
dangers of her Indian life, it had seemed to her that her work was
accomplished; and that it would then be no desertion of duty for her,
with her little boy to educate, to return to America? If, during the
first sad days of her bereavement, such thoughts flitted through her
mind, they did not long find lodgment there.
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