Then he passed
through the crisis and got better, and I thanked God, thinking that my
prayers had been answered; oh, how happy I was for those ten days! And
then this happened:--My brother got a chill, a relapse followed, and in
three days he was dead. The last words that he spoke to me were, 'Oh,
don't let me die, Bee!'--he used to call me Bee--'Please don't let me
die, dear Bee!' But he died, died in my arms, and when it was over I
rose from his side feeling as though my heart was dead also. I prayed
no more after that. It seemed to me as though my prayers had been mocked
at, as though he had been given back to me for a little while in order
that the blow might be more crushing when it fell."
"Don't you think that you were a little foolish in taking such a view?"
said Geoffrey. "Have you not been amused, sometimes, to read about the
early Christians?--how the lead would not boil the martyr, or the lion
would not eat him, or the rain from a blue sky put out the fire, and how
the pagan king at once was converted and accepted a great many
difficult doctrines without further delay.
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