All was prepared, and when Christmas night came an immense multitude, carrying torches and lighted tapers, poured through the dark, midnight woods to the grotto. The Brethren sang carols as they came, and these were caught up by the people till the forest resounded again and again. Francis himself led this mighty procession to the manger, and there, standing at its head, the oxen and asses pressing close beside him, and the flaring torches lighting up the whole with an unearthly lurid light, he preached to them about the meek and lowly Jesus, Who came to earth to be despised, persecuted, and put to death. It was a time of much blessing, and that night saw a dawning of "peace and goodwill" in souls once darkened and lifeless. [Sidenote: _A Great Task._] But all this time, ever since he returned from Egypt, Francis' health was slowly but surely failing. Weak and ill, and with the lurking fear that the principles of the Order were being undermined, his last two years of life were anything but peaceful ones. Not that there was anything done openly--that was the misery of it; an open, bold innovation could have been taken hold of and dealt with, but Elias was far too politic and clever to do anything that might lead to his being put out of office. Any question of departure from the rules that came up, he always blamed on the Provincial Ministers, and professed to be as grieved over their failure as Francis himself though secretly he supported them. He carefully gave all the truest Franciscans appointments far away from Assisi and Francis, and kept those of his own mind near home. This was not a bad thing for the ultimate success of the Order, because it preserved the real spirit abroad, and when Bernardo di Quintavelle stepped into Elias' place, ultimately, he had all his foes close to hand round home, where the Franciscan principles had taken deepest root. It was hard for Francis when one after another of his faithful followers came to him, and with tears reproached him for having given them into the hands of another. When they at last took in the fact that though the spirit might be willing, the flesh was too weak to do what it had once been able to do, their sorrow knew no bounds. Some of them were almost a little selfish in their grief. "You will pass away," said one. "Your family will remain in the valley of tears. Who can take charge and direct it after you? If you know of one on whom your mind can rest, I conjure you to tell me." "My son," said Francis, with tears, "I see no one around me equal to this task of being shepherd to so great a flock." [Sidenote: _Foes._] Thus, tortured by bodily pain and weakness, and tormented by unseen foes and enemies of all that he counted dearest and most sacred, he entered upon the two last dark years, which were his Valley of the Shadow before the Eternal Sun rose, never to set again.