For a little time the operation seems to have succeeded, and the winter passed away with alternations of good and bad health. Francis spent the largest portion of his time in prayer and meditation, and after that he was able to see the number who daily begged for the privilege of visiting him for consultation and help. His memory, writes a historian, served him for a book, and furnished him with the principles and facts he needed on every subject. "The important thing," Francis used to say to himself, "is not to have understood a great number of truths, but sincerely to love each truth--to let each one penetrate the heart by degrees, to let it rest there, to have the same object in view for a long time, to unite one's self to it more by the sentiment of the heart than by subtle reflections." In the early days of spring Francis was seized with such a violent hemorrhage that everyone thought his end had come. Elias was hastily sent for, but before he could arrive all immediate danger was past. However, as soon as he was able, Francis determined to travel back to Assisi. His was the true Italian nature, whose heart always turns towards home, as a sunflower to the sun! He must have had a revival of strength just here, because we read of his standing on a stone in the cemetery at Cortona, preaching to the people. But he was not deluded into thinking that this meant recovery. Oh, no, he told the people plainly that he was on his way to Assisi to die. For two months he stayed in Cortona, detained there by the people, who refused to part with him, and then he was seized with dropsy and fever. He begged to be taken back to his native land. It was his last wish, and they at once carried out his desire. For fear the Perugians--through whose town they had to pass--would also try to detain him, Elias sent a messenger to the magistrates of Assisi asking them for an escort back. The magistrates immediately sent a party of armed men on horseback, chosen partly from the nobles, and partly from the principal men of the town. They surrounded the litter in which Francis was laid, and the journey commenced. It was a curious procession, the worn invalid, lying on his hard couch, and borne by his brown-robed, bare-footed brethren, and round them the brilliant costumes and gay trappings of the nobles and their prancing horses. Did Francis, we wonder, compare his present position with that day some twenty years back, when hunted and hounded through his native town, he was glad to take refuge in a cave! If he did, we may be sure that to God he gave all the glory. [Sidenote: "_For the Love of God._"]