That night passed quietly; and when Chitambo called next day, Livingstone, with unfailing courtesy, received him, though he had to beg the chief to go away and return on the following day, when he hoped to feel stronger. All that morning he lay suffering, his strength gradually ebbing. In the afternoon he bade Susi bring him his watch, and with great effort he slowly wound it. Night fell at last; and at eleven o’clock Livingstone called Susi. There were noises heard. “Are our men making those noises?” said Livingstone. Susi told him that the villagers were scaring a buffalo. “Is this the Luapula?” he asked again; and Susi knew that his master was wandering in his mind. How ardently he had desired to reach the Luapula through those terrible weeks and months on the sponges and through the floods! When Susi told him where they were, he asked again, “How many days to the Luapula?” “I think it is three days,” said Susi. There was no more except the cry of pain, “Oh, dear, dear!” Then he dozed. Near midnight he sent for Susi again. This time Livingstone told him to boil some water; and, when Susi had filled the copper kettle, he again asked for the medicine chest. The candle had to be held close to him, for his eyes were very dim. But he did just succeed in selecting some calomel, which he wanted to have at his side with a little water in a cup. Then he said, very faintly, “All right! you can go now.” These were the last words he was heard to speak. It almost seemed as if a higher Master had said to His tired servant, “All right! _You_ can go now.” What happened after that is known only to the One who was with him at the last. The boy Majwara slept; and while he slept the miracle happened. For it appeared miraculous and incredible to his men, who had seen his utter inability to move himself, that he did actually rise from off that rude couch and did kneel down at the side, his knees probably on the bare soil, and there in the attitude of prayer commended himself to God, “And his fair soul unto his Captain Christ.” When the lad Majwara awoke at 4 a.m. and saw the strange sight of his master kneeling thus, he was afraid, and slipped out to warn the others. Susi dared not go in alone. He ran to rouse Chumah, Chowperé, Matthew, and Nuanyaséré. The six stood awestruck at the door of the little hut. On the box a candle was burning. It was just stuck there in its own wax, but it relieved the darkness; and they gazed at the still, bowed form. He was lying, stretched forward across the bed, in the attitude of prayer, his head buried in his hands. None seemed to dare to approach him for a while. Then Matthew, reverently and tremblingly, stretched out his hand and laid it on his master’s cheek. It was quite cold. David Livingstone was dead. It was the morning of the first of May, 1873.