“And yet,” said William Jordan, “this is the last time the worker of miracles can enter this parish of yours.” His stalwart and somewhat grim companion seemed to stagger at these words. “Why--why, Jordan,” he said, “does this mean that you are going to desert us altogether?” “I fear so,” said William Jordan. “To-night as I sat among you I heard a voice in my ears. To-morrow at dawn I go upon my way.” “But, Jordan,” said his fellow-worker, “I beg you, I beseech you to return to us. We cannot part from you; we cannot do without you down here.” “Alas!” said William Jordan, “I heard the voice as I worked among you to-night. A term has been placed to my days; it has almost expired; and yet my destiny is only half complete.” The chief of the mission took the frail hands of the young man in the grip of a giant. “We cannot possibly let you go from among us,” he said sternly. “We shall not; we need you; we need you. You have a touch of the magic; you are a born evangelist; you go into regions where none can follow.” “Nature has spoken,” said William Jordan softly. “At dawn I obey her decree.” “No, no, no!” cried his comrade, “your work lies here. You were born for this. Nature formed you to labour for your kind; and you must labour for them all your days.” “You speak truly,” said William Jordan, “but then my labours are not yet begun.” “Are not these your labours?” cried his fellow-worker. “Can you not wield your power upon those whom we others know not how to approach? Have you not worked wonders among us during the few short months in which you have laboured?” “Wonders,” said William Jordan, with a tender melancholy in his voice. “Can you tell me what are these wonders in comparison with those that I have still to perform?” “I do not understand you, I do not follow you,” said the other. “No,” said William Jordan, “you do not understand, yet perhaps it is well.” “But I swear to heaven,” cried his fellow-worker, with hoarse passion, “you shall not go from among us like this.” The passion of this stalwart man was such that all unthinkingly he seized the frail form of the young man, and in the might of his conviction shook it fiercely. Immediately William Jordan, for the first time in that place, was attacked by a violent frenzy of coughing. A spray of bright red blood was cast upon his lips. He spat it upon the floor. His fellow-worker recoiled from the sight of it with a cry of dismay. “Arterial blood,” he gasped. “Nature’s mandate,” said the young man, with his secret and beautiful smile. His fellow-worker in the noble prime of his manhood, gave a low cry and sank back against the wall of the room. “Oh,” he cried wildly, pressing his hands across his heart, “I wish now you had never come among us at all!” XLI