I found the woman lying on a bed, consisting of nothing but poles laid upon the ground, although the town was near the coast, and they were long accustomed to better beds. The town was built in a mangrove swamp, and the mosquitoes were so thick that to be exposed to them was torture that one could not long endure. But this woman’s bed had no mosquito net, although all the other beds in town were thus furnished. Every little while her body was convulsed, and her features distorted with pain. I gave her some medicine, although I had no idea what was the matter with her; for I had only been in Africa a short time. I was sure that the medicine did her no harm, however, and that is the principal consideration. But it served to teach a moral lesson. I told my boys to make a fire in her house, and I tried to make her comfortable. Her friends refused to help me. “The woman is a witch,” they said, “and the sooner she dies, the better.” When I had made her more comfortable I began to talk to her about God and her need of pardon. At first she seemed destitute of any spiritual instinct. The chief regret that she had about dying was that she did not want to leave her goods. Her goods! a brass bracelet and leg ring; a few yards of calico, perhaps; a little oil for the body, and what else but mosquitoes? But there are crises in which the mind is not subject to the ordinary limitations of time, but in a few hours lives through the experience of years. The woman gradually grasped the idea of God’s love and the possibilities of the future. A great and mysterious change came over her, and she said: “I have been a wicked woman. What shall I do?” I told her of the cross of Christ. And, like the penitent thief, in agony and pain, she too ceased cursing and began to pray. That night, as I lay in a house near by, I heard her repeating in broken sentences: “Me ne ye mam abé. Me ne ye mam abé. Atat, kwege me ngongol, Atat. M’abune Jésu. M’abune Jésu.”—I am sinful. I am sinful. Father, have mercy on me. I believe in Jesus. I believe in Jesus. I left the town before morning, and two days later she died, still saying: “Atat, kwege me ngongol. M’abune Jésu.”