They arrived at their destination on the third day, and found awaiting them nearly a hundred natives, more than half of whom were applicants for baptism.  The place prepared for the accommodation of Mr. and Mrs. Boardman and their little boy, was a room five feet wide and ten feet long, so low that Mrs. Boardman could not stand upright in it, and so insufficiently inclosed as not to shelter the sufferer from the cold and damp of the night air, or the scorching rays of the sun by day.  Those who have known what it is to watch beside dying loved ones, witnessing suffering that they were powerless to relieve, can imagine the anguish that Mrs. Boardman endured in seeing her husband so near his end in that miserable place, destitute of the little comforts so needful in sickness.  But with heroic determination she repressed her own sorrow, lest it might incapacitate her for assisting him while rallying his expiring energies for one more effort in his Master’s cause.  The poor worn body, though, was found unequal to the task assigned it by the zealous spirit, and he was forced to admit that his work was done.

Mrs. Boardman, speaking of their return journey, in which they were accompanied by large numbers of the sorrowing native converts, says:  “But at four o’clock in the afternoon, we were overtaken by a violent shower of rain, accompanied by lightning and thunder.  There was no house in sight, and we were obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the merciless storm.  We covered him with mats and blankets, and held our umbrellas over him, all to no purpose.  I was obliged to stand and see the storm beating upon him till his mattress and pillows were drenched with rain.  We hastened on, and soon came to a Tavoy house.  The inhabitants at first refused us admittance....  After some persuasion, they admitted us into the house, or rather veranda; for they would not allow us to sleep inside, though I begged the privilege for my sick husband with tears....  The rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor.  Having found a place where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through openings in the floor, I threw myself down, without undressing, beside my beloved husband.”

Thus they passed the last night of his life; and, before another night, it was but a lifeless corpse that the attendants were bearing back to her now desolate home.

In her grief and loneliness, her heart doubtless yearned for the soothing sympathy of her kindred and friends in her native land.  Who would have censured her, if in view of what had been achieved among the natives since their coming to Tavoy, and of all the trials and toils and dangers of her Indian life, it had seemed to her that her work was accomplished; and that it would then be no desertion of duty for her, with her little boy to educate, to return to America?  If, during the first sad days of her bereavement, such thoughts flitted through her mind, they did not long