“I cannot bear to tell you,” said Dr. Arning, “but what you say is true.”

“It is no shock to me,” said Damien, “for I have felt sure of it.”

I may mention here that there are three kinds of leprosy.  Father Damien suffered (as is often the case) both from the anaesthetic and the tubercular forms of the disease.  “Whenever I preach to my people,” he said, “I do not say ‘my brethren,’ as you do, but ’we lepers.’  People pity me and think me unfortunate, but I think myself the happiest of missionaries.”

Henceforth he came under the law of segregation, and journeys to the ether parts of the islands were forbidden.  But he worked on with the same sturdy, cheerful fortitude, accepting the will of God with gladness, undaunted by the continual reminders of his coming fate, which met him in the poor creatures around him.

“I would not be cured,” he said to me, “if the price of my cure was that I must leave the island and give up my work.”

A lady wrote to him, “You have given up all earthly things to serve God here and to help others, and I believe you must have now joy that nothing can take from you and a great reward hereafter.”

“Tell her,” he said, with a quiet smile, “that it is true.  I do have that joy now.”

He seldom talked of himself except in answer to questions, and he had always about him the simplicity of a great man—­“clothed with humility.”

My last letter from him is dated: 

“Kalawao, 28th February, 1889.

“My dear Edward Clifford—­Your sympathising letter of 24th gives me some relief in my rather distressed condition.  I try my best to carry, without much complaining and in a practical way, for my poor soul’s sanctification, the long-foreseen miseries of the disease, which, after all, is a providential agent to detach the heart from all earthly affection, and prompts much the desire of a Christian soul to be united—­the sooner the better—­with Him who is her only life.

“During your long travelling road homeward please do not forget the narrow road.  We both have to walk carefully, so as to meet together at the home of our common and eternal Father.  My kind regards and prayers and good wishes for all sympathising friends.  Bon voyage, mon cher ami, et au revoir au ceil—­Votus tuus,

“J.  Damien.”

About three weeks after writing this letter he felt sure that his end was near, and on the 28th March he took to his bed.

“You see my hands,” he said.  “All the wounds are healing and the crust is becoming black.  You know that is a sign of death.  Look at my eyes too.  I have seen so many lepers die that I cannot be mistaken.  Death is not far off.  I should have liked to see the Bishop again, but le bon Dieu is calling me to keep Easter with Himself.  God be blessed!

“How good He is to have preserved me long enough to have two priests by my side at my last moments, and also to have the good Sisters of Charity at the Leproserie.  That has been my Nunc Dimittis.  The work of the lepers is assured, and I am no longer necessary, and so will go up yonder.”