Father Wendolen said, “When you are up above, father, you will not forget those you leave orphans behind you?”

“Oh no!  If I have any credit with God, I will intercede for all in the Leproserie.”

“And will you, like Elijah, leave me your mantle, my father, in order that I may have your great heart?”

“Why, what would you do with it?” said the dying martyr, “it is full of leprosy.”

He rallied for a little while after this, and his watchers even had a little hope that his days might be lengthened.  Father Conradi, Father Wendolen, and Brother Joseph were much in his company.  Brother James was his constant nurse.  The Sisters from Kalaupapa visited him often, and it is good to think that the sweet placid face and gentle voice of the Mother were near him in his last days.  Everybody admired his wonderful patience.  He who had been so ardent, so strong, and so playful, was now powerless on his couch.  He lay on the ground on a wretched mattress like the poorest leper.  They had the greatest difficulty in getting him to accept a bed.  “And how poorly off he was; he who had spent so much money to relieve the lepers had so forgotten himself that he had none of the comforts and scarcely the necessaries of life.”  Sometimes he suffered intensely; sometimes he was partly unconscious.  He said that he was continually conscious of two persons being present with him.  One was at the head of his bed and one at his feet.  But who they were he did not say.  The terrible disease had concentrated itself in his mouth and throat.  As he lay there in his tiny domicile, with the roar of the sea getting fainter to his poor diseased ears, and the kind face of Brother James becoming gradually indistinct before his failing eyes, did the thought come to him that after all his work was poor, and his life half a failure?  Many whom he had hoped much of had disappointed him.  Not much praise had reached him.  The tide of affection and sympathy from England had cheered him, but England was so far off that it seemed almost like sympathy and affection from a star.  Churches were built, schools and hospitals were in working order, but there was still much to be done.  He was only forty-nine, and he was dying.

“Well!  God’s will be done.  He knows best.  My work, with all its faults and failures, is in His hands, and before Easter I shall see my Saviour.”

The breathing grew more laboured, the leprous eyes were clouded, the once stalwart frame was fast becoming rigid.  The sound of the passing bell was heard, and the wail of the wretched lepers pierced the air. ...  The last flickering breath was breathed, and the soul of Joseph Damien de Veuster arose like a lark to God.