“My darling,” replied Lady Burton in anguish.  “Dr. Baker says it would kill you.  He is doing everything possible.”

His breathing then became laboured, and after a brief struggle for air he cried, “I am dying, I am dead.”  Lady Burton held him in her arms, but he got heavier, and presently became insensible.  Dr Baker applied an electric battery to the heart, and Lady Burton kneeling at the bedside, and holding her husband’s hand, prayed her “heart out to God to keep his soul there (though he might be dead in appearance) till the priest arrived.”  But it was in vain.  The priest, a Slavonian, named Pietro Martelani, came in about half-past six.  We may regret what followed, but no one would judge harshly the actions of an agonised woman.  Pity for human suffering must drown all other feelings.  The priest looked at the dead but warm body and asked whether there was still any life.  That the heart and pulsed had ceased to beat, Lady Burton herself afterwards admitted to her relations, but deceiving herself with the belief that life still continued in the brain, she cried:  “He is alive, but I beseech you, lose not a moment, for the soul is passing away.”

“If,” said the Priest, “he is a Protestant, he cannot receive the Holy Sacrament in this way.”

Lady Burton having declared that her husband “had abjured the heresy and belonged to the Catholic Church,” the priest at once administered “the last comforts.”

It was certainly a kind of consolation to the poor lady to feel that her husband had not departed unhouselled; but it is equally evident that her mind had given way, for the scenes that presently followed can be explained only on this assumption.[FN#635]

Dr. Baker at once sent a brief note to Mr. Letchford.  Singularly enough the night before—­that is the terrible Sunday night—­ Miss Daisy Letchford experienced “a strange instance of telepathy.”  “My brother,” she says, “had gone out, and I waited alone for him.  Suddenly I fancied I heard footsteps in the passage and stopping at the door of the room where I was reading.  I felt drops of cold sweat on my forehead.  I was afraid, yet I knew that no one was about at that time of the night.  The door opened slowly, and I felt the impression of some one looking at me.  I dared not raise my eyes.  The footsteps seemed to approach.  In a fit of fear I looked up and saw Sir Richard standing before me.  He started, waved his hand and disappeared.  Early in the morning came a ring at the bell.  I jumped out of bed and burst into tears as I said, ’This is to tell us that Sir Richard is dead.’  At that moment the maid brought in the letter for my brother from Dr. Baker.  I ran with it into his room.  ‘Albert, Albert,’ I cried, ‘Sir Richard is dead.’  He opened the letter.  It was only too true.”

The same morning, Mr. P. P. Cautley, the Vice Consul, was called up to the house.

The undertaker, who was already there, asked in Mr. Cautley’s presence to what religion Sir Richard belonged.