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Some are in pain, and want to be rid of it, even though the anodyne be dropped, as in the legend, from the sword of the Death-Angel. Some are stupid, mercifully narcotized that they may go to sleep without long tossing about.
It would seem, indeed, as if all their sufferings had but sanctified them! As if the death-angel, in passing, had touched them with the hem of his garment, and made them holy! As if the hand of disease had been stretched out over them only to make the sign of the cross upon their souls!
Heaven itself, however, had destined him to extirpate the votaries of Eblis; and yet, long before this work is done, a special message is sent to him, declaring, that, if he chooses, the death-angel is ready to take him away instead of the sorcerer's daughter.
Before that he had looked forward, and it seemed to him that his life might run on for years. But it was not so to be. The death-angel drew near, and he heard the sound of its coming wings. He then began to look backward, to see his life as a completed whole.
His little beard felt soft and weak as the hair of a baby. "Ah, I have made my peace with the world and with God. Now He sends me His death-angel." She struggled with the lump in her throat. "You must be indeed a prey to illusions, if you mistake an Englishwoman for Azrael." "Ach, why was I so bitter against England? I was only once in England, years ago.
Then there came a chill and a shiver over all, as if the earth had been stopped in her career or the sun fallen from the sky; and the little Pilgrim, looking on, could see the heavenly pleaders come forth with bowed heads and the door of hope shut to, and a whisper which crept about from sea to sea and said, 'In vain! in vain! And as they went forth from the gates an icy breath swept in, and the voice of the Death-Angel saying, 'Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee! The sound went through her heart as if it had been pierced by a sword, and she gave a cry of anguish, for she could not bear that a brother should be lost.
The Yankees are routed and running, and Forrest has crossed Harpeth river in the rear of Franklin. Hurrah, men! keep closed up; we are going to capture Schofield. Forrest is in the rear; never mind the straggler and cannon. Kerflop we come against the breastworks at Franklin. "The death-angel gathers its last harvest." Kind reader, right here my pen, and courage, and ability fail me.
The silence was suddenly broken by a loud angry voice, which seemed to resound in the air like the croaking of the death-angel. This voice asked, "Zoppel, shall I cut the rope now?" "Not yet! not yet!" replied another voice; and the precipitous rocks all around echoed "Not yet! not yet!" The Saxons gave a start and looked up. Whence came these voices?
Some of you remember how, when you tossed on beds of fever, God's presence rebuked the death-angel and you came back to a new and, as we trust, a better life. Many of you know how, while the pestilence raged around you, both you and your loved ones were safe from his fiery breath.
Then he arose, took up his javelin again, and with a clear conscience since now his rites had all been fulfilled cried aloud: "Now, Master, I am ready for the work of helping Azraël, the death-angel, separate the souls and bodies of these Shiah heretics!" A sudden howling of a jackal startled Rrisa.
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