Now we turn to another dying woman. How different to the one of whom I have just been writing.
She was a woman of pleasure, and she told her friends one morning that she was going to die at six o’clock that evening.
“But,” they said, “you do not seem sick.”
She answered, “I shall die at six o’clock this evening, and my soul will be lost. I have sinned away the day of grace.”
Noon came, and they asked her if she would see a minister.
“It’s no use,” she said, “it’s too late now. I shall die at six o’clock.” Four o’clock came, five o’clock, and she cried out, “Destroying spirits, ye shall not have me yet, it is not six o’clock.”
The moments passed, the solemn moments, and six o’clock came. No clock struck the hour in the house, but she died at six o’clock.
She lay down in pleasure, and she was dead even while she lived.