Page:Elizabeth, or, The exiles of Siberia (1).pdf/17

 17 wken the health of the missionary began to decline: he was frequently obliged to rest himself, and if he got into a kibick, he could not bear the jolting. Arriving at Sarapoul, the good man was so weak, he could proceed no further. They were received at a miserable inn ; the flooring of his room trembled under the feet—the window had no glass, and there was neither chair nor bench. Elizabeth felt for the first time alarmed, and inquired for a doctor, but there was none at Sarapoul. The people of the house taking no concern for the dying man, she trusted to herself for aid. Night approaching, he grew worse, and Elizabeth could no longer refrain from tears. “ My child,” said he, ‘‘you will shortly be exposed to great difficulties, in travelling alone, in the midst of an inclement season—but this will form your least danger—your greatest must be expected at the court. Ordinary courage may struggle against misfortune, yet prove unable to resist seduction. Your courage, however, is not of an ordinary cast; and hence your residence at court may not change you. But should any villain there attempt to avail himself of your situation and your misfortune, in order to corrupt you, confide not in his promises, nor be dazzled by his munificence. The fear of God and the love of your parents are above all things—and never forget, that one single error would be death to those who gave you life.” ‘‘Ah, my father,” interrupted Elizabeth, ‘‘do not be afraid.” ‘‘ I am not afraid,” said he, “your piety and virtue demand full confidence. Now, my daughter, take from my garment the purse I received from the generous governor of Tobolsk ; keep his secret, for on that depends his life ! This money will convey you to Petersburgh ; when arrived there, go to the Patriarch, and mention Father Paul to him. Perhaps, not having forgotten me, he will grant you an asylum in a convent of females ; and will doubtless present your petition to the Emperor. At the point of death, I may now be permitted to tell you, my daughter, that your virtue is great, and will receive a recompence here, as well as be rewarded in heaven.” He was now compelled to pause, and Elizabeth wept in silence. He now raised his eyes to heaven, and appeared still in prayer when struck with death. Elizabeth’s cries brought several persons into the room, who asking her what was the matter, she pointed to her lifeless protector. The news being spread, many came to see what was passing, from mere curiosity, and looked with surprise at Elizabeth weeping over the dead monk. Some there were who contemplated her with pity, while the proprietors of the inn seized the purse, which Elizabeth, in her grief, had forgotten to secure. They told her, they would pay themselves, and re-