Then as he began to utter his customary petition for the blessing of God upon the mission, his voice faltered more and more.

Samuel prayed for heavenly guidance in the ordering of their lives, and for the forgiveness of their sins. Under the stress of this wet heat that notion even returned at this solemn moment of prayer, but Rose spurned it away and bent her mind once more with anguished intensity to the prayer which Samuel was offering in his feeble voice and with his halting utterance. A corset, in fact, was quite an impossibility in Central Africa, although Rose had resolutely put aside, as promptings of the evil one, all the thoughts she had occasionally found forming in her mind of wearing no underclothing at all beneath her white drill frock. It was this sensation which helped most to reconcile Rose’s conscience to the absence, in this her approaching middle age, of her corset–a garment without which, so she had always been taught, no woman of the age of fourteen and upwards ever appeared in public. The hands which Rose clasped together were wet as though dipped in water, and she could feel the streams of sweat running down beneath her clothes as she knelt, and forming two little pools at the backs of her bent knees. The damp heat of the African forest seemed to be intensified with the coming of the night, which closed in upon them while they prayed. Rose could see, in the moment before she devoutly closed her eyes, how thin and transparent those hands were, and how the bones of the wrists could be seen with almost the definition of a skeleton’s.

He was very, very weak indeed, and when he knelt to offer up the evening prayer the movement was more like an involuntary collapse than a purposed gesture, and the hands which he raised trembled violently. Although she herself was ill enough to justify being in bed had she been a person weak-minded enough to give up, Rose Sayer could see that her brother, the Reverend Samuel Sayer, was far more ill.

The african queen novel