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Mrs.
Weldon
then
could
count
on
the
approaching
arrival
of
the
great
traveler
,
because
,
in
the
beginning
of
June
,
it
was
already
more
than
two
months
since
he
had
reached
the
south
of
Lake
Bangoneolo
.
Now
,
June
13th
,
the
day
before
that
on
which
Negoro
would
come
to
claim
from
Mrs.
Weldon
the
letter
that
would
put
one
hundred
thousand
dollars
in
his
hands
,
sad
news
was
spread
,
at
which
Alvez
and
the
traders
only
rejoiced
.
May
1st
,
1873
,
at
dawn
,
Dr
David
Livingstone
died
.
In
fact
,
on
April
29th
,
the
little
caravan
had
reached
the
village
of
Tchitambo
,
to
the
south
of
the
lake
.
The
doctor
was
carried
there
on
a
litter
.
On
the
30th
,
in
the
night
,
under
the
influence
of
excessive
grief
,
he
moaned
out
this
complaint
,
that
was
hardly
heard
:
"
Oh
,
dear
!
dear
!
"
and
he
fell
back
from
drowsiness
.
At
the
end
of
an
hour
he
called
his
servant
,
Souzi
,
asking
for
some
medicine
,
then
murmuring
in
a
feeble
voice
:
"
It
is
well
.
Now
you
can
go
.
"
Toward
four
o'clock
in
the
morning
,
Souzi
and
five
men
of
the
escort
entered
the
doctor
's
hut
.
David
Livingstone
,
kneeling
near
his
bed
,
his
head
resting
on
his
hands
,
seemed
to
be
engaged
in
prayer
.
Souzi
gently
touched
his
cheek
;
it
was
cold
.
David
Livingstone
was
no
more
.
Nine
months
after
,
his
body
,
carried
by
faithful
servants
at
the
price
of
unheard-of
fatigues
,
arrived
at
Zanzibar
.
On
April
12th
,
1874
,
it
was
buried
in
Westminster
Abbey
,
among
those
of
her
great
men
,
whom
England
honors
equally
with
her
kings
.
To
what
plank
of
safety
will
not
an
unfortunate
being
cling
?
Will
not
the
eyes
of
the
condemned
seek
to
seize
any
ray
of
hope
,
no
matter
how
vague
?
So
it
had
been
with
Mrs.
Weldon
.
One
can
understand
what
she
must
have
felt
when
she
learned
,
from
Alvez
himself
,
that
Dr.
Livingstone
had
just
died
in
a
little
Bangoneolo
village
.
It
seemed
to
her
that
she
was
more
isolated
than
ever
;
that
a
sort
of
bond
that
attached
her
to
the
traveler
,
and
with
him
to
the
civilized
world
,
had
just
been
broken
.
