gs over and above the ceaseless strain of his daily toil, are more
than sufficient to account for the state in which Dr. Smith found him.

To those who knew him best, and who could appraise at their true value
the toils and trials and disappointments of his daily lot, the wonder
was not that he broke down; it was rather that physical collapse had not
overtaken him sooner. There are many kinds of heroism, but it may be
doubted whether any touches a higher level than that exhibited by this
patient sower of the seed of life on the sterile field of Mongolia,
bravely continuing to do so until imperatively urged to cease for a
season, not by his consciousness of failing power, but by the alarm and
influence of his medical co-worker.

When the decision was once taken, it was acted upon promptly. March 26,
1889, was the day, and Peking the place. On April 4 he left Peking, and
on the 20th he sailed from Shanghai. He arrived in London on May 25.

This visit to England in 1889 was a great refreshment bodily, mental,
and spiritual, to the overwrought labourer. The voyage itself, enforcing
rest from all ordinary avocations, by removing Mr. Gilmour from the
depressing surroundings amid which he had spent so much of the last
three years, began the restorative process. He was beginning to feel in
himself great benefit from the change even by the time he reached
London. But the six years which had passed since he last walked the
London streets had left their mark upon him. He had drawn to the utmost
upon his physical and spiritual strength in the service of those for
whose conversion he lived and toiled. He had been through the deep
waters of personal affliction when his wife passed into the sinless
life. The many toils and hardships of the passing years had drawn deep
furrows upon the cheery face, and the eyes showed evidence of the mental
and spiritual strain.

So sudden was the resolution to return, and so prompt his action upon
it, that few knew even of the probability until he was actually here. On
May 27, 1889, the writer was sitting in his room, overlooking the
pleasant garden that brightens up the north-eastern corner of St Paul's
Churchyard, in conversation with a gentleman, when a knock came at the
door and a head appeared. Not seeing it very clearly, and at the same
time asking for a minute's delay while the business in hand was
completed, the head disappeared. As soon as the first visitor departed a
man entered and stood