He was forced, then, to abandon his home and go out of the city, a vagrant, climbing the mountains, crossing over the plains, until he came to the Holy Land. But so weak he was, and wasted away, that whoever saw him thought he was breathing his last; when he reached Haifa, Nabíl of Qá’in hurried to ‘Akká, and desired me to summon the Ḥájí at once, because he was in his death agony and failing fast.

“Let me go to the Mansion,” I said, “and ask leave.” “It would take too long,” he said. “And then ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím will never see ‘Akká. I long for him to have this bounty; for him at least to see ‘Akká, and die. I beg of You, send for him at once!”

Complying with his wish, I summoned ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím. When he came, I could hardly detect in him a whisper of life. At times he would open his eyes, but he spoke no word. Still, the sweet savors of the Most Great Prison restored the vital spark, and his yearning to meet Bahá’u’lláh breathed life into him again. I looked in on him the next morning and found him cheerful and refreshed. He asked permission to attend upon Bahá’u’lláh. “It all depends,” I answered, “on whether He grants you leave. God willing, you shall be singled out for this cherished gift.”

A few days later, permission came, and he hastened to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh. When ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím entered there, the spirit of life was wafted over him. On his return, it was clear that this Ḥájí had become a different Ḥájí entirely: he was in the bloom of health. Nabíl was dumbfounded, and said: “How life-giving, to a true believer, is this prison air!”

For some time, ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím lived in the neighborhood.