and the end came at last. In the beginning of 1868
there was much fever and sickness of various kinds, there being three
hundred patients above the normal number, while the nursing staff was
reduced by illness. A nurse, who had been ill with bronchitis, developed
symptoms of typhus, and Agnes Jones, fearing that her life might be
sacrified, were she removed to the fever wards, gave up her bedroom to
her, sleeping herself on the floor of her sitting-room. She was soon
attacked by the same disease. For a week she progressed very favourably.
Then dangerous symptoms showed themselves, and finally inflammation of
both lungs.

Many were the touching inquiries from the patients of "How is the lady?"
Nurses and friends watched anxiously the terrible progress of the
disease. Much prayer was made, but the Lord had need of His servant, who
had been so faithful to the trust committed to her here, for a more
perfect service; and at the age of thirty-five she passed away
peacefully into the brightness of His presence in the early morning of
February 19, 1868, the beginning to her of a glorious day which should
know no twilight gloom.

On the following Friday, when the coffin was carried into the hall, and
placed in its case ready for removal across the Irish Channel, the
landing and stairs were filled with patients who had crept there from
the wards to see the last of one who had brought so much happiness into
their wretched lives. And when she was carried to her last resting-place
in the picturesque churchyard of Fahan, within sound of the rippling
waters of Lough Swilly, she was followed, as was fitting, by nearly the
whole population, many of whom could thank God for blessing which she
had been the means of bringing to them.

Until the resurrection morning she might be hidden from the eyes of
those who loved her; but none who knew her could ever forget her. Hear
the testimony of one of the workhouse officials to the writer, more than
twenty-five years after, when the question, "Do you remember Miss
Jones?" was asked. "Remember her? I should think I do. I could never
forget her. She used to have a Bible class on Sunday afternoons and on a
week-day evening in that little vestry belonging to the church. She
began it for the nurses, but there were only about fifteen of them then,
and so she used to let us officers go as well if we liked. I used to
love it, for it was beautiful to see her sitting there so homely and
nice, and then