or of that time that I
would not wish you to expose yourself to such another. Besides, what
would I do without you?"

"That is the only subject that gives me any pain, mother; but then God
would take care of you as well as of me, would he not?"

"Yes."

"I know it, mother. You have always taught me that, and I firmly
believe it. God, who sees and notes the fall of even a sparrow, will
not let me fall, except it be His gracious will. No, mother, I feel
that I must go, and you must consent and give me your best blessing.
It is strange that we see no account of ministers or members of any
denomination but the Roman Church volunteering to go to the stricken
city. All seem to stand aloof but them. How noble are those truly
Christian and devoted women, the Sisters of Mercy! And shall I be idle
and listless when I might be saving life, or at least trying to do so.
O, mother dear, I must go. I will come back safely to you. You must
give me your consent."

Mrs. Arnold was herself a truly brave and Christian lady, and a firm
believer in the care that God exercises over all who serve Him. And
therefore, after a short consideration, she gave the required consent
to her daughter Agnes, to go to Shreveport as a nurse.

During the late war, fond fathers sent their sons to the battle-field,
not that they wished to have them slaughtered, but willing that, for
the sake of their cause, they should take the risk.

So now, with much the same motive, Mrs. Arnold gave Agnes her
approbation to go and perform her Christian duty to the sufferers at
Shreveport.

Yet when the parting really came, it seemed as though Mrs. Arnold
could never unclasp her arms from about the form of her daughter.

"God will bring me safely back to you, dear mother," urged Agnes,
gently untwining those loving arms; "Good-by."

"Good-by, darling, good-by."

It was over--the parting was over--Agnes was gone. Mrs. Arnold was
alone--for evermore in this life. Not until the sea and earth give up
their dead--not until the Book of Life might be opened and mankind
summoned before the White Throne on high, were these two destined to
look into each other's face again. Mrs. Arnold could not foresee the
solemn significance of her words as, for the last time, she murmured:

"Agnes, my darling, my angel, good-by!"

IN THE MIDST OF DEATH.

In due course of time Agnes approached Shreveport. While in the cars
she had formed the acquaintance of three Sisters of