parted
daughter. She was so heroic, yet so quiet and modest; she was so
prompt and decisive, yet so winning and amiable; she was so devoted to
religion, yet never melancholy or austere. Ah, no! she was like God's
own bright blue sky and genial sunbeam. Her very presence in the
chamber of the sick appeared to have an instant and magnetic effect
for the better. She was God's own dear child and handmaiden, and He
has taken her home to himself. I only hope that when I come to die, my
death may be so completely beatific as your daughter's was.

"Just before she passed into immortality she asked me to let her kiss
me. 'Now,' said she, 'if you ever see my dear mother, give her that
kiss, and tell her she was the last one I thought of when I was
dying.' And believe me, Mrs. Arnold, I shall endeavor to fulfil your
daughter's tender request should it be the good will of God for me to
escape from the pestilence which is raging around us. Mr. Harkness's
gold watch I have placed with the Express Company, which will carry it
to you for your disposal.

"Most affectionately, madam, I am ever yours,
Mary."

Agnes' letter, which, as we have said, was enclosed in the above, was
worded as follows:

Shreveport, La., Oct. 2d, 1873.

My Darling, Ever Beloved Mother:

You will notice that this letter is written by another hand than
mine. The reason you will find further on. You will remember when I
left you to come here I told you that I had resigned myself to the
will of Him in whose merciful service I enlisted.

I have devoted myself to the work with my whole soul, my heart being
thoroughly in the good cause. And I believe that I have been the
humble means of saving several lives.

I have not got the fever, but night before last, while nursing a
child, I carelessly fell asleep--being very much wearied--and fell
down stairs. Thank heaven, I saved the little one's life. I struck the
small of my back causing a fracture and some internal injury. The
doctor has done all he could for me, but it will not avail, and I must
go away from you, at least on this earth.

But sweet, good, kind mother, I will meet you again above, in that
better land where there is no sin, no pain, no anguish, but where all
is light and love and immortality. My dear friend and nurse, Sister
Mary, who writes this for me, will see that I am buried beside George,
and mother