vening George brought in some trout, which he had caught for her
out of our brook. Her appetite was exceedingly poor, but she was very
fond of trout and G. often caught a little mess for her supper. Our
brook never seemed so dear to me, nor did its rippling music ever
sound so sweet, as when I did the same thing, before he came home from
Princeton and took the privilege out of my hands. When he brought in the
trout, Ellen went to his mother's chamber and asked if they should not
be kept for breakfast? "No, they are very nice and you had better have
them for supper." "Shan't I save some for your breakfast?" asked Ellen,
knowing how fond she was of them. "No," said she, "the doctor says I
must take nothing but beef-tea." "And d'ye feel better, Mis' Prentiss?"
continued Ellen. "Oh I feel better, Ellen, but I'm very weak--I shall be
all right in a few days."

After tea she insisted on sending for Mrs. Sarah C. Mitchell, of
Philadelphia, whom she had been unable to see on the previous Monday.
Mrs. M. was the last person out of the family, with whom she conversed,
excepting the doctors and nurse. [9]

_Sunday, Aug. 11th._--She slept better than I feared, but awoke very
feeble, taking no nourishment except a little beef-tea. She lay quiet a
part of the time; but the quiet intervals grew shorter and were followed
by most distressing attacks. M. and I sat by her bed, but could do
nothing to relieve her. My fears had now become thoroughly aroused and
I awaited the arrival of the doctor with the most intense anxiety. Hour
after hour of the morning, however, passed slowly away and he did not
come. At length a messenger brought word from the "West road," where he
had been called at midnight, that an urgent telegram had summoned him to
Arlington and that he should not be able to reach Dorset before one or
two o'clock P.M. The anguish of the suspense during the next three or
four hours was something dreadful. When the bell rang for church she
desired that M. should go, as Dr. Vincent was to preach, and it would
give a little relief from the strain that was upon her.

Soon after M. had left, during an interval of comparative ease, she
fixed her eyes upon me with a most tender, loving expression, and in a
sort of beseeching tone, said, "Darling, don't you think you could ask
the Lord to let me go?" Perceiving, no doubt, how the question affected
me, she went on to give some reasons for wishing to go. She spoke very
slowly, in the most