, where we could easily visit her grave. "But I do not
expect to go now," she added. This meant, as I interpret it, that she
regarded so speedy a departure to be with Christ as something _too good
to be true_. Repeatedly, when very ill, she had thought herself on the
verge of heaven and had been called back to earth, and she feared it
would be so now.

Hardly had this never-to-be-forgotten conversation come to a close when
her feet entered "the swelling of Jordan," and found no rest until
they walked the "sweet fields beyond." Her disease (gastro-enteritis)
returned with great violence; the medical appliances seemed to have
little or no effect; and the paroxysms of pain were excruciating.
A chill, also, began to creep over her. About two o'clock, to my
inexpressible relief, the doctor arrived. Her first thought was that he
should rest a little and that some ice-cream should be brought to him.
In answer to his inquiries she told him that she had never known agony
such as she had endured that forenoon, and he immediately applied
remedies adapted to the case. But they afforded only temporary relief.
A terrible restlessness seized upon her and would not let go its hold.
Towards evening she got into the sea-chair, and remained in it near the
open window until morning. On leaving for the night Dr. Wyman intrusted
her to the care of Dr. Slocum, who had recently come to Dorset. Dr. S.
remained with her all night and was indefatigable in trying to alleviate
her sufferings. "How kind he is!" she said to me once when he had left
the room. M. sat up with me till towards morning and assisted in
giving the medicines. Her distress could only be assuaged by inhaling
chloroform every few minutes and by the constant use of ice. As from
time to time, going down for the ice, I stepped out on the piazza, the
scene that met my eye was in strange contrast to the one I had just
left. Within the sick-chamber it was a night dark with suffering and
anxiety; as the hours passed slowly away, my heart almost died in the
shadow of the coming event; all was gloom and agitation except the sweet
patience of the sufferer. But the beauty and stillness of the night out
of doors was something marvellous. The light of the great harvest moon
was like the light of the sun. It flooded hills and valley with its
splendor. The outlines of each mountain, of every tree, and of all
visible objects, far or near, were as distinct as those of the stars, or
of the moon i