sort on the desert
in southeastern California. In the dry, clear air of that place her
health improved so wonderfully that all her friends and family
believed that a crisis had passed, and that she had fortunately sailed
into one of those calm havens which so often come to people in their
later years. She returned to Stonehedge seemingly well. All their
fears were lulled, and the blow was all the more crushing when, on the
18th of February, 1914, silently and without warning, she passed from
this life. In the manner of her death and that of her husband there
was a striking coincidence; each passed away suddenly, after only a
few hours of unconsciousness, from the breaking of an artery in the
brain. The story of her last moments may best be told in the words of
a letter from her devoted maid, Agnes Crowley,[75] which is so sincere
and touching that I quote it without eliminations:

[Footnote 75: Her former maid, Mary Boyle, had married
and left her service.]

"My dear Mrs. Sanchez:

"We are a very sad little household--we are all heart-broken, to think
our dear little Madam has gone away never to return. It seems too
awful, and just when she was enjoying everything. We were home from
Palm Springs just one week when she was taken away from us--but you
can console yourself by thinking that she was surrounded by love and
devotion. She was not sick and did not suffer. Tuesday evening,
February 17, she felt well and read her magazines until nine o'clock,
and Mr. Field played cards with her till 10.30. Then she retired. The
next morning I went in to attend to her as usual, and there was my
dear little Madam lying unconscious. I thought at first she was in a
faint, and I quickly ran for Mr. Field; he jumped up and put on his
bathrobe and went to her while I called Dr. Hurst. It took the doctor
about seven minutes to get here, and as soon as he saw her he said it
was a stroke, but he seemed to be hopeful and thought he could pull
her through. He put an ice pack on her head and gave her an injection
in the arm and oxygen to inhale, and she seemed to begin to breathe
natural, and we all hoped, but it was in vain. She never regained
consciousness, and at two o'clock she just stopped breathing, so you
see she did not suffer. But oh Mrs. Sanchez, we all seemed so
helpless--we all loved her so and yet could do nothing. Dr. Hurst
worked hard from 8.30 till two o'clock, and when the end came he cried
like