“No, Sister, I believe not.  Ah, yes, there is,” she quickly added; “I would ask, that when I am gone, you will put my poor body in a grave immediately beside that of Mr. Harkness.  He was my intended husband, and died only a short time ago with the fever.  Also, will you add a postscript to mother’s letter, and say to her that it was my dying wish, that if she lives, she will at some future time have us both taken up and brought home, and bury us in one grave there?”

“Indeed, I will do so.  Is there nothing else, Agnes?”

There was a great sadness in her voice as Sister Mary asked this, just as though, years agone, when her own face was young and pretty, and her own heart happy and free, she had been loved and had lost her love in the grave.

“No, Sister, nothing more of this world.  Come, Death, O come,” said Agnes, as she was seized with a paroxysm of pain.

“In God’s good time, Agnes, dear,” suggested the Sister.

“Yes, yes, in His good time, Agnes!” repeated the dying girl, as though chiding herself for her impatience to be gone; “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

“Pray, sweet Agnes, pray to Him for strength to keep you, all unfearful, while passing through the Dark Valley.”

“Give me, O, my Heavenly Father, give me strength in this mine hour of tribulation and suffering?  Not my will, but Thine be done!”

Surely “Angels ever bright and fair” bore away these half-whispered words to Heaven like sweet incense.

For awhile Agnes seemed to be wandering, or perhaps she was dreaming; for her eyes were closed as though in slumber, and a smile like she used to smile, flitted over her pale face, as she stretched out her arms to embrace some one, and exclaimed: 

“Come, mother dear, a kiss!  I am going to bed.  Kiss me good-night mother darling.”

Sweet girl, noble young soul!  You were indeed going to bed, but it was in the dust of the valley.

Sister Mary bent down and kissed her fondly.  Her hot tears falling on the cold face roused Agnes, and she opened her eyes.  Bidding all about her, O such a farewell! such a farewell till eternity, she crossed her hand peacefully over her breast and murmured: 

  “Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
   Let me hide myself in Thee.”

The words had not left her lips ere she was in God’s presence, a pure, beautiful seraph of light.

  Angel Agnes, farewell!

Sister Mary, during the very short intercourse she had had with Agnes Arnold, had fallen in love with the sweet, good girl, and when she died she wept over her as an elder sister might have done.

She was particular to see that the last wishes of Agnes, in regard to her being buried in a separate grave beside young Harkness, were carried out to the letter.  No mourner save herself was at the funeral, for there were more sick people than well ones to attend to them.  And even Sister Mary could not linger by the grave of her dear young friend as she would have liked to do.  She was obliged, after seeing the coffin lowered into the sepulchre, to hasten back to her patients.