’I don’t deny that at times I have been a good deal depressed:  about Holy Week and Easter Week was the worst time.  Things are much brighter now; though I fully expect that several others, perhaps many others, will yet have the attack, but I trust and fancy it may be only in a modified form.  We have regular Chapel and school, but the school is a mild affair now; I who am only in bed from 12.30 or 1 to 5, and in the hospital all day, cannot be very bright in school.  I just open a little bit of my red baize door into Chapel, so that the sick in my room join in the service.  Nice, is it not?

’This will greatly unsettle plans for the voyage.  The “Southern Cross” is expected here about May 10; but I can’t leave any sick that may want my care then, and I can’t take back to the islands any that are only just convalescent, or indeed any of the apparently healthy who may yet have the seeds of the fever in them.  It would be fearful if it broke out on the islands.  I must run no risk of that; so I think that very likely I may keep the whole party here another year, and make myself a short visitation.  I suppose that the Bishop will come to New Zealand, and I must try to meet him; I should like to see his face once more; but if he doesn’t come, or if I can’t (by reason of this sickness) go to meet him—­well, I shall be spared the parting if I don’t have the joy of the meeting, and these things are not now what they once were.

’April 28th.—­Barasu (John Keble) died this morning as I read the Commendatory Prayer by his side.  He had a relapse some five days ago, how we cannot say, he was always watched day and night.  I had much comfort in him, he was a dear lad, and our most hopeful Ysabel scholar.  His peaceful death, for it was very peaceful at the last, may work more than his life would have done; some twenty others convalescent, or ailing, or sick.  At this moment another comes to say that he feels out of sorts; you know that sensation, and how one’s heart seems to stop for a minute, and then one tries to look and speak cheerfully.

’April 29th.—­I read the Service over another child to-day, son of James and Priscilla Quintall, the second child they have lost within a few days, and Priscilla herself is lying ill of the fever.  Poor people, I did what little I could to comfort them; the poor fellow is laid up too with a bad foot; a great many others are very ill, some young ones especially.

’May 5th.—­Jemima Young sent for me yesterday morning.  I was with her the day before, and she was very ill.  I reached the room at 11.45, and she died at noon. [Jemima Young had been particularly bright, pleasant, and helpful when Mrs. Selwyn was on the island].

’May 7th.—­The sick ones doing pretty well.  You must not think it is all gloom, far from it, there is much to cheer and comfort us.  The hearty co-operation of these excellent fellow-workers is such a support, and is brought out at such times.