Angel Agnes Part 6

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, n.o.ble 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 G.o.d'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.

AGNES' LAST LETTER TO HER MOTHER.

Never was there a more touching, more loving, more solemn epistle written from a daughter to a mother than that which Agnes Arnold, while dying, dictated to Sister Mary to be forwarded to her mother after her death. Sister Mary, in concluding her own letter, in which that of Agnes was enclosed, writes:

"I a.s.sure you again, Mrs. Arnold not merely myself, but no one else here who has come in contact with your n.o.ble and self-sacrificing daughter, will ever forget her, but will ever hold her memory most dear. No words would suffice to accurately describe the love and almost veneration with which we esteemed your sweet, departed daughter. She was so heroic, yet so quiet and modest; she was so prompt and decisive, yet so winning and amiable; she was so devoted to religion, yet never melancholy or austere. Ah, no! she was like G.o.d's own bright blue sky and genial sunbeam. Her very presence in the chamber of the sick appeared to have an instant and magnetic effect for the better. She was G.o.d's own dear child and handmaiden, and He has taken her home to himself. I only hope that when I come to die, my death may be so completely beatific as your daughter's was.

"Just before she pa.s.sed into immortality she asked me to let her kiss me. 'Now,' said she, 'if you ever see my dear mother, give her that kiss, and tell her she was the last one I thought of when I was dying.' And believe me, Mrs. Arnold, I shall endeavor to fulfil your daughter's tender request should it be the good will of G.o.d for me to escape from the pestilence which is raging around us. Mr. Harkness's gold watch I have placed with the Express Company, which will carry it to you for your disposal.

"Most affectionately, madam, I am ever yours, Mary."

Agnes' letter, which, as we have said, was enclosed in the above, was worded as follows:

Shreveport, La., Oct. 2d, 1873.

My Darling, Ever Beloved Mother:

You will notice that this letter is written by another hand than mine. The reason you will find further on. You will remember when I left you to come here I told you that I had resigned myself to the will of Him in whose merciful service I enlisted.

I have devoted myself to the work with my whole soul, my heart being thoroughly in the good cause. And I believe that I have been the humble means of saving several lives.

I have not got the fever, but night before last, while nursing a child, I carelessly fell asleep--being very much wearied--and fell down stairs. Thank heaven, I saved the little one's life. I struck the small of my back causing a fracture and some internal injury. The doctor has done all he could for me, but it will not avail, and I must go away from you, at least on this earth.

But sweet, good, kind mother, I will meet you again above, in that better land where there is no sin, no pain, no anguish, but where all is light and love and immortality. My dear friend and nurse, Sister Mary, who writes this for me, will see that I am buried beside George, and mother, this is the great wish of my heart--that if possible, at some time you will bring our bodies both home and bury us in one grave. I forgive Sophia the wrong she did me and George freely from my soul. Sister Mary has a kiss I gave her for you.

Pray do not grieve for me that I am thus pa.s.sing away; but, in the future, always be comforted with the knowledge that I shall be waiting with papa and the others, at heaven's gate, to greet you home when you follow us from earth.

I would have so much liked to see you, mother dear, before I died; but it has been ordained otherwise, and G.o.d does all things well.

Give my love to all my acquaintances and tell them I thought of all when dying; and my Bible cla.s.s scholars, I do not know what to ask you to say to them. Try and tell them how deeply I love them, and how I wish to meet them all around the great white throne on high.

And now, mother, you who are dearer to me than all other earthly treasures, to you I must say--good-by, till we meet again in heaven.

Ever your own loving Agnes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Dear little darling!" said Anges, tenderly, pressing the infant against her bosom.]