"Thank you, O, my darling, my Angel. Twenty fevers shall not kill me
now," said George, but in a very weak voice.
Brave heart, George! Loving heart, Agnes! But fate willed
otherwise. You were to be united, but not then, not then; not until
you both had crossed the mysterious river which has but one tide, and
that ever flowing in at Eternity's gates, but never returning.
Hour after hour Agnes battled with the demon fever which was gnawing
at the vitals of her beloved George. At intervals her care seemed to
get the better of the disorder, and to cause it to loosen its
grip. But, alas! after twenty-four hours of unceasing toil and
anxiety, poor devoted Agnes was forced to endure the mental agony of
seeing Harkness die. The last thing he did was to smile up in her
yearning face, and try to thank her for all she had done for him. His
voice was gone; but she knew what the slowly moving parched lips were
saying for all that. Slipping her arms under his shoulders, Agnes bent
down, and raising him up ever so gently, she pressed him to her bosom
and kissed him. Even as she did so Harkness breathed his last. With a
deep sigh, Agnes allowed the corpse to sink gradually down again upon
the bed, composed the limbs, closed the eyes, and bound up the fallen
jaw. These sad offices finished, her next care was to see that the
body was properly interred in a separate grave by itself--a matter
which was quite difficult of accomplishment.
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