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.
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