Somewhat more than two years after his death, she was taken ill of a fever. Its first attack seemed slight, but her discriminating mind apprehended the result, and arranged even the minutest circumstance as one who returns no more. "I have no longer any wish for life," she said, "but for my dear mother's sake."
As the disease developed its fatal features, she faintly whispered, "Lay me by the side of my father." Apprehending that the delirium so generally incidental to that disease might overpower her, she drew her sister down to her pillow, and slowly articulated, "I have many things to say to you. Let me say some of them now, or perhaps I may not be able. You know how much I have loved you. Seek an interest in our Saviour. Promise me that you will prepare to follow me. For Oh! I never before felt so happy. Soon shall I be in that world
"Where rising floods of knowledge roll,
And pour, and pour upon the soul."
And so with many other kind and sweet words, and messages to the absent and beloved, and communings with the Hearer of Prayer, passed away at the age of twenty-four, as lovely a spirit as ever wore the vestments of mortality; so lovely, that the friend who from life's opening pilgrimage had walked with her in the intimacy of a twin-being, is able to remember no intentional fault, no wayward deviation from duty, and no shadow of blemish, save what must ever appertain to dimmed and fallen humanity.
