Angel Agnes | Page 4

you
both had the fever down in New Orleans."
This was true. Several years before, while the Arnolds had been making
a pleasure tour in the Southern States, they had been seized with the
disorder, and but for the unflagging, heroic devotion of Agnes, they
would most likely have perished.
"No, darling, I could never forget that were I to live a hundred years. It
is because I do remember the horror of that time that I would not wish
you to expose yourself to such another. Besides, what would I do
without you?"

"That is the only subject that gives me any pain, mother; but then God
would take care of you as well as of me, would he not?"
"Yes."
"I know it, mother. You have always taught me that, and I firmly
believe it. God, who sees and notes the fall of even a sparrow, will not
let me fall, except it be His gracious will. No, mother, I feel that I must
go, and you must consent and give me your best blessing. It is strange
that we see no account of ministers or members of any denomination
but the Roman Church volunteering to go to the stricken city. All seem
to stand aloof but them. How noble are those truly Christian and
devoted women, the Sisters of Mercy! And shall I be idle and listless
when I might be saving life, or at least trying to do so. O, mother dear, I
must go. I will come back safely to you. You must give me your
consent."
Mrs. Arnold was herself a truly brave and Christian lady, and a firm
believer in the care that God exercises over all who serve Him. And
therefore, after a short consideration, she gave the required consent to
her daughter Agnes, to go to Shreveport as a nurse.
During the late war, fond fathers sent their sons to the battle-field, not
that they wished to have them slaughtered, but willing that, for the sake
of their cause, they should take the risk.
So now, with much the same motive, Mrs. Arnold gave Agnes her
approbation to go and perform her Christian duty to the sufferers at
Shreveport.
Yet when the parting really came, it seemed as though Mrs. Arnold
could never unclasp her arms from about the form of her daughter.
"God will bring me safely back to you, dear mother," urged Agnes,
gently untwining those loving arms; "Good-by."
"Good-by, darling, good-by."

It was over--the parting was over--Agnes was gone. Mrs. Arnold was
alone--for evermore in this life. Not until the sea and earth give up their
dead--not until the Book of Life might be opened and mankind
summoned before the White Throne on high, were these two destined
to look into each other's face again. Mrs. Arnold could not foresee the
solemn significance of her words as, for the last time, she murmured:
"Agnes, my darling, my angel, good-by!"

IN THE MIDST OF DEATH.
In due course of time Agnes approached Shreveport. While in the cars
she had formed the acquaintance of three Sisters of Mercy, who were
bound upon a similar errand of kindness and peril to her own.
At first, upon learning whither she was going, and what her object was,
these pious ladies were thoroughly astonished; but when they found by
interrogation that she was really in earnest, their friendly admiration
became equal to their previous astonishment.
"Your services will be most welcome, Miss Arnold, I assure you," said
the eldest of the Sisters. "This is the third time I have been summoned
to nurse in yellow fever, and I know that there are never one-half the
number of nurses necessary."
A little short of the stricken city they were all stopped, and it required
the positive statement of the Sisters of Mercy that their youthful, lovely
companion was really going into the place for the purpose of nursing
the sick.
"Miss," asked an elderly gentleman, "were you ever acclimated here?
Because if you were not, we cannot let you pass, for you would only
get the fever yourself, and become a care instead of a help to us. Not
only that, but you would surely be a corpse inside of twenty-four
hours."
Agnes explained to the firm but kind gentleman, her New Orleans

experience, and he relaxed and said:
"In that case, Miss Arnold, I sincerely welcome you, and in the name of
the sick and dying people here, pray God that you may be spared to
help them. Pass through, and heaven bless your brave and noble heart!"
Reader, if you are a man, possibly you have been in the army, and then
possibly you have been in a column, to which has been assigned the
task of storming a well-served battery of pieces. If