Angel Agnes | Page 9

you safe from the horrible fever!" were the words still ringing in her ears, as the heroic and devoted girl followed the doctor's man out into the street.
It was not raining now, but the murky, mist-laden atmosphere was rendered like a damp, choking, heavy pall of gloom by the dense volumes of pitch and tar-smoke with which it seemed to be perfectly soaked, as a sponge is with water. It caused Agnes to cough violently and continuously until she arrived at her new destination, which was a private dwelling-house, apparently the abode of some one belonging to the middle class of society.
"This is the place, Miss Arnold," said the man, "a young lady was taken early this morning while she was visiting in the house, and a few hours ago a Sister of Mercy, who was sent in to nurse her, went down sick. And they're both in bed together."
Agnes could not account for it, but the moment she heard mention of the Sister of Charity, a feeling came over her that it must be one of the three with whom she had come hither in the cars.
Upon reaching the house, she found that her impression was correct. Sure enough, tossing in agony and delirium upon the bed, was Sister Theresa. By some mistake, a male nurse had also been sent to this house, of which circumstance Agnes, however, was very glad, as his services were very valuable until she had administered her first simple remedies to the two patients.
As soon as she could, she thanked the man, and informed him that she could now get along without him, and that he had better report to the doctor for assignment to some other house.
He left, and Agnes now commenced her task of peril and unceasing labor.
The lady whom Sister Theresa had come to nurse was comparatively quiet. But, strange as it may seem, Theresa herself was extremely violent at intervals. Yet when in her right mind, she was the sweetest and gentlest of her sex. Alas! how unlike her natural self was she, now that reason was dethroned.
All through the long, long, dreary night, Agnes never once closed her eyes. All night long, too, she never flagged in her devoted attention to her patients. Minute by minute, instant by instant, inch by inch, as it were, she battled with the demon fever that held so fiercely the two sick women in his horrible grasp.
Ah, noble, noble Agnes, when thy soul appears on that final day before God's judgment-seat on high, how thrice enviable will be thy reward! What hymns of glorious praise shall heaven's choir chant for thee!
It was nearly day-dawn ere Agnes succeeded in getting the Sister of Mercy into a somewhat quiet state, and then, completely worn out, she was herself obliged to seek a little rest. Even her manner of doing this showed how little she dreaded the pestilence, for, instead of going to another room, she lifted Theresa further over in the bed, and laying herself down beside her, placed her arm over her, kindly, lovingly, so that if she should chance to move, though never so slightly, it would awaken her.
Uttering a prayer, first for her patients, and then for herself, Agnes fell at once into a light but refreshing slumber, from which, however, she awakened at about the proper time to administer another dose of medicine. This done, she again lay down as before, and in this way she obtained three or four hours of good sleep, which had the effect to refresh her very much indeed; after which she rinsed her face, hands and neck in cold water, and partook of as good a breakfast as she could possibly get under the circumstances.
By careful attention in such particulars as these, Agnes managed to keep up her health, strength and good spirits, when all the rest of the nurses, both male and female, were completely fagged and wearied out both in mind and body.
Just after partaking of her frugal meal, Agnes was obliged to spring to her bedside, for all of a sudden Sister Theresa had started up out of her sleep, weeping most piteously, and Agnes feared she would throw herself out of bed. But in a few minutes, by her kind, soothing voice, she had quieted her patient and got her to lie down again.
Agnes never was without her Bible, and bethinking herself that its holy words would have a good effect upon Theresa, she quickly opened it as chance directed. It was at the twenty-third Psalm.
"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters."
Agnes was a magnificent reader, and as her flute-like voice, in clear, grand, musical tones, uttered word after word of this most