that spoke of God and heaven and prayer. Your mother used to sigh after
reading them, and sometimes she would read me a page or two from those
letters, and would say to me, 'My good Teresa, we both ought to think about
these things! My sister is far more happy in her hut on the mountain-side
in Waldensia than we are here in the midst of abundance. It must be
wonderful not to fear death and to love God with all our heart' When she
spoke thus to your father he laughed at her and said. 'Now, don't you worry
about that, darling, you couldn't be any better than you are now; and I am
glad that you are not like these pious ladies who try to tell you what will
happen to you after death. You'll have plenty of time to think about those
things when you come to your last days; but now with your good health and
robust constitution you can count on a good old age.'"

"But father was mistaken, Teresa!"

"Yes, he certainly was mistaken, poor man. Nobody could have believed that
when on that Monday afternoon she complained of a little pain in her
throat, she would die on the following Thursday."

"Was it diphtheria, Teresa?"

All that poor Teresa could say amid her tears was, "Poor, poor little
beloved one! Never shall I forget her last moments or the desperation of
your father. From his very first visit the doctor said that there was no
hope. I thought I would go insane when he said that! How I remember her the
day before she was taken ill, in all her youth and beauty--singing as she
worked, and then suddenly came that terrible pressure in her throat."

"Then, Teresa, you remember, she could not kiss us goodbye."