She hated her work, but would pursue it. When reasoned with on the
subject, she regarded such reasonings as a temptation to self-
indulgence. She must be honest; she must not varnish, soften, nor
conceal. This well-meant resolution brought on her
misconstruction, and some abuse, which she bore, as it was her
custom to bear whatever was unpleasant, with mild, steady patience.
She was a very sincere, and practical Christian, but the tinge of
religious melancholy communicated a sad shade to her brief,
blameless life.

Neither Ellis nor Acton allowed herself for one moment to sink
under want of encouragement; energy nerved the one, and endurance
upheld the other. They were both prepared to try again; I would
fain think that hope and the sense of power were yet strong within
them. But a great change approached; affliction came in that shape
which to anticipate is dread; to look back on, grief. In the very
heat and burden of the day, the labourers failed over their work.

My sister Emily first declined. The details of her illness are
deep-branded in my memory, but to dwell on them, either in thought
or narrative, is not in my power. Never in all her life had she
lingered over any task that lay before her, and she did not linger
now. She sank rapidly. She made haste to leave us. Yet, while
physically she perished, mentally she grew stronger than we had yet
known her. Day by day, when I saw with what a front she met
suffering, I looked on her with an anguish of wonder and love. I
have seen nothing like it; but, indeed, I have never seen her
parallel in anything. Stronger than a man, simpler than a child,
her nature stood alone. The awful point was, that while full of
ruth for others, on herself she had no pity; the spirit was