inexorable to the flesh; from the trembling hand, the unnerved
limbs, the faded eyes, the same service was exacted as they had
rendered in health. To stand by and witness this, and not dare to
remonstrate, was a pain no words can render.

Two cruel months of hope and fear passed painfully by, and the day
came at last when the terrors and pains of death were to be
undergone by this treasure, which had grown dearer and dearer to
our hearts as it wasted before our eyes. Towards the decline of
that day, we had nothing of Emily but her mortal remains as
consumption left them. She died December 19, 1848.

We thought this enough: but we were utterly and presumptuously
wrong. She was not buried ere Anne fell ill. She had not been
committed to the grave a fortnight, before we received distinct
intimation that it was necessary to prepare our minds to see the
younger sister go after the elder. Accordingly, she followed in
the same path with slower step, and with a patience that equalled
the other's fortitude. I have said that she was religious, and it
was by leaning on those Christian doctrines in which she firmly
believed, that she found support through her most painful journey.
I witnessed their efficacy in her latest hour and greatest trial,
and must bear my testimony to the calm triumph with which they
brought her through. She died May 28, 1849.

What more shall I say about them? I cannot and need not say much
more. In externals, they were two unobtrusive women; a perfectly
secluded life gave them retiring manners and habits. In Emily's
nature the extremes of vigour and simplicity seemed to meet. Under
an unsophisticated culture, inartificial tastes, and an