The day succeeding Miss Tucker’s arrival in Amritsar Mrs. Wade came to see her; and during either that call or the next Miss Tucker put the question, ‘Is my face altered?’ Mrs. Wade hesitated, unable to deny that she saw a change. Miss Tucker immediately added: ‘Don’t mind telling me. It is harder to be patient on this pillow than to go inside the Golden Gate.’ And to Miss Jackson she said: ‘To depart and to be with Christ is so very much better!’
Many friends came to ask after her; but on account of her excessive feebleness a very limited number could be admitted; only one or two in the day, and merely for a few minutes each.
One day, on hearing Mr. Clark’s voice outside, she said, ‘Is that Mr. Clark?’ They told her that she must not see any one; she was too weak. ‘But I must see him!’ she replied; and then, ‘I will see him!’—with a flash of the old determination. When he was brought in she said to him: ‘I am dying! I know it. I am very happy,—in perfect peace,—without a doubt or a care,—but I have none of the rapturous feelings of triumph, which I have rather looked forward to!’ Then she added: ‘It is best as it is!’ The next day and the day after, when Mr. Clark was again admitted, she was both times too ill to say anything.
She was indeed this time far too entirely worn out and exhausted, both bodily and mentally, for any shout of joy. All was quiet trust, perfect confidence; but eagerness and exultation were physically out of the question. She could only wait peacefully to be carried through the waters of the River. Rapture would come when she reached the Other Side.
Still, there was the same longing as ever to go. Several times she said: ‘Do not pray that I may stay here.’ And another time: ‘Christ has abolished death! I am longing to go Home!’
On Sunday, November 26th, Mr. Wade came to her room for Holy Communion; Miss Wauton and Miss Jackson being present. Miss Tucker was perfectly clear in mind, and able to join audibly in the responses; but the after-exhaustion was great.
Sometimes she would speak lovingly of her friends, and would wish that she could see one and another. ‘It is a pity Rowland Bateman is not here,’ she said. Also she would give directions for presents to be sent to one and another after her death. On the 27th she sent for Babu Singha, and mentioned particulars as to the manner in which she wished her funeral to be conducted. The boys—her dear brown boys, as she had so often called them—were to carry her to the grave, on a native charpai. No coffin was to be used; and the expenditure might not exceed five rupees. She was of course to be buried in Batala. Nobody was to shed tears; nobody was to put on mourning; and her own funeral hymn, one which she had written quite lately in Urdu, was to be sung.
One day Miss Jackson repeated the hymn, ‘For ever with the Lord!’—and Miss Tucker said, ‘That is my favourite hymn!’ So it too was afterwards chosen to be sung at the funeral.
On Wednesday, November 29, her temperature fell to 95°; and great difficulty was experienced in restoring it to normal. Two days later it fell again; and this time there was no rally. The cough and other symptoms were exceedingly trying; and all Friday night she suffered greatly from oppression, restlessness, and weariness. Again and again she could be heard to murmur, ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ Nothing else that she said could be distinguished.