The manner in which Agnes lost her life was as follows:
During the day the three who were ill with the fever were exceeding troublesome, fairly overtasking the strength of Agnes in attending to them. Shortly after noon, also, the baby began to exhibit symptoms of being ill. It steadily grew worse, and became exceedingly fractious. The only way in which Agnes could pacify it, was to keep walking with it in her arms constantly. The moment she would attempt to sit down to rest herself or lay it in its crib, so that she might do something for the others, it would scream dreadfully till she began to walk it again.
In this way Agnes worried along for the greater portion of the night, never closing her eyes nor sitting down. Just before daylight, however she became so utterly wearied out with fatigue, that she actually got asleep several times while walking.
During one of these overpowering moments she stepped too near the top of the stairway, lost her balance, toppled over, and fell heavily all the way down to the bottom. There she struck the small of her back upon the edge of a water-pail that happened to be standing on the floor.
Had she not been encumbered with the baby she might have saved herself. But the instant she awoke, and found that she was falling, her first and only thought was how to keep the infant from going down underneath herself and being surely killed. To prevent this, she endeavored to hold it up, which effort caused her to twist or turn round in her descent, and so fall as to inflict on herself the dreadful and fatal injury.
She must have screamed as she went down, because two men who were passing by, ran in immediately, and carried her into the next room. The pain she suffered was most excruciating, yet the first words she uttered were:
"Is the baby safe? poor little darling!"
"Yes, ma'm. I hope you aint hurted any worse than the baby," replied one of the men, with genuine, though unpolished sympathy.
"Thank God, the baby's safe," said Agnes. "I am hurt; but after awhile I think I will be able to get up. I would be deeply obliged to you though, gentlemen, if you would stay till daylight—that is, if you are not afraid of the fever. There are three sick with it up stairs."
"No, ma'm, we're not afeard of it. I'll stay with you, and, John"—the speaker turned to his companion—"you go up to the house, and ask one of the Sisters to come right along with you, for it'll be more nicer for this lady to have a female with her than men. It'll make her feel more natural and easy, won't it ma'm?"