A shudder passed through Agnes, but she said: "Yes, I will go with you, but I must find some of the scholars to send home and tell Miss Ruth." She thought with horror of going there to the hospital, where men and women were lying struggling for life, to be followed by their wild, staring eyes, and their cries of entreaty for relief. For a moment she was possessed with the feeling that she could not encounter the fearful sight, and the question arose: "Why need I cause myself to suffer when I cannot relieve the sufferings I shall witness?" But ashamed of her cowardice, she banished the thought as unworthy a place in her heart, glad to be able to share the sorrows and help to comfort those whose time of trial and sore distress had come.
"I shall need help one day, perhaps," she said to herself, "if Ruth or Guy should be taken first. But I pray God that I may die before them, unless—" here the child-like-spirit showed itself, and her soul became suddenly strong—"it would be to His glory that I should thus suffer."
A boy was sent with a message to Ruth, and then, as Mrs. Nelson was ready, they set out on their mournful visit. It was a long and silent walk. The heart of the sorrow-stricken woman was too full for words, and Agnes, so young and unaccustomed to such scenes, did not know what was best to say.
The hand that held Martha's tightened its grasp as they came within sight of the hospital, and although the voice was very low that whispered in the woman's ear, "Be strong, God will help you," it gave courage and re-assurance.
Up the broad steps and through the long corridors they passed; Martha trembling and drawing closer, while Agnes dared not look to the right or left. Presently they stopped before a curtained recess, and drawing aside the curtain Mrs. Nelson passed in. Martha wanted her teacher with her, she said; but when she was told her father might have things to say to his wife and child alone, she withdrew her hand and followed her mother. It was not long, however, until the nurse came out with a request for Martha's teacher.
"He wants some singing, Miss, and the little girl told him you could sing beautiful," said the man. As Agnes stepped near the bedside, Martha called out eagerly, "Here she is, father, this is Miss Agnes."
He tried to speak, but it was only a movement of the lips, no sound came. Sitting where he could see her, Agnes began in a low, clear voice, to sing:
"There is a fountain fill'd with blood,—"
When she came to the lines—
"And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away,—"