“I am almost done now, Annie. There is a gathering film before my eyes, and I feel the death chill creeping through my veins. It would be sweet to have you here, as I go down the brink up which no traveler has ever come; but it cannot be, and I will not repine. There is One with me whose presence is dearer far than yours could be; One whose everlasting arm will be beneath me as I pass over Jordan. Leaning on Him I need no other stay, but shall go fearlessly down to death. There is another with me, too,—an earthly friend, who has been kinder than a brother, and my heart clings to him more fondly than he can ever guess. Always respect William Mather, Annie, for what he has been to me. Pray that prosperity may attend him all his days, and that at the last he may find a place in Heaven. He is thinking of these things, I know, and from the dreary hours spent with me there may yet spring up plants of everlasting growth. “My mind begins to wander, darling. There’s a rushing sound in my ears, while thoughts of you and thoughts of that terrible Sabbath battle are blended together. Good-bye, my precious one. Don’t cry too much when you read this. It is not good-bye forever. A few more years of earth to you, a moment of heavenly bliss to me and then we meet again, where golden harps are ringing. I can almost hear them now,—almost see the shining throngs sent out to meet me, just as I once vainly dreamed the Rockland people would come to welcome me home from war. In fancy I put my arms around your neck just as I used to do; in fancy hold you to my bosom; in fancy kiss your girlish lips, and smooth your pale brown hair. “I don’t know how you’ll live without me; don’t know who will earn your bread, but the God of the widow and fatherless will surely care for my darling and keep her heart from breaking. With him I leave you, knowing you are safer there than elsewhere. “Good-bye, good-bye.” There were great tear blots upon this letter, for Mr. Mather, as he penned it, had wept over it like a child, forming a resolution which he wondered had not suggested itself before. Kneeling by the dying George, he said, “God _will_ care for your darling, and I shall be His instrument. So long as I have a home, Annie shall not suffer. Rose’s love was given to her long ago and mine will follow soon. She shall be a sister to us both.” The glazed eyes lighted up with joy, and the white lips whispered the thanks which ended in a prayer for blessings on one who had proved himself so kind to the poor soldier.