The Jews are very reluctant to allow _post-mortem_ examinations on their relatives; and, when such a thing is unavoidable, as by coroner’s order, an official from the synagogue is present to see that nothing is abstracted. It has often happened that the friends have discovered that portions of the corpse have been withheld or lost; and, as such detention of human remains is forbidden by law, the authorities have had to compensate the relatives by handsome sums towards the funeral expenses. Nevertheless, one shilling will still purchase a healthy, adult human brain to dissect quietly at home; and the emptiness of the dead person’s head is not always a cause of surprise. A judicious porter in the P.M. room has often found the cranial cavity a good receptacle for the liver, thus balancing matters comfortably. CHAPTER XXVI. SISTER AGNES REVOLTS The world’s male chivalry has perished out, But women are knights-errant to the last; And if Cervantes had been Shakespeare too, He had made his Don a Donna. —_Elizabeth B. Browning._ When it was found that Elsworth had quite disappeared, and nothing more was heard of him, many of the good sisters and kind-hearted nurses were really sorry to have lost him. None more so than Sister Agnes. Sister Agnes was the brightest, cleverest, and most devoted nurse that could be imagined. She never wearied of her work, never grew snappy and huffy, as the best of women will when worn and weary with hard work and watching. She never seemed to need rest; that is to say, she never exhibited in her perfect temper the strain upon her system which her heavy duties entailed. She was not only the intimate personal friend of all the nurses under her, but she made it her business to aid in a thousand ways all her patients and smooth their pillows by the many sweet attentions such a loving woman could bestow. She was the widow of a clergyman who had died two years after his marriage, and having no family she was free to follow a long cherished desire, and so devoted herself and her admirable talents to the sacred office of nursing. She was tall and dark, with charming wavy hair and a healthy, not to say ruddy, complexion, which bespoke more than the usual health of a London woman. Deeply religious, of High Church principles, she was yet entirely free from those prejudices against other forms of belief which often detract from the usefulness of a hospital sister. It was enough for her to know that a patient loved her Master, in whatever outward form that love was expressed, to make Sister Agnes at once a friend. In many a way she contrived to instil even into the hearts of the most indifferent some thought of better things, some hope of a life beyond. Most of her patients left her wards the better for having come into contact with her.