Only two friends were gentle enough to aid Elizabeth and me in nursing her, as she murmured, constantly: "If my husband were only here!" She could bear no voice in reading save Gabriel Adams' and my own.

I read to her comforting passages of Scripture, and said prayers which carried her soul up to the throne, and fell back on mine in showers of dust and ashes.

A great black atheism had fallen on me.

There was no justice on earth, no mercy in heaven.
Her house was in Pittsburg, on Sixth street, a little cottage built for her father and mother when they were alone.

It stood back in a yard, and rough men in passing stepped lightly--children went elsewhere with their sports--friends tapped on the gate, and we went out to answer inquiries and receive supplies--prayers were offered for her in churches, societies and families.