I went out into the garden to see which new flowers had blossomed into beauty, and to pick a nice posy for my father, who loved flowers, when I heard my mother shrieking out for Martha. The tone of her voice alarmed me, and I flew to see what was amiss. My mother, seeing me rushing upstairs, called louder still for Martha, who came running as fast as such an ancient body could, together with the servants, who were as alarmed as myself, all with faces of consternation. My poor mother, seeing us all coming, went into her bedroom, and, pointing to my father, said, 'I don't know what is the matter with him but I cannot wake him!' I ran forward, but Martha pushed me to one side, saying, 'Not yet, Miss Susan, dear!' and went and gazed earnestly in my fathers' face. He was lying on one side in the position of a person sound asleep.

Oh! He was dead! Dead! He had died probably very early in the morning, for he was quite cold and stiff: he must have been dead for hours. The agony of the discovery was unbearable. It was such a dreadful, dreadful shock, but what followed intensified our grief and horror, and made it seem as though all the miseries man was capable of enduring were being showered down upon our devoted heads. My darling mother never spoke again! She sank into a chair, gasped once or twice, and before anyone could run to her aid, she fell to the floor, literally heart-broken. I must beg permission to cease from any further details of the most excruciatingly agonizing moments I ever spent. I do not even remember how the hours, the days and the weary nights passed. I was stunned with the overwhelming grief and desolation that came upon me, and I can only liken myself to a happy bird, a native of the tropics, suddenly moved from its joyous surroundings to an Arctic desert.