My dear Mr. McQuesten,

It is with great reluctance that I write this letter as I am sure you will understand. I wish it did not seem so clearly my duty to stay here, but I seem shut up to that decision. I have thought and thought until I am tired out, but no other solution of the difficulty appears. My brother-in-law is too old to change his way of living and just at present it would be too unkind to have a stranger look after him. He told his daughter that next to her mother he would sooner have me here. So what can I do?

I feel very badly indeed at deserting you but nothing but such circumstances as these would have made me break faith with you in this manner. Indeed, I was far too happy at Buckingham to leave it without regret, and I am glad to have such a pleasant memory of my stay with you.

My sister's passing was very lovely. A neighbour who had not been in the house perhaps for six months came in with her daughter and Mrs. Bruce was just laughing over some little joke she had been having with her husband when she seemed to faint, and as he caught her in his arms she must have become unconscious. The doctor was there very soon, but though the heart was beating, she had ceased to breathe. Rupture of a blood vessel in the brain was the cause of death, and how much better that she should go like that rather than linger on, as some do for months and years, helpless and perhaps speechless.

She was a beautiful woman, and death took from her all traces of age except her lovely white hair. Every wrinkle disappeared and she looked as though she was asleep. She often took her afternoon nap in the Library, where she was lying these days before they took her away, and I would stand beside and think surely she must be breathing!!

Letters from many parts of the country speak of my sister's gracious manner and of her charming hospitality. On every hand, too, one hears of many acts of kindness done so quietly that no one knew of them except the giver and the receiver.

Mr. MacKay assisted by Dr. Currie conducted the funeral, and his address was very fine, lifting our thoughts from death and the grave to the glory beyond. Her place here is empty and can never be filled, but we feel it would be wicked to grieve over-much when God was so good to our dear one. A long illness would have been a sore trial to her and she just slipped away when her day's work was done.

I shall always remember gratefully your prayer the morning I left. I got through the journey without undue fatigue, and I have been left wonderfully calm. All of which I consider an answer to your prayer.

The atmosphere of St. Andrew's Manse was very congenial, and your unfailing consideration made every day a pleasure. I remember the cheery good mornings! And the little chats at table or the more serious talks-the jokes and everything that contributed to my enjoyment. Much I lose by coming to live in Beaverton, but it does not seem that I am free to choose, but must just go where I am sent. Do try and get someone else. I just can't bear to think of you alone, and I am afraid your family will have hard thoughts of me, and I can't blame them if they do.

Mrs. Robinson left us this evening and we miss her ever so much. Mrs. Suveright will stay until next week. When she goes I shall be very lonely.

With kindest regards, and many thanks for your kindnesses. I am always,

Very sincerely yours,

Annie I. Robinson.