But such work was not without its trials.  During the first year there was great difficulty with the ex-pauper women who were being trained, many who seemed to be doing well returning to their drunken habits.  Dirt, disorder, insubordination, and grumbling had to be contended with.  The vilest sins were practised even by children, and so shameful was the conduct of many of the inmates that Agnes Jones said, “I can only compare it to Sodom, and wonder how God stays His hand from smiting.”

The isolation from home and friends was a trial in itself, while her anxiety about her work was so great that she scarcely allowed herself a holiday.  A further trouble was that from morning till night she was never alone.  It is small cause for wonder that with such a terrible strain, overtaxed nerves and strength should result in depression, a fact only revealed by her journals, for to others she was ever bright, and it was often said of her, “She is like a sunbeam.”

A life lived at high pressure cannot long continue without failing partly or altogether, and the end came at last.  In the beginning of 1868 there was much fever and sickness of various kinds, there being three hundred patients above the normal number, while the nursing staff was reduced by illness.  A nurse, who had been ill with bronchitis, developed symptoms of typhus, and Agnes Jones, fearing that her life might be sacrified, were she removed to the fever wards, gave up her bedroom to her, sleeping herself on the floor of her sitting-room.  She was soon attacked by the same disease.  For a week she progressed very favourably.  Then dangerous symptoms showed themselves, and finally inflammation of both lungs.

Many were the touching inquiries from the patients of “How is the lady?” Nurses and friends watched anxiously the terrible progress of the disease.  Much prayer was made, but the Lord had need of His servant, who had been so faithful to the trust committed to her here, for a more perfect service; and at the age of thirty-five she passed away peacefully into the brightness of His presence in the early morning of February 19, 1868, the beginning to her of a glorious day which should know no twilight gloom.

On the following Friday, when the coffin was carried into the hall, and placed in its case ready for removal across the Irish Channel, the landing and stairs were filled with patients who had crept there from the wards to see the last of one who had brought so much happiness into their wretched lives.  And when she was carried to her last resting-place in the picturesque churchyard of Fahan, within sound of the rippling waters of Lough Swilly, she was followed, as was fitting, by nearly the whole population, many of whom could thank God for blessing which she had been the means of bringing to them.