At this time—­that is, during the summer of 1832—­Sarah lived a more than usually retired life, and her diary only records her increased depression of spirits, and her continued painful experiences in meeting.  She would gladly have turned her back upon it all, and sought a home elsewhere at the North, or have returned to Charleston, but she dared not move without divine approbation, and this never seemed sufficiently clear to satisfy her.

“Surely,” she says, “though I cannot understand why it is so, there must be wisdom in the decree which forbids my seeking another home.  Most gladly would I have remained in Charleston, but my Father’s will was not so.”

And again she says,—­

“But while the desire to escape present conflict has turned my mind there [to Charleston] with longing towards my precious mother, all the answer I can hear from the sanctuary is, ‘Stay here;’ and Satan adds, ‘to suffer.’” According to Sarah’s own views, she had thus far made little or no progress towards the great end and aim of her labors and sacrifices,—­the securing of her eternal salvation; and the amount of misery she managed to manufacture for herself out of this thought, and her many fancied transgressions, is sad in the extreme.  Years afterwards, in a letter to a young friend, she says,—­

“I have suffered the very torments of the fabled hell, because my conscience was sore to the touch all over.  I would fain have you spared such long, dark years of anguish.”

And to another friend, concerning this portion of her life, she writes,—­

“Much of my suffering arose from a morbid conscience,—­a conscience which magnified infirmities into crimes, and transformed our blessed Father in heaven into a stern judge, who punishes to the uttermost every real or imaginary departure from what we apprehend to be his requirements.  Deceived by the false theological views in which I was educated, I was continually lashed by the scorpion whip of a perverted conscience.”

During the winter of 1832-33, the time of both sisters was much taken up in nursing a sick woman, whose friendless position stirred Angelina’s sense of duty, and she had her removed to Mrs. Frost’s house.  She and Sarah took upon themselves all the offices of nurse, even the most menial.  They read to her, and tried to cheer her during the day, sat up with her at night, and in every way devoted themselves to the poor consumptive, until death came to her relief.  Such a sacrifice to a sense of duty was all the more admirable, as the invalid was unusually exacting and unreasonable, and felt apparently little appreciation of the trouble she gave.  Angelina, being in the same house, was more with her than Sarah, and she could scarcely have shown her greater attention if the tenderest ties had existed between her and her charge.

This was only one among the many similar acts of self-abnegation which were dotted all along Angelina’s path through life; she never went out of her way to avoid them, but would travel any distance to take them up, if duty pointed her to them; and in accepting them she never seemed to think she was doing more than just what she ought to do, although they were generally of the kind which bring no honor or reward, except that sense of duty fulfilled which spreads over hearts like hers such sweet content.