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The precious ointment was poured out in the service of her King and Country and for the Master she served so faithfully. I have been looking through some notices which appeared in the press after Miss Macnaughtan's death.
T. Vivian Rees, John Andrews, W. Cocks, A. Hope, S. Fisher, and Robinson Smith. Colonel Denniss, in a few introductory remarks, referred to Miss Macnaughtan's reputation as a writer, and stated that since the outbreak of war she had devoted herself to the noble work of helping the wounded soldiers in Belgium and France.
Before she went there many of her friends urged her to give up the expedition. Her maid had a premonition that the enterprise would end in disaster, and had begged her mistress to stay at home. "I feel sure you will never return alive ma'am," she had urged, and Miss Macnaughtan's first words to her old servant on her return were: "You were right, Mary. Russia has killed me."
And if any ghosts hover round the little place, they will be the ghosts of a purity, a kindness, and of a love for humanity which are not often met with in this workaday world. Perhaps a review of her war work by an onlooker, and a slight sketch of Miss Macnaughtan's character, may form an appropriate conclusion to this book. I stayed with my aunt for one night, on August 7th, 1914.
I am beginning to sympathise with the Americans who insist upon doing two cities a day. We got some papers to-day dated October 26th, and also a few letters of the same date. Unfinished Article on Persia found among Miss Macnaughtan's papers.
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