THE END
"In Thy light we shall see light."
The summer of 1884 in London was hot and exhausting. In Bessie's
helpless condition excessive heat caused her real suffering; for she was
fixed immovable upon her couch. But if she longed for cool breezes, the
scent of flowers and song of birds, she uttered no murmur in their
absence.
The slight improvement recognised with so much gratitude in the spring
was not permanent, but the "change" she anticipated was at hand. "I feel
as if there would be a change," she had said.
The autumn showed that she had seriously lost ground.
"Her throat," continues her sister N., "always painful and
irritable, had now become a source of great suffering. There was
constant pain, greatly increased every time she swallowed; whilst
her weakness made it important that she should take plenty of
nourishment. A troublesome cough came on; fits of coughing that
lasted for hours and exhausted her terribly. At the same time
neuralgia and rheumatism attacked the left leg and thigh, and
violent pain caused her, with all her courage and patience, to
scream in the most heartrending manner. Her whole body became most
sensitive to touch, and yet she was obliged to be moved on account
of the cough. Her limbs seemed to stiffen, and the body was like a
leaden weight pressing on the bed. To change her position, even to
touch her hair, caused her great pain; and it required four or even
five persons to move her with the minimum of pain."
This sad condition lasted through the autumn of 1884, but she improved
wonderfully about Christmas time, and there was alleviation and relief
for herself and all around her. On Christmas day, however, a fresh
sorrow befel her. Her brother-in-law, Mr. Bowles, died suddenly, and all
her old grief at the loss of her sister Mary, of her father, and of dear
friends, was reopened. She had a serious relapse, and before long the
condition of her throat made it desirable to seek further advice. Dr.
Semon was consulted, and he examined her throat by the help of the
electric light. She was greatly interested in this examination, in the
explanation of the apparatus used, and in the fact that hers was the
first throat so examined since Dr. Semon's apparatus had been perfected.
Shortly afterwards her condition was aggravated by slight bronchitis,
and for four days and nights she had no sleep. On the 7th of February
1885 Dr. Sibley saw her between 12 and 12.30, and anticipated no
immediate danger. But he was again hastily summoned, and at 1.15 she
died; conscious to the last moment.
"She had been so tired the night before," writes her sister. "About
midnight she said: 'Art thou weary, art thou weary?' and we repeated the
beautiful hymn, which seemed to soothe her. Even that last night she was
full of thought for others. 'Mind you have some tea; do make yourselves
some tea,' she said. She evidently followed the prayers that we said,
and indeed her death was a falling asleep, so peaceful, with no pain or
struggle whatever."
The farewell of two old friends was by her bedside at Ascension Tide,
May 1884, when Bessie received the Holy Communion.
Such a radiant light, such ineffable peace rested on her face when she
lay back in silence on her pillow, that the writer thought "so will she
look when at last her eyes are open to the eternal day." A kiss, a
pressure of the hand, a word of farewell, and there was no other place
of meeting in this life.
Undaunted by suffering and privation, patient, heroic, she lived and
died. No murmur escaped her lips from early youth to age. She stood
trembling with awestruck face when, after she had said, "Oh how I should
like to see the sun!" her companion solemnly assured her, "And you shall
see," and turned the sightless face towards the glowing sky. All was
dark, the young girl could only answer, "I see nothing," as she turned
and went slowly homewards. She accepted her blindness. It was the will
of God. No word of lamentation escaped her throughout her life.
Again there came a time when a great cause had been entrusted to her,
when she felt that it was prospering in her hands, when she hoped to
raise the whole condition of the blind, to lift them up out of poverty
and dependence, and place them on a level with all industrious and
intelligent citizens. But a hand was laid upon her in the darkness. "I
can do nothing," she said; and once again she turned and went slowly
without a murmur, without repining, down the dark pathway to the grave
and gate of death. But the work for which she gave her life has not
died, and cannot die. Every good seed, sown upon good ground, must
spring up and bear fruit. Her patient efforts, her success in "removing
obstacles from before the feet of the blind," will help and encourage
other workers. Blind children in our schools, blind workmen and
workwomen in our shops and factories, will reap the harvest for which
Bessie Gilbert laboured, and may join in the acknowledgment of
dependence upon the Great Father which she so loved to utter: "All thy
works praise thee, O Lord."
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_