In the holidays she did a good deal of work connected with the College and began term as usual, though some who knew her well realised that she was hardly fit for the strain of her work.
Her “Old Girls” linger lovingly on that last term. On the first day she gave, as she usually did, a short address to the teachers and children. She spoke on one of her favourite themes—the Parable of the Talents—and dwelt chiefly on the joy and privilege of being fellow-workers with God.
On October 16, Dorothea Beale had to go to a College Council Meeting in London. By accident, she missed Miss Alice Andrews whom she was to meet at Oxford and went up to London alone. As soon as she arrived in London she went to see her doctor, an “Old Girl,” Dr. Aldrich Blake. The doctor confirmed her worst suspicions and recommended an immediate operation. Later, she wrote about this visit:—
“On Tuesday (October 16) I went up to London hurriedly at 6.37, full of the thought of what was before me. I went straight to Dr. Aldrich Blake, an old pupil. She condemned me. Then I saw, as I had arranged, a new attendant. I looked into shops and felt giddy, and went on to the place of meeting, where I saw two others, and lastly several friends.”
After this she proceeded to the Council meeting, where she read her annual report with no sign of fatigue. On her return to Cheltenham Dr. Cardew confirmed Dr. Aldrich Blake’s opinion, and it was arranged that she should enter a local nursing home on October 22. Up to the last moment she did her work, taking prayers, her Scripture lesson—which struck the girls as a most remarkable one—and doing her corrections until the end of that day. Some few friends knew of the trial that awaited her and to one or two others she expressed the doubt whether she would ever return. After the operation all went well, until Sunday, the 28th, when she became obviously worse. She rallied somewhat, however, but the day after nervous prostration set in and after that there was practically no hope. Mrs. Raikes tells very vividly the story of the morning at Cheltenham (November 9) when the bulletin was issued “Miss Beale is sinking”:—
“‘We went through the morning,’ says Miss Sturge, ‘feeling like Elisha, “Knowest thou that the Lord will take away thy master from thy head to-day? Yea, I know it, hold ye your peace!”’”
Not in Cheltenham only but far and wide her children were praying for her: watching for news, and remembering and repeating to each other things she had said. It was stormy weather, and more than one thought of Wordsworth’s lines—lines which she had often read to her class—written when he was expecting to hear of the death of Charles James Fox:—
A power is passing from the earth
To breathless nature’s dark abyss!
Dorothea Beale died on Friday, November 9, at 12.15 during college hours. It was thought best that the girls should hear of her death before leaving. When all were assembled in the Princess Hall the Vice-Principal said:—
“It has pleased God to take from us our beloved Principal.” In a few words she told the history of the last few days, and then said: “We feel that it is what she would have desired—no long waiting in suffering or helplessness, but to go home straight from her work with her splendid powers scarcely impaired:—