‘I went up to a Council Meeting, and afterwards consulted Dr. Aldrich-Blake. I had had my suspicions for some time, and she at once confirmed them. I went on to Paddington, as we had a meeting of our Council, and returned at three o’clock. Then after a few days we decided to enter a Home, and here I am.... They say I am going on very well, but I had to leave my work. My doctor says I can come back probably at the end of three weeks, which I am anxious to do, as I have a General Meeting (annual) on the 16th November. I am very contented, and the Head of the Home takes great care of me. The only people I allow to know are Miss Rowand and Miss Gore, who are coming to see me to-day. I have had a not very cheerful Sunday, and I wonder whether I shall get right, sometimes I hope not. I wonder if we shall meet again. I hope some day. I need not say how dear you are to me. We have lost many friends this last year. At least, I ought not to say that, they have passed out of sight. I think you have not heard that both Mr. and Mrs. Rix, who came to our first Retreat, have passed away within the month, so those three friends have met once more.[101] ... I have been talking to the Head of this Home, who is very anxious to have a Home for six ladies, I have promised her £100. What do you think of a site? I know your father built one in the Isle of Wight, but it is an expensive place. There, I don’t think I have any more to say.—Yours very affectionately,
Dorothea Beale.’
On Monday came the change for the worse; nervous prostration, from which she never rallied, although one day there seemed a gleam of hope, and during the brief improvement she dictated to Miss Lane, at the doctor’s request, some details of the days before the operation:—
‘On Tuesday (the 16th October) 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, and those who were to dine together to attend the meeting of our Council, and next a meeting of our St. Hilda’s Council, and then came down to Cheltenham, thinking of course of what I should do. The following Tuesday you know I decided and you arranged for the operator to come from Birmingham, and you can report further. I gave all my lessons as usual, and corrected all my exercises until the evening of Monday. Whatever my work was I did it. My last lesson was on Monday morning. I had planned to give a Confirmation lesson on Tuesday, but this the doctor forbade.’
Once after this she recognised the doctor. Once she asked for her Prayer-book and spectacles, but before they could be brought she had lapsed again into unconsciousness. When her sister addressed her by name, she turned her head, but did not open her eyes. Then on November 8 appeared more alarming bulletins, and on the 9th the fatal notice, ‘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, 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.’
Miss 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.