Two years after this date Hyde Court ceased to be the regular holiday home, for in November 1881 Mrs. Beale died. In one of her later letters to her ‘Principal’ daughter she had written: ‘I hunger to see you, my darling. You have been so good to me always, your reward will come.’ Such words of praise are dear indeed when the lips that spoke them are cold. They were treasured by Miss Beale. But in this bereavement, as in all times when made conscious of the shadow of death, specially of her own, she tried to face the mystery with clear-sighted gaze, to realise sincerely the impression it was meant to produce. She would not let expressions of comfort and hope, which she welcomed and accepted to the full, or any brightness brought by the kindness of the living, hide for her the penitential aspect of death. The following fragmentary thoughts seem to come from the very chamber of death, and were written on the day of the month which was to be the date of her own death, twenty-five years later:— ‘_November 9, 1881._ ‘At first death seemed, as I looked at that pale face, simply terrible—how could I die? This morning I went again and touched the cold hand, and gazed into the face, so calm and wax-like. She who had rejoiced over my birth fifty years ago was now perhaps watching me. Does the spirit linger round its earthly tabernacle for a while? The memory of old times came back—not only the love and unselfishness, but the harshness too, the faults, the sins, I find in myself—surely she feels it now as the light shines on her. Does she not see herself more as God sees her? For every sinful word we shall give account. Surely this sorrow is a purifying fire, and the words are true, if we would judge ourselves here we shall not be judged. ‘Here, where we have partaken together of His Body and Blood, I kneel near that empty tabernacle—but a spiritual Presence is with us—purifying us both and drawing us nearer to Him in Whom living and dead are one. ‘Bless and purify our spirits, O Lord, with the dew of Thy grace, make us gentler and holier. Through the veil we seem to see Thee nearer. Longing, praying that we may not, as the rich man, have to feel the burning shame for our unloving spirit, now that we see His love, His tender, searching eye. ‘It becomes to me a sacred chapel, I can scarcely bear to part. The room is fragrant with the gifts of tender flowers from loving friends, and there is a peace here abiding in the sense of God’s continued, loving, healing discipline. “I change not!”’