our own being, the distinction of the “I” and the “Me,” the facts of conscience, the συνείδησις which lifts us out of the mere individual or animal, and speaks of the relation of the true self to the eternal, the kingdom of righteousness,—the evolution of human thought through the ages,—leads on to the faith that man is indeed the child of God, that His Spirit is inspiring us. ‘What seem to us present troubles are perhaps intended to make us dig deeper in the field wherein the great treasure of spiritual truth is hidden, so that we may say with fuller conscious conviction, “The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand”—“is within you.”’ On her way to Paddington after the Head-mistresses’ Conference, the cab which contained Miss Beale and Miss Andrews was run into by another, a shaft shattering the window beside Miss Beale. She did not realise her danger or that her shawl was full of bits of broken glass. The accident is alluded to in the letter she afterwards wrote to Mrs. Woodhouse, whose guest she had been at Clapham. ‘I am so glad I was able to be present. It was a most interesting meeting; and very glad to see your beautiful school.... ‘Lord Aberdeen [once] complimented me on not suffering from “train fever”; I am afraid I seemed to do so at lunch. It was well that we allowed a little spare time to be run into. One needs to allow for motors!’ It was the year of the Guild meetings. A very large number of old pupils, larger than ever before, came to Cheltenham in June, for every year saw additions to the roll of members and no falling off among the elder ones, who felt each time might be the last occasion on which the beloved Principal would preside. The subject chosen for the play was the very unusual one of a story from Egyptian history. No pains were spared to render it truthfully; Dr. Budge was consulted, the Book of the Dead studied; Miss Beale herself gave a lecture on the history of Egypt, a subject she had never worked up before. The story of the great queen whose life was given up to her country, ordered wholly for their good, with no private interests; whose marriage was an act of sacrifice; who ruled her people with large-minded beneficence, and under whom they prospered; who finally, as age came upon her, resigned for their sake, seemed strangely appropriate for the close of Miss Beale’s long work for Cheltenham. The very remoteness of the story, its gravity, the absence from it of such didacticism as abounded in Miss Beale’s interpretation of Britomart and Griselda, made it all the more forcible. It was in no way premeditated. Miss Beale herself said she did not much care for it, as it contained so little spiritual teaching. But as the curtain fell upon Hatshepset’s resignation and death, the crowded audiences of past and present pupils palpably realised that for them the inevitable change awaiting the College had been, if unconsciously, foreshadowed.