"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.