“My Mother’s full glorious sympathy! What could I do without that? God bless her, my darling,—mine for ever.” So writes S. J.-B. in the first days of her trial. If anyone knew the meaning of the words, “as one whom his mother comforteth,” it was she. And never did she need that comfort more than now. She left the house in Nottingham Place at once, but she gallantly finished her term at Queen’s College and then went home to Brighton. “I must _not_ get bitter and cynical,” she says. “I don’t think I shall. And yet the crash has been awful.” As often before in lesser troubles she was thrown back on her own deep religious faith. “Bankrupt?” she asks herself. “No, by God’s grace, no! No personal trouble, no trouble of any kind, _can_ wreck a life in His charge. Still His,—that the strong, the enduring thought. From this very threshold of pain, whatever be its present issue, shall go forth an earnest patient life,—to continue Christ’s faithful soldier and servant to my life’s end. Yes, I,—Christ’s soldier! Yes, earnestly, heartily, entirely, though speculatively this Christ I know not,—though my mind asks in all uncertainty What and Who?... Dogmas are one thing; life is another. Doing is clear; ‘doing the will,’—‘knowing the doctrine’ shall come later. Not _believing_ though. I mean _understanding_,—receiving with reason and mind.” So she prepared her altar, “and put no fire under,” but the flash came. “Dec. 13th. Sunday. 11.45 p.m. Who could have believed what a happy holy evening has succeeded to all the pain, storm and whirlwind of the morning? Dr. Smith’s death.[22] The loss of Octavia’s day,—her visit of one hour; the utter stupor of misery. Then, with all the pain, the perfect feeling of content and assurance of Rightness in things. Then this happy evening, lifting me altogether out of myself and my pain into the trials and struggles and efforts and interests of Lucy and Emily,— and, thank God, the power of helping both. Now this calm perfect peace, which sends me to bed ‘resting.’... Oh, God is most merciful, most bountiful. ‘Like as a Father pitieth his children’.” Footnote 22: Dr. Southwood Smith, Miss Hill’s grandfather. “12 p.m. Sunday night. Don’t chide me for writing late, Mother. I must speak to you. If I could give you an idea of the peaceful, happy evening I have had,— sending me to bed with a heart full of love and joy and thankfulness. No, nothing has changed in outer things. I have no other news. But perfect peace has come. I can hardly tell you how happy I am, Mother. I have had such a happy, holy evening with two or three of the girls.... And God seemed to give me such wonderful power to help them, and I believe He has helped them. And in all this—I know not how, but I wake up at their departing ... to find that somehow God has rolled away my burden utterly.