Elizabeth Gilbert and Her Work for the Blind Part 30

"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 antic.i.p.ated 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.

Undaunted by suffering and privation, patient, heroic, she lived and died. No murmur escaped her lips from early youth to age. She stood trembling with awestruck face when, after she had said, "Oh how I should like to see the sun!" her companion solemnly a.s.sured her, "And you shall see," and turned the sightless face towards the glowing sky. All was dark, the young girl could only answer, "I see nothing," as she turned and went slowly homewards. She accepted her blindness. It was the will of G.o.d. No word of lamentation escaped her throughout her life.

Again there came a time when a great cause had been entrusted to her, when she felt that it was prospering in her hands, when she hoped to raise the whole condition of the blind, to lift them up out of poverty and dependence, and place them on a level with all industrious and intelligent citizens. But a hand was laid upon her in the darkness. "I can do nothing," she said; and once again she turned and went slowly without a murmur, without repining, down the dark pathway to the grave and gate of death. But the work for which she gave her life has not died, and cannot die. Every good seed, sown upon good ground, must spring up and bear fruit. Her patient efforts, her success in "removing obstacles from before the feet of the blind," will help and encourage other workers. Blind children in our schools, blind workmen and workwomen in our shops and factories, will reap the harvest for which Bessie Gilbert laboured, and may join in the acknowledgment of dependence upon the Great Father which she so loved to utter: "All thy works praise thee, O Lord."

THE END