ess
they gave an added impetus to the progress of disease.

She met her troubles with great courage; she bore them with unmurmuring
patience; but they produced their inevitable result, and flung her aside
when the storm was over as a weed is cast up by an angry sea.

There were a few months during which various remedies were suggested and
tried, but all unsuccessfully. The two sisters, who henceforward devoted
their whole life to her, now took it in turns to sleep on a sofa in her
room, so as to help her to move and turn in bed during the night. But
when she realised that loss of power was not a phase but one of the
conditions of her illness, she would not allow them to do this, saying
she must have them "fresh for the daytime." A sick nurse was engaged,
and, with Charlotte Gadney, ministered to her.

For a little time she was able occasionally to be taken into Hyde Park
in an easy bath chair and always recumbent, but she could only bear the
vibration of the movement for a very short distance. When she reached
the park she would remain for some hours enjoying the air.

Quiet and fresh air (two things that London cannot give) seemed more and
more essential; and in August 1872 her sister Mary (Mrs. Bowles) wrote
to propose that she should pay a long visit to Milton Hill, in
Berkshire. Her doctors warmly approved of the proposal, if only she
could bear the journey; and Mr. Bowles, to whom she was warmly attached,
busied himself with preparations for her comfort.

After many anxious inquiries and careful arrangements, it was settled
that, accompanied by her sister Sarah, she should undertake the journey
in an invalid carriage, "by road and rail," being lifted in at her own
door and lifted out at Milton Hill.

This was done; but the railway officials attached the carriage to the
end of an express train; the oscillation and vibration were
insupportable, and she reached Milton Hill almost unconscious from pain
and fatigue. In the hope of lessening her suffering she had been held in
the nurse's arms all the latter part of the railway journey; but even
this could do little to diminish the agony she endured. She was carried
to bed as soon as she reached Milton Hill, and after some days of
complete rest she began to rally. It was then a great pleasure to her to
note all that had been done by the "best and kindest brother-in-law
that any one ever had."

"Did you ever know such a brother-in-law!" she used to say.

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