"Aunt Bessie," who at
once explained it.

There were long lapses, as it were, in her life. After the sleepless
nights she had to sleep when she could, and her room in the daytime was
hushed and silent, all external life and interest excluded. At night she
was again fully awake, but it was to find herself alone in the "chambers
of her imagery."

One of the two sisters who were her constant companions, and nursed her
with unfailing devotion for fifteen years, writes as follows:

All through her illness, with the occasional exceptions when she
suffered from deafness, her cheerfulness was marvellous, her
patience never-failing, and her consideration and thoughtfulness
for those around her very wonderful and touching.

She had a special name of her own for each of her nurses, all of
them loved her, and upon several of them the influence of her
patience and goodness was strongly marked, and will be of lifelong
endurance. Her first sick-nurse came in 1872 and stayed two years.
She often afterwards visited her. She came to see us after Bessie's
death, and said with tears, "Oh, I did not do enough for her. I
wish I had done more."

Bessie would often arrange little surprises and pleasures for us
and give us flowers. She was anxious we should have all the variety
we could, and took the greatest pleasure in hearing an account of
what we had seen and done whilst away from her. She liked to see
visitors when she was well enough, but was often nervous about it,
fearing lest the excitement should do her harm, and interfere in
any way with what little she could do for the Institution.

Perhaps few realised how much she suffered; she was so patient, so
bright, so sympathetic that it was difficult to do so. The last few
months of her life were full of pain.

No record of Bessie's illness would be adequate which did not speak of
the love that lightened every burden laid upon her. Sisters and brothers
bound by so strong a bond of family love as the Gilberts are even more
closely united by affliction. No day passed without its tribute of
affectionate remembrance from absent members of the family. Her eldest
brother, Mr. Wintle, always spent the afternoon of Sunday with her, when
she was able to receive him. The Vicar of Heversham, the beloved "Tom"
of her youth, saw her in London whenever it was possible. Married
sisters visi