Sarah Grimke had always enjoyed such good health, and was so unaccustomed to even small ailments, that when a slight attack came in the beginning of August, 1873, in the shape of a fainting-fit in the night, she did not understand what it meant.  For two or three years she had had an occasional attack of the same kind, but was never before conscious of it, and as she had frequently expressed a desire to be alone when she died, to have no human presence between her and her God, she thought, as the faintness came over her, that this desire was about to be gratified.  But not so:  she returned to consciousness, somewhat to her disappointment, and seemed to quite recover her health in a few days.  The weather, however, was extremely warm, and she felt its prostrating effects.  On the 27th of August another fainting-spell came over her, also in the night, and she felt so unwell on coming out of it that she was obliged to call assistance.  For several weeks she was very ill, and scarcely a hope of her recovery was entertained; but again she rallied and tried to mingle with the family as usual, though feeling very weak.  Writing to Sarah Douglass of this illness, she says:—­

“The first two weeks are nearly a blank.  I only remember a sense of intense suffering, and that the second day I thought I was dying, and felt calm with that sweet peace which our heavenly Father gives to those who lay their heads on His bosom and breathe out their souls to Him.  Death is so beautiful a transition to another and a higher sphere of usefulness and happiness, that it no longer looks to me like passing through a dark valley, but rather like merging into sunlight and joy.  When consciousness returned to me, I was floating in an ocean of divine love.  Oh, dear Sarah, the unspeakable peace that I enjoyed!  Of course I was to come down from the mount, but not into the valley of despondency.  My mind has been calm, my faith steadfast, my continual prayer that I may fulfil the design of my Father in thus restoring me to life and finish the work he must have for me to do, either active or passive.  I am lost in wonder, love, and praise at the vast outlay of affection and means used for my restoration.  Stuart was like a tender daughter, and all have been so loving, so patient.”

She continued very feeble, but insisted upon joining the family at meals, though she frequently had to be carried back to her room.  Still her lively interest in every one about her showed no diminution, and she still wrote, as strength permitted, short letters to old friends.  A few passages may be quoted from these letters to show how clear her intellect remained, and with what a holy calm her soul was clothed.  To one nearly her own age, she says:—­

“You and I and all who are on the passage to redemption know that Gethsemane has done more for us than the Mount of Transfiguration.  I am sure I have advanced more in the right way through my sins than through my righteousness, and for nothing am I more fervently grateful than for the lessons of humility I have learned in this way.”