Storm without and within!So the windmiller might have said, if he had been in the habit of putting his thoughts into an epigrammatic form, as a groan from his wife and a growl of thunder broke simultaneously upon his ear, whilst the rain fell scarcely faster than her tears.
It was far from mending matters that both storms were equally unexpected. For eight full years the miller’s wife had been the meekest of women. If there was a firm (and yet, as he flattered himself, a just) husband in all the dreary straggling district, the miller was that man. And he always did justice to his wife’s good qualities,—at least to her good quality of submission,—and would, till lately, have upheld her before any one as a model of domestic obedience. From the day when he brought home his bride, tall, pretty, and perpetually smiling, to the tall old mill and the ugly old mother who never smiled at all, there had been but one will in the household. At any rate, after the old woman’s death. For during her life-time her stern son paid her such deference that it was a moot point, perhaps, which of them really ruled. Between them, however, the young wife was moulded to a nicety, and her voice gained no more weight in the counsels of the windmill when the harsh tones of the mother-in-law were silenced for ever.
The miller was one of those good souls who live by the light of a few small shrewdities (often proverbial), and pique themselves on sticking to them to such a point, as if it were the greater virtue to abide by a narrow rule the less it applied. The kernel of his domestic theory was, “Never yield, and you never will have to,” and to this he was proud of having stuck against all temptations from a real, though hard, affection for his own; and now, after working so smoothly for eight years, had it come to this?
And he always did justice to his wife’s good qualities,—at least to her good quality of submission,—and would, till lately, have upheld her before any one as a model of domestic obedience.The author lived a short life. She died on May 13, 1885, at the age of 43 in Bath, England, after a prolonged period of deteriorating health marked by chronic illnesses, overwork, and environmental sensitivities. Her death was ultimately due to blood poisoning (septicemia), a severe bacterial infection that set in during her final illness. This was preceded by spinal weakness, neuralgia, and other debilitating conditions that confined her to bed for extended periods in her last months.
Ewing's health had been fragile since her time in Canada (1867–1869), where the harsh climate exacerbated underlying issues, forcing her return to England. Recurring ailments included:
These issues intensified in 1884–1885. In February 1885, while already very ill, she was devastated by news of military friends' deaths in an explosion, which she drew upon for spiritual strength amid her own suffering. By spring 1885, blood poisoning had taken hold, likely complicating her spinal condition.
Ewing spent her last weeks in Bath seeking convalescence, but her condition worsened. On May 11, 1885, she underwent two surgical operations as a "last chance to prolong life," facing them with remarkable courage and faith—she thanked God for the ease of chloroform anesthesia and prayed for a swift end to her pain. Despite these efforts, the blood poisoning proved fatal two days later. She received a military funeral on May 16, 1885, at Trull, Somerset, near her husband's posting, reflecting her deep ties to army life.
| Date | Event |
| 1867–1869 | Health deteriorated in Canada due to harsh climate. |
| 1873 | Noted episodes of neuralgia and headaches. |
| February 1885 | Devastated by news of military friends' deaths in explosion. |
| Spring 1885 | Blood poisoning complicated spinal condition. |
| May 11, 1885 | Underwent two surgical operations. |
| May 13, 1885 | Died from blood poisoning in Bath. |
| May 16, 1885 | Military funeral held in Trull, Somerset. |
Her sister Horatia K. F. Eden's memoir (Juliana Horatia Ewing and Her Books, 1896) provides the most intimate account, portraying Ewing's resilience: even in agony, she focused on unselfishness and submission, mirroring the virtues in her stories. Overwork as a writer and editor, combined with 19th-century medical limitations, likely accelerated her decline in an era when infections like septicemia were often untreatable without modern antibiotics.