Four Gates by Amy Le Feuvre

"God help us through the common days, The level stretches white with dust, When thought is tired, and hands upraise Their burden feebly, since they must. In days of overwhelming care Then most we need the strength of prayer."

"OH, miss, I'm glad to see you back! I could do nothing with the mistress. She insisted on getting up, and is now turning out her writing-table. She's looking like death, and hasn't touched her beef-tea!"

It was the usual formula that greeted Pauline when she returned from any errand or outing.

She smiled into her old servant's anxious face.

"I will go up at once. She must have taken a turn for the better."

Pauline stepped lightly up the narrow stairs, and opened the door of her mother's room.

Mrs. Erskine turned round from her davenport at the sound of her footsteps, and hastily pushed some papers into it and locked it.

"Oh, mother dear, ought you to be up? You had such a bad night."

Mrs. Erskine sat down rather heavily in a chair, and spoke irritably:

"I told you that it was that soup last night which disagreed with me. If you will go out when I am wanting you to write my letters, you need not be surprised to see me making the effort to do it myself."

Mrs. Erskine was a tall, imposing-looking woman; and though illness had brought a stoop to her shoulders and hollows under her eyes, she was still a very striking personality. She had always ruled her household with a firm and masterful hand. People said she had ruled her husband with the same rigid hand as she now exercised over her daughter.

Pauline was not her mother's confidante. Mrs. Erskine still kept all their money affairs in her own hands, and her daughter had little idea of the amount of their income. She was never allowed to draw a cheque or see her mother's bank-book. For over two years, Mrs. Erskine had been confined to her room, and it was against her doctor's orders that she ever left her bed. Pauline noted the trembling of her hands and the shortness of her breath. She wasted no time in remonstrance, but gently helped her back to bed, and then persuaded her to take the discarded beef-tea which Mary again presented.

"I will write for you at once, mother, if you like," she said, when Mrs. Erskine seemed composed again.

"I do not want you to. I have done what I wished myself. The letter is there. See that it goes by this afternoon's post. It is to tell Doctor Mann that I do not require his services any longer."

"Oh, mother! Why?"

"It is not my habit to give you my reasons for doing things. He does not suit me. His medicines do me no good."

"But whom can we have instead of him? You have left Dr. Arbuthnot, and Mr. Thorne-"

"I will have no doctor. They all tell me I shall never get any better. I dislike these country practitioners extremely."

Pauline stood by the bedside with a perplexed look in her eyes, then she spoke very gently:

"Won't you let this letter wait till to-morrow? You may have one of your sharp attacks of pain again, and then you must have something to relieve it. I was going to send to the surgery this evening for some more of your medicine. The bottle is nearly empty."