Four Gates by Amy Le Feuvre

"A bitter and perplexed 'What shall I do? ' Is worse to man than worse necessity. " COLERIDGE.

AUDREY reached the station to find that there would not be a train back to London for another hour. She went into the small waiting-room, which was empty, then drawing a chair up to the table, rested her elbows upon it, and with her hands over her eyes, tried to steady her throbbing pulses and formulate in some way plans for her future. She did not know till now how much she had been building upon that disastrous letter. She had pictured returning to her home with employment of some sort in connection with her father's friend. His very personality, the extreme contrast he presented to what she had depicted him, was in itself a shock to her.

"Abide by his counsel," had been her father's advice to her. And she gave a short laugh in the bitterness of her heart at the absurdity of such a suggestion. No gentle dignitary of the Church with grey hairs, who would introduce her to a like-minded wife-a motherly, capable woman-ready to take a lonely girl into her home and heart. But a strong, able man in the prime of life-and an unmarried man-had stood before her. A man whom she earnestly and hotly prayed she might never set eyes on again.

"And now," she kept repeating to herself, "what am I to do? How shall I live? And how shall I have the courage to go back and tell them all that it was a mare's nest, and worse than that? How can I tell them the truth? I will die rather than do it. Why, in the folly of my heart, I thought my ideal clergyman and his wife would ask me to stay the night! And here I am, with no bed in prospect at all. It is certain I cannot reach home to-night!"

She sat and thought. A less strong-minded girl might have succumbed to her unfortunate circumstances. Not so Audrey. Now that her passion was burning itself out, the pressing need of employment of some sort for the future began to fill her brain.

"I 'must' earn money. I am in London, or will be very soon. Why should I go back, away from all the opportunities it may offer me? I won't do it. I have ten pounds in my pocket untouched. I will get some quiet lodgings, and hunt up some registries or employment bureaux, and I will-I must-find work."

Such a resolution fired her with hope and energy. When her train came in, she sat back in her third-class carriage, weaving all kinds of possible adventures, and buoying herself up with the certain prospect of success.

When Victoria was reached, she began to have qualms. She knew she could not afford to go to an hotel. She also knew that there were many pitfalls for ignorant country girls, and unknown lodging filled her with dread. Was it by chance that her eyes fell on a card headed "Travellers' Aid Society" hung up in the waiting-room in which she found herself? Audrey put it down afterwards to Pauline's earnest prayers for her that very evening.

She was not long in making her way to the address at the foot of the card, but found a very tired and uninterested woman in the office.

"Very sorry. We have a boarding-house in connection with the society, but it is full at this time. I can recommend you some respectable lodgings, I think. How long will you be in town?"

"Not long, I hope. I am looking for employment."

The woman gave a weary smile.

"It may be longer than you think. There-these rooms are over a greengrocer's, but we know the woman to be honest and industrious, and the street is a fairly quiet one. It turns out of King's Road, Chelsea. A 'bus will put you down at the corner."

Audrey thanked her gratefully and departed.

A little later, she was standing in a small dingy bed-sitting-room overlooking a paved yard and chimney-stacks, and a careworn, anxious little woman with one baby in her arms and another clinging to her skirt, was explaining her terms to her.

"My young ladies generally feed out, except what they buy and bring in themselves. I had a young lady who was a post office clerk for four months-very quiet and respectable she were. But she were very delicate-got a cold on her lungs, and died in Brompton 'Orspital two weeks ago come this Thursday. I only arsks five shillin's for the room, and it is nicely furnished, as you see."

"It will do very nicely," said Audrey cheerfully, "but couldn't you just this first night give me a cup of tea and cook me a chop? I will mind your babies up here while you do it. I'm strange to London. To-morrow, I shall learn its ways."

A faint smile flickered across Mrs. Dutton's face.

"Ah! " she said. "I see you're strange to town ways. You're so fresh and 'appy lookin'. I'll get you a bit o' supper. My man be in the shop now. Thank you kindly. I've only these two children as yet, but they be quite enough; the second one come so quick on top of the first."

Audrey took the baby, which was clean, though poorly clad. She smiled at herself as she lighted the one gas-jet the room contained, and wondered if she could rise to the expense of a fire.