Four Gates by Amy Le Feuvre

"For others' sake to make life sweet, Though thorns may pierce your weary feet; For others' sake to walk each day As if joy helped you all the way- While in the heart may be a grave That makes it hard to be so brave, Herein, I think, is love."

THEY returned home the next day. Mrs. Erskine's fictitious strength and spirits had deserted her.

"I am going home to die," she asserted to her daughter, "and I ought not to have been allowed to attempt this journey. It has sapped all the strength out of me-and the hope and courage, too. " She added these last words in a breathless whisper to herself, but Pauline heard them, and she laid her hand affectionately on her mother's arm.

"We are going home together, mother dear, and I mean to take extra care of you. We will give you the quiet and rest you require, and you may feel much stronger soon."

"Stronger! " said Mrs. Erskine bitterly. "I am sinking into a helpless, whining invalid. I can't bear pain now as I used to do, and I am getting tired of the struggle."

Then she relapsed into silence, and would not permit Pauline to touch upon the subject of her health again.

It was a sad home-coming. Mary hovered over her mistress with anxious eyes, but when she was once more comfortably settled in her own bed, Mrs. Erskine looked up into her old servant's face.

"I shall never get out of this bed again," she said. "But I am given to understand that I shall have plenty of time to prepare for death. You won't get rid of me very soon, Mary."

"Eh, mistress dear, don't talk so! The journey has tired you. You'll feel quite fresh again after a few days' rest."

Pauline left the room quickly. She felt strangely unnerved and unfit to take up her daily burdens again. The verdict had not surprised her, but it had taken away her mother's restless hope of getting better, and she knew how hard the coming days would be to them both, and an overwhelming pity for her mother filled her heart.

"If only I could bear it for her! " was her passionate thought.

She went out into the little garden, which was looking dreary and forlorn. Dead leaves underfoot, bare leafless trees, sodden grass, and a few withered dahlias, all spoke to her of death and decay. For a moment, her spirit seemed weighed down by its depressing atmosphere. Then she raised her eyes to the sky above, and sunshine and steadfast hope were in her smile.

"For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. ' I must get mother to believe that."

She stayed a little longer, her lips moving in silent prayer; then she went back to her mother, and the old routine of her life began again.

One afternoon, Miss Paton called with some message from the Rector. Pauline had met her several times, and, in common with most people, Miss Paton had taken a violent fancy to this stately golden-haired girl, with her sympathetic eyes and smile.

"I am actually alone to-day. Mr. and Mrs. Broughton have driven into the town, and the children have been carried off to tea at the Osbornes'. Miss Osborne called for them at three o'clock. What a merry little thing she is-almost a child herself!"

"Will you stay and have tea with me? " asked Pauline. "My mother sleeps till five o'clock, so I shall be free."

"I should like to very much. What a cosy little room you have! Whenever I come to this house, it gives me the sense of rest. I suppose wherever there is sickness, there must be quiet. Now, at the Rectory we are in a scrimmage from morning to night, and I seem wanted in every place at once. To tell you the honest truth, I am getting rather tired of it. But I am fond of Emily, and she likes me, and I was at a loose end before I came here."

"Have you any home of your own? " Pauline asked, taking up her work and settling down for a talk.

Miss Paton laughed.