Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: DR. VERNER TURNED FURIOUSLY TO AUDREY. "I DECLINE THE
HONOUR. THAT IS MY REPLY TO THAT ASTONISHING LETTER."]
_"...On the north three gates; on the south_
_three gates; and on the west three gates."_
FOUR GATES
THE DIFFERENT OUTLOOK ON
LIFE OF FOUR YOUNG WOMEN
BY
AMY LE FEUVRE
Author of "Probable Sons," "Herself and Her Boy," etc.
[Illustration]
PICKERING & INGLIS
LONDON GLASGOW EDINBURGH
LONDON • • 14 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.4
GLASGOW • • 229 BOTHWELL STREET, C.2
EDINBURGH • 29 GEORGE IV BRIDGE, 1
NEW YORK • LOIZEAUX BROS., 19 WEST 21ST ST.
GOLDEN CROWN LIBRARY
OF STORIES BY AUTHORS OF HIGH REPUTE
1 HERSELF AND HER BOY AMY LE FEUVRE
3 HER HUSBAND'S HOME E. EVERETT GREEN
4 PEPPER & CO ESTHER E. ENOCK
5 ELDWYTH'S CHOICE L. A. BARTER SNOW
6 MARTYRLAND ROBERT SIMPSON
7 ANDY MAN AMY LE FEUVRE
9 FOUR GATES AMY LE FEUVRE
11 A MADCAP FAMILY AMY LE FEUVRE
12 NORAH'S VICTORY L. A. BARTER SNOW
13 JOAN'S HANDFUL AMY LE FEUVRE
14 CORAL CHARLOTTE MURRAY
15 SOME BUILDERS AMY LE FEUVRE
16 AGNES DEWSBURY L. A. BARTER SNOW
17 MARGARET'S STORY MARJORIE DOUGLAS
18 'TWIXT ALTAR AND PLOUGH L. A. BARTER SNOW
19 TRUE TO THE LAST E. EVERETT GREEN
20 MY LADY'S GOLDEN FOOTPRINTS E. E. ENOCK
21 NORAH: A GIRL OF GRIT BETH J. C. HARRIS
22 HER LITTLE KINGDOM L. A. BARTER SNOW
23 BRAVE BROTHERS E. M. STOOKE
24 A COUNTRY CORNER AMY LE FEUVRE
25 THE HOME OF THE AYLMERS MARJORIE DOUGLAS
26 O CARRY ME BACK! E. A. BLAND
27 MONICA'S CHOICE FLORA E. BERRY
28 A STUDY IN GOLD GRACE PETTMAN
Made and Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. FOUR LIVES
II. FACING WEST
III. FACING NORTH AND EAST
IV. FACING SOUTH
V. AN UNFORTUNATE INTERVIEW
VI. UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORT
VII. BEATEN
VIII. A FRESH SPHERE
IX. AN INVALID'S WHIM
X. OLDER AND WISER
XI. AN IDEAL TEACHER
XII. AN EMPTY SHRINE
XIII. CONFIDENCES
XIV. BATTLING TOWARDS THE SHORE
XV. A FATHER AND CHILD
XVI. WANTED
XVII. A TURN FROM THE EAST
XVIII. THE HELPER
XIX. NEGLECTED DUTY
XX. THE HOLIDAYS
XXI. HOMELESS
XXII. MOTHERHOOD
XXIII. A BABY'S LIFEWORK
XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL
XXV. TWO LETTERS
XXVI. COME BACK
XXVII. SUMMONED TO PART
ILLUSTRATIONS
DR. VERNON TURNED FURIOUSLY TO AUDREY. _Frontispiece_
"I HAVE A FANCY," SAID MRS. DAVENTRY, "THAT EACH ONE OF US
MAY BE ENTERING THAT CITY THROUGH DIFFERENT GATES."
PAULINE'S TONE WAS DESPERATE. "WE THINK MOTHER IS GETTING
WORSE. IS SHE?"
THE DOCTOR SHOUTED, AND AUDREY AND HE STOPPED TO LISTEN.
"BUT YOU WON'T LIVE ALONE," SAID MR. DANBY.
"WHY NOT?" REPLIED PAULINE.
Four Gates
CHAPTER I
FOUR LIVES
"Who would be planted chooseth not the soil,
Or here or there,
Or loam or peat,
Wherein he best may grow,
And bring forth guerdon of the planter's toil.
"Lord, even so
I ask one prayer,
The which if it be granted—
It skills not where
Thou plantest me—
Only—I would be planted."
T. E. BROWN.
"PAULINE, do you honestly like being in a backwater?"
"Backwaters have their uses."
"That is not an answer."
"I think I regard it as a halting-place—a wayside station on life's
railroad."
"But that is just what it isn't. It comes from nowhere, and leads to
nowhere. And I stamp and I fume at the stagnation!"
"You are an impetuous spirit! Perhaps, later on, you will look back to
these quiet sweet days, and long to experience them again."
"I don't say that I shouldn't enjoy it at the end of my life, when I
have been in all the stir and rush; when I have had my good time and
can sit in an easy-chair and look back at it all."
"Then you should have sympathy with your father."
"Oh, I have. From his point of view, his lines have fallen to him in
pleasant places. But I am at the beginning of my life. I think everyone
ought to be in towns when they are young, and retire into the country
when they are old. Of course, it is delightful when you have money;
then you can have both in your life. But with a small purse, if you
live the first half of your life in the country, and only get release
from it when you are old, then you are too old to enjoy your liberty.
Opportunities are gone; your talents are rusted, your ignorance of the
world is ridiculous!"
"Why, Audrey, dear, you are getting quite excited!"
"I am—I feel so. Do say you agree with me. You must if you think it
out. Look at us in this village. Here are four young women, not poor
enough to earn their living, but not rich enough to satisfy their
mental needs. One, Pauline Erskine, devotes herself to an invalid
mother, and never leaves home for a single night. Don't interrupt me.
She might, as your old Mary would say, 'grace a castle,' with her
dignity and beauty. She once had a longing for an artistic life, but
it has been stifled. She did go to London for three weeks when she was
quite young, and she has lived on the memory of it ever since. She
pretends her life satisfies her, but I know it doesn't.
"Then there is Honor Broughton, who is nursery governess to her three
small stepsisters. Her whole world is centred in this backwater.
She can never talk of anyone but her immediate neighbours, and the
iniquities of her mother's servants.
"Amabel Osborne is a most dutiful daughter, of course, and is always
the picture of happy content. But she confesses that reading a
newspaper to her father is the most uninteresting part of her day's
work. She has never worked her brains, and never will. Picking flowers
in the garden, and listening to a lark's song, and roaming across
buttercup meadows are her highest pleasures."
"And Audrey Hume—"
"Oh, she's just another, with a passion for reading, but can get no
books worth the name of books, and a passion for novelty and change,
and has never been twelve miles out of this backwater all her life.
Talk about the revolt of women, and the era of independent women—what
do we understand by such terms? There are no stronger chains than those
of affection and blood, and we are all tied to those who are old and
weak and helpless, and who are our beloved belongings!"
Quick tears sprang to the young girl's eyes as she turned to her friend
for sympathy.
Pauline looked at her, then gazed over the peaceful landscape in front
of them with a wistful smile.
They were both leaning over a gate as they talked. It was a buttercup
meadow in front of them, and young lambs were at play in it. The soft
spring air, with the thrill of youth and expectancy in it, had got
into Audrey's veins. She was quivering all over with excitement and
feeling, and her dark grey eyes were flashing with a thousand lights
and sparkles. Slim and of the average height, with a broad low brow,
and soft dusky hair, and a face that owed all its beauty to its variety
of expression, she was a marked contrast to the tall fair girl beside
her.
Pauline was a woman who attracted all who knew her, and yet was utterly
unconscious of her power. Her dignified serenity, the deep earnest
vibration in her tone, and her slow, bewildering smile that seemed to
caress the one upon whom she smiled—all helped to add to her charms.
But her power was in her wide outlook, and deep love and sympathy for
everyone who came across her path. Audrey often called her a "Viking's
daughter." Her deep blue eyes, fair complexion, and coils of golden
hair, with her tall and beautifully proportioned figure, certainly
claimed a Northern ancestry.
Audrey glanced at her now, and Pauline met her gaze with the words:
"We must be going on, or we shall be late for tea, and Mrs. Daventry
will be disappointed."
"Oh!" exclaimed Audrey, with a quick sigh, which she turned to
laughter. "We always have to be doing things we do not like for fear
of disappointing people. I can so rarely get you to myself, and I am
bubbling over with thoughts that I want to pass on to you."
"We can walk and talk at the same time, can't we?"
"Yes, but the house is already in sight. Walk very slowly, Pauline,
there's a dear. I've been thinking out this question about single
women, and I find it infinitely pathetic. They are the least considered
and the most heroic—now, don't laugh at me! But isn't it true that by
devoting themselves to the old people, they lose the chance of ever
getting, in their turn, the devotion of the young? In broad plain
language, they are prevented from meeting men whom they might marry by
attending to their home ties and duties. I'm not thinking of myself at
all—it isn't a personal grievance; I am looking out from this small
village upon the world at large—the world I hear about, and read
about, and think about. Why should the generation of daughters be more
self-sacrificing than the parents? The single daughters look forward
to a lonely old age, to poverty perhaps, to a time when they will be
in the way of their friends, only tolerated as far as they can prove
themselves useful, and spoken of with contemptuous pity by the young.
And some of them are the noblest and best in creation!"
"They will have their reward," said Pauline gently.
"Oh, you are so good, and I am so wicked!"
Then Audrey laughed, and her laugh was an infectious one.
"I won't moralise any more. I am going to enjoy myself this afternoon.
I love Mrs. Daventry. I wish she were my aunt or grandmother."
They had reached a small lodge, and went through some handsome iron
gates up the drive that led to Barford Towers.
The park stretched away on either side of them; the chestnut avenue
brought a sense of refreshment and peace after their rather hot and
dusty walk along the high road.
Just in front of the old Tudor house was a green lawn, and under a
cluster of beech trees was a group of people about to enjoy their
afternoon tea together. Mrs. Daventry was the centre of the group, and
she rose to receive the two girls with her usual smiling welcome. She
was a very handsome old lady, with snow-white hair that was rolled
back in French fashion under a filmy handkerchief of Mechlin lace. Her
figure was still as erect, her eyes still as bright, as when, fifty
years before, she had come to her beautiful home a happy bride.
The group around her were only young girls, but they all adored her;
she was their queen, and they her court, as they often laughingly told
her. And Mrs. Daventry loved every one of them.
The childless widow had taken to her heart the young maidens who
lived outside her gates; she had seen the world as they had not. She
remembered her own youth, and had boundless sympathy for any of them in
a difficulty.
"Come along, Pauline, sit by me," the old lady said, drawing a lounge
chair a little nearer her own; "and Audrey, sit where I can see your
bright face. Here is Honor declaring you would not be coming. Now, I
really think the Tabby's Tea-party has commenced."
Four girls and an old lady can keep the art of conversation up to the
mark. There was no shyness amongst any of them. Pauline was perhaps the
most silent, and Audrey the most talkative; Amabel laughed most; Honor
was the most appreciative, though she had a most melancholy cast of
countenance.
When tea was over, Audrey said:
"Now, Mrs. Daventry, let us talk about life—our lives; that's the most
interesting thing in the world to us. Make us feel that a good time is
coming to us. Inspire us with some of your thoughts. We are all more or
less discontented, though I'm the only honest one who owns up."
Mrs. Daventry shook her head at Audrey, with her silvery laugh.
"I see no signs of discontent upon your faces," she said.
"No," said Honor quickly, "but that is because we are so close to our
sun that we must reflect her rays!"
"I've never heard that the sun was a female before," said Mrs.
Daventry, smiling. "Do you know what I always think when I look
upon your young, fresh faces? I thank God that His works are always
beautiful to start with. And then I muse upon the bundle of charms that
you each possess, and which, if properly used, will make your world
fair and beautiful."
"I have no charms," murmured Honor.
And, certainly, as far as outward charm went, she had not, for no one
could call her anything but plain to look at. She had a broad mouth,
snub nose, and small, short-sighted, blue eyes; yet when she talked, no
one could call her uninteresting.
"Tell us our charms," said Audrey. "It's very nice to hear of our
graces."
"I won't put beauty first, though it is one of them, and when I speak
of beauty, I mean more than faultless features and good complexions.
You have youth, health, strength, a boundless hope, enthusiasm,
good spirits, and vivacity. You have innocence and freshness, and
unembittered views of life."
"And we are all stagnating in a backwater," said Audrey mischievously.
"There is no such thing as stagnation in a human life. We either
deteriorate or improve."
The old lady's voice was grave.
"Do you know," she went on cheerfully, "that I had a good deal of
thought to-day over my lodges? You know the names of them?"
"Yes," said Amabel. "They are called North, South, East, and West
Lodges, because you have one on each of the four sides of the Park."
"And do you know this about the City we all hope to enter one day:
"'On the East three gates; on the North three gates; on the South
three gates; and on the West three gates'?"
The four girls looked at her expectantly.
"I have a fancy—" and here Mrs. Daventry's dark eyes became soft and
dreamy as she looked away to some distant hills on the horizon—"that
each one of us may be entering that City through different gates; we
may be journeying out to it with our faces towards the North, South,
East, or West. Think it out, will you? It may explain the different
winds we face through life. When once we get inside, we shall
acknowledge that whatever road led us to our destination was the right
one for us, and thank our Guide for having enabled us to face our wind."
[Illustration: "I HAVE A FANCY," SAID MRS. DAVENTRY, "THAT EACH ONE OF
US MAY BE ENTERING THAT CITY THROUGH DIFFERENT GATES."]
Audrey's eyes sparkled.
"I like that," she said. "I'll find out which is my gate before
to-morrow."
"I know which is mine," said Honor. "I have faced East all my life. My
wind is always sharp and cutting, and I have to be for ever bracing up
myself to meet it without a whimper."
No one answered. Each girl was reflecting, and when Mrs. Daventry rose
from her seat and took all of them into the house to see some wonderful
needlework of hers, the subject was dropped.
An hour later, the four girls left the house together, and chatted
gaily as they walked along.
"Do you know, we are really going up to London for a month soon," said
Amabel. "I have an aunt who has lived in Paris most of her life, but
since my uncle's death, she has taken a house in town, and she has
invited my parents and me. Won't it be delicious? She has a motor and
any amount of money, so we shall be in the lap of luxury."
"What a lucky girl you are!" sighed Honor. "It was only a short time
ago that you went a lovely driving tour. Things like that never come to
me. It's just as I said. I shall face the East always, and hardly ever
see the sun."
"Yes," said Audrey, laughing; "and all of us know that Amabel's road
faces due South. She will go through life in the blazing sunshine of
prosperity."
"Then my soul will get very parched."
Amabel's tone was light, but there was a glimmer of seriousness in her
eyes.
Audrey glanced at her reflectively.
She was a pretty, childish little creature, with soft, playful ways and
a ringing laugh that could not easily be suppressed.
"I dare say facing South always would be very enervating," Audrey said
slowly.
"Yes, of course it will be, and you must make allowances accordingly
for a Southerner. Pray, what gate is your destination, Audrey?"
"I think it must be West, because such storms crop up in a moment.
Pauline, can your gate be the Northern one? I pity you if it is, for
not a gleam of sunshine will you get as you go along. But it will
suit you, for you will step along serenely, and in your eyes will be
steadfast purpose. I believe your hidden fires will keep your Northern
outlook from freezing you."
Pauline looked at her friend with her sweet, grave smile, then her blue
eyes kindled with deep feeling as she said:
"Remember, if my face is towards the North, my back will be towards the
sun. I may not see it, but I shall feel it, and I shall be kept warm."
Honor linked her arm in Pauline's.
"And what hope do you give me if I am to be perpetually meeting the
most cutting and cruel wind of all?"
"There's a rush of thought over facing East, but don't you like this,
'And they journeyed towards the sunrising'? Can you wish for anything
better than that?"
"It wants thinking out," said Honor slowly.
"We shall all get some sunshine," said Audrey, with knitted brow. "I
really think it will be very interesting making out our different ways
and fitting all our circumstances into them. I vote we meet each other
in a year's time to mark progress and note past events."
"Perhaps," said Amabel gaily, "we may not all be here. Sometimes a year
brings great changes."
"I feel in my bones it will bring no change to me," said Audrey. "'As
it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be—' don't look shocked,
Pauline! I don't mean to be frivolous, but things come into my head so!
And now here we part, for this is my turning."
They parted, but each took with them the thought that had been given
them by their old friend that day, and shaped it into their lives.