Mrs. Gray was far from well when the home journey was undertaken, and Winifred looked at her with apprehension. But they traveled comfortably and reached home in the evening where welcome waited. But an alarming chill overtook the mother before she had retired that night, and the doctor was hastily summoned. The chill was a harbinger of serious illness, and the cheerful house became shrouded in dread of coming sorrow. Winifred devoted herself eagerly to her mother, but professional skill was needed also. The telephone rang frequent calls from the office during the anxious days to inquire for the loved patient, and life for the time was enveloped in the one painful query: Will mother live?
The doctor gave sparing reports, but careful directions. Winifred moved about the house with a pale face and frightened eyes, until the doctor told her that she evidently needed his services also, and that she must not let her mother see her with that face. Then she fled to her room and poured out her pitiful need to God, and begged His grace for calm and cheerfulness. With unfailing faithfulness He gave her what she asked, and she went back to minister with Him at hand to help.
"Winnie, dear, is that you?" said a faint voice from the bed.
Winifred went and sat beside her where they could look into each other's faces.
"Dear, do you think I am very ill? Does the doctor say so?"
"He has not said much, mother. But he is taking every care."
"I do not know, mother. But we hope you are getting on as well as possible."
"Winnie," said she again, and her voice came with difficulty, "I think I am very ill. I have had sickness before, but not like this. Things seem slipping away."
Winifred's eyes filled with tears, but she forced them back. "Do not think that, mother," she pleaded.
"They are all slipping away," insisted the sick woman. "Every one--father, Hubert, you--everyone--everything I know--all slipping away."
Winifred looked to her invisible Companion in an agony of entreaty for her mother. Presently Mrs. Gray's voice again arose plaintively from the pillow:
"I am afraid--I am afraid, Winnie. I don't know--the things ahead! These,"--and her poor hands closed themselves over the counterpane as though they would try to hold the tangible, known things--"are slipping away, and I--am afraid."