But a symptom began to alarm her, and in the beginning of May, having consulted a local physician without being satisfied, she went to see a specialist in a northern suburb in whose judgement she had great confidence.  This occasion I recollect with extreme vividness.  I had been put to bed by my Father, in itself a noteworthy event.  My crib stood near a window overlooking the street; my parents’ ancient four-poster, a relic of the eighteenth century, hid me from the door, but I could see the rest of the room.  After falling asleep on this particular evening, I awoke silently, surprised to see two lighted candles on the table, and my Father seated writing by them.  I also saw a little meal arranged.

While I was wondering at all this, the door opened, and my Mother entered the room; she emerged from behind the bed-curtains, with her bonnet on, having returned from her expedition.  My Father rose hurriedly, pushing back his chair.  There was a pause, while my Mother seemed to be steadying her voice, and then she replied, loudly and distinctly, ‘He says it is—­’ and she mentioned one of the most cruel maladies by which our poor mortal nature can be tormented.  Then I saw them hold one another in a silent long embrace, and presently sink together out of sight on their knees, at the farther side of the bed, whereupon my Father lifted up his voice in prayer.  Neither of them had noticed me, and now I lay back on my pillow and fell asleep.

Next morning, when we three sat at breakfast, my mind reverted to the scene of the previous night.  With my eyes on my plate, as I was cutting up my food, I asked, casually, ‘What is—?’ mentioning the disease whose unfamiliar name I had heard from my bed.  Receiving no reply, I looked up to discover why my question was not answered, and I saw my parents gazing at each other with lamentable eyes.  In some way, I know not how, I was conscious of the presence of an incommunicable mystery, and I kept silence, though tortured with curiosity, nor did I ever repeat my inquiry.

About a fortnight later, my Mother began to go three times a week all the long way from Islington to Pimlico, in order to visit a certain practitioner, who undertook to apply a special treatment to her case.  This involved great fatigue and distress to her, but so far as I was personally concerned it did me a great deal of good.  I invariably accompanied her, and when she was very tired and weak, I enjoyed the pride of believing that I protected her.  The movement, the exercise, the occupation, lifted my morbid fears and superstitions like a cloud.  The medical treatment to which my poor Mother was subjected was very painful, and she had a peculiar sensitiveness to pain.  She carried on her evangelical work as long as she possibly could, continuing to converse with her fellow passengers on spiritual matters.  It was wonderful that a woman, so reserved and proud as she by nature was, could conquer so completely her natural timidity.