She was standing at the door of a chemist's shop, endeavoring to arouse the proprietor by repeated pulling of the night bell, pausing between each summons, and vainly endeavoring to choke back her tears. I could not see her face, but so keen and poignant was her grief that I should have been less than human had I passed by without a word. The note of suffering in her voice touched a sympathetic chord in my heart, and awoke the dormant sense of good within me. "What are you crying for?" I inquired, stepping to her side. My question seemed to terrify her, and she made a movement as if about to fly. But the duty upon which she was bent gave her courage. "Don't speak to me!" she implored. "For heaven's sake, leave me!" I knew what she intended to convey by this appeal. She mistook me for one of the human ghouls who prowl the streets in the belief that every woman is frail. "I will not harm you," I said, and I repeated my question. "What are you crying for?" My sad voice reassured her--so she subsequently informed me--and after a pause she answered timidly. "I have been trying for a quarter of an hour to make the chemist hear, but he will not come down. It is life or death, and he will not come down!" "Your life or death?" I asked. "No," she replied, "not mine; my mother's--my dear mother's!" "Let me see what I can do," I said, and I pulled the bell, and listened, with my ear close to the door. There was no response, and I pulled again, and failed to hear the ring. I discovered then that the night bell was broken. There was another bell on the other side of the door, and this I pulled vigorously, and beat on the door with my fist. "What is the matter with your mother?" "She is very ill--she has been ill for months. Are you a doctor, sir?" "No. What does the doctor who is attending her say?" "We have none, sir." "But why? Surely in a matter of life or death one is necessary." I continued to ring and beat on the door. "I know, I know," she murmured. "Oh, will he 'never come?" I gathered from this mournful reply that they were poor and could not afford a doctor, which was presently confirmed. My vigorous summons was successful in arousing the chemist, who, with a sleepy and unwilling air, opened the door and admitted us. Now, by the light in the shop, I saw that the woman was young, hardly yet out of her teens, and though grief was stamped too plainly upon her countenance, that she was fair and prepossessing. So modest and gentle was she that I was filled with pity for her. Her eyes were dim with tears, her hair had become loosened and hung in lovely disorder upon her white neck, her features bore traces of exhausting vigil. With a trembling hand she held out a prescription, saying in a wistful tone: "I am sorry to disturb you, but my mother is much worse to-night. I will pay you to-morrow--I have some work to take back."