g. He has a hard fight before him, but he must
not die--I tell you, child, your father must not die!"

"No, no, mother! God will spare him to us," said Effie. Tears dimmed her
eyes, she got quickly into her clothes.

"Now, I will go," she said. "I will bring Dorothy back with me."

"If there is any difficulty," said Mrs. Staunton, "if she hesitates for
a moment, you must remember, there is only one thing to be done."

"Yes, mother; what do you mean?"

"You must offer to nurse Freda Harvey instead of her--do you
understand?"

"And I am not to come back to father when he is ill?" said Effie,
aghast.

"That is not the point," exclaimed Mrs. Staunton. "The only thing to be
considered is, what will save him, and you and I, and our feelings, are
of no consequence. His life is so valuable that no sacrifice is too
great to keep it. Go, child, go. If you can come back, come--if not,
stay."

"And who will manage the children--they ought not to remain in the
house."

"Don't worry about the children. Get Dorothy as quickly as possible."

Effie buttoned her dress and pinned on her hat, and then went out on the
landing.

"Where are you going, child? Why don't you go downstairs?"

"I must kiss father first."

"What folly!--why should there be this delay?"

"I won't be a minute."

Effie turned the handle of the bedroom door, and went softly into the
room. Her father was lying on his back--there was a livid look about his
face. Great beads of perspiration stood on his brow. His eyes were
closed. He did not see Effie when she came into the room, but when she
bent down and kissed his forehead, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
He said something which she could not distinguish--he was too hoarse to
make any words articulate.

"I am going for Dorothy," she said, with a smile,--"she'll soon make you
better,--good-by. God bless you--father. I love you--father, I love
you."

His eyes smiled at her, but his lips could not speak.

She went quickly out of the room.

CHAPTER VIII.

It did not take Effie long to harness the old horse to the gig. She had
often driven old Jock, and this part of her task did not put her out in
the least. She had a curious sense, as she was driving toward The Grange
in the fresh early morning air, of the complete change which was
awaiting her. She was quite certain that one door in her life was
shut--shut forever. She had longed for change,--it had come at last with
a vengeance;