oesn't
take cold. She is not free from infection yet, but she is quite out of
danger, if she does not catch a chill. Treat her as you would any sick
child. Rhoda is here. She is a capital girl, and will help you with
Freda's food. Freda may come into this room for a little to-day, but
you must see that she keeps out of a draught. Good-by. Effie. I won't be
any time getting ready. I'll send you telegrams about your father. God
bless you, Effie."

CHAPTER IX.

From the first it was a bad case. The throat was not so particularly
affected, but the weakness was extreme. All imaginable devices were
resorted to, to keep up the patient's strength. Notwithstanding all
human precautions, however, that strength failed and failed.

In a few days the strong man was like an infant. He could not lift a
finger, he could scarcely turn his head, his voice was completely gone.
His stricken soul could only look dumbly into the world through his
eyes. Those honest eyes were pathetic. Dorothy was unremitting in her
attentions. She took complete charge from the very first. Dr. Edwards
came and went, but he gave the nursing to Dorothy. She had prepared
herself for a great fight. She had hoped to conquer, but on the third
day of the doctor's illness she knew that the battle was not to the
strong nor the race to the swift--in short, the good doctor was called
to render up his account, his short span of mortal life was over.

One evening he had lain perfectly still and in a state of apparent
stupor for several hours. Dorothy stood at the foot of the bed. Her eyes
were fixed on the patient.

"It is strange how much I admire him," she said to herself. "I never met
a nobler, truer-hearted man."

"Dorothy, come here," said the doctor.

She went at once, and bent over him.

"I am going," he said, looking at her.

"Yes, Dr. Staunton," she answered.

He closed his eyes again for a moment.

"The wife," he murmured--"does she know?"

"I am not sure," said Dorothy in her quiet, clear voice, which never for
a moment sank to a whisper. "I think she must guess--I have not told
her."

"She had better know," said the doctor. "Will you bring her here?"

"Yes, I'll go and fetch her at once."

Dorothy left the room. She stood for a moment on the landing.

The task which lay immediately before her made her spirits sink. She
knew just as well as Dr. Staunton did how precarious was Mrs. Staunton's
tenure of life. She knew that a sudden sh