er. It was the one hearty meal Dr. Staunton allowed himself
in the twenty-four hours. At the children's early dinner he only
snatched a little bread and cheese, but at peaceful seven o'clock the
children were in bed, the house was quiet, the toil of the day was
supposed to be over, and Dr. Staunton could eat heartily and enjoy
himself. It was at this hour he used to notice how very pretty Effie
looked, and how sweet it was to see her sitting like a little mouse on
one side of the table, helping him and his wife in her affectionate way,
and seeing to the comforts of all. It did not occur to him as even
possible that Effie could carry such a dreadful thing as rebellion in
her heart. No face could look more perfectly happy than hers. Was it
possible that she was pining for a wider field of usefulness than the
little niche which she filled so perfectly in the home life? Dr.
Staunton never thought about it at all. Effie was just a dear little
girl--not a bit modern; she was the comfort of her mother's life, and,
for that matter, the comfort of his also.

He looked at her now with his usual grave smile. "Well, Effie, useful
and charming as usual? I see you have not forgotten my favorite dish,
and I am glad of it, for I can tell you I am just starving. I have had
a hard day's work, and it is nice to feel that I can rest for this
evening at least."

"Have you been to the Watsons', dear?" inquired Mrs. Staunton. "They
sent a message for you two or three hours ago."

"Yes; I met the farmer in the High Street, and went straight out to the
farm. Mrs. Watson is better now, poor soul; but it is a bad case, the
heart is a good deal implicated. I shall have to go out there again the
first thing in the morning. It would be a dreadful thing for that family
if anything happened to her."

"The heart--is it heart trouble?" said Mrs. Staunton.

"Yes, yes! Don't you begin to fancy that your case is the least like
hers; yours is only functional, hers is organic. Now, why have I broken
through my rule of saying nothing about my patients? You will be
fancying and fretting all night that you are going to shuffle off this
mortal coil just as quickly as poor Mrs. Watson will have to do before
long, I fear. Why, Effie, what is the matter? Why are you staring at me
with those round eyes?"

Mrs. Staunton looked also at Effie, and the sudden memory of her recent
conversation with her returned.

"By the way," she said, "if you are likely to be a