ll be delighted to go. I do want to get out of
this narrow, narrow life; I do want to do something big and grand. Oh,
Dorothy, how splendid you are! How strong you look! How delightful it is
to feel that one can live a life like yours, and do good, and be loved
by all! Oh, Dorothy, I hope I shall be able to copy you! I hope----"

Effie's eager thoughts came to a sudden stop. A tall dog-cart dashed
down the street and pulled up short at her father's door. A young man in
a Norfolk suit jumped out, threw the horse's reins to his groom, and
pulled the doctor's bell furiously. Effie leaned slightly out of her
window in order to see who it was. She recognized the man who stood on
the doorstep with a start of surprise, and the color flew into her face.
He was the young Squire of the neighborhood. His name was Harvey. His
place was two miles out of Whittington. He was married; his wife was the
most beautiful woman Effie had ever seen; and he had one little girl.
The Harveys were rich and proud; they spent the greater part of their
time in London, and had never before condescended to consult the village
doctor. What was the matter now? Effie rushed from her room and knocked
furiously at her father's door.

"Father, do you hear the night-bell? Are you getting up?" she called.

"Yes, child, yes," answered the doctor.

The bell downstairs kept on ringing at intervals. Effie stood trembling
on the landing; she felt positively sure that something dreadful must
have happened.

"May I go down stairs and say you are coming, father?" she called again
through the key-hole.

"Yes, I wish you would. Say I will be downstairs in a minute."

Effie ran off; she took the chain off the heavy hall door and threw it
open.

"Is Dr. Staunton in?" asked the Squire. He stared at Effie's white
trembling face. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair in disorder; he looked
like a man who is half distracted.

"Yes," said Effie, in as soothing a voice as she could assume; "my
father will be down in a minute."

Harvey took off his cap.

"You are Miss Staunton, I presume? Pray ask your father to be as quick
as possible. My little girl is ill--very ill. We want a doctor to come
to The Grange without a moment's delay."

"All right, Squire; here I am," said the hearty voice of Dr. Staunton on
the stairs.

The Squire shook hands with him, made one or two remarks in too low a
voice for Effie to hear, sprang into his dog-cart, the doctor scrambled
up by