han to see
you coming down to dinner looking bright and pretty in one of your nice
dresses."

"Really, nurse, you amaze me"--began Mrs. Harvey, but then the shadow of
a smile crept into her eyes. "I don't think you would talk like that if
you did not really think Freda would get well," she exclaimed suddenly.

"My impression is that she will get well," replied Dorothy, "Now, please
put on one of your pretty dresses."

"That pink dress with the lace ruffles, Martin," said Mrs. Harvey,
turning to the maid. She got up as she spoke, walked across the room,
and put her arms round Dorothy's white neck.

"You are a very brave woman," she said. "You are someone to lean on. It
rests me to lean on you--I love you already."

"And I love you," said Dorothy in her simple, direct fashion. "God has
given you to me to take care of just now, and I fully believe that your
sweet little girl will be spared to you. Now, I see you are going to be
very brave and good yourself, and I'll go back to the child. I ought not
to be too long away from her."

All through the night that followed, the nurse persevered in the
remedies which were slowly but surely undermining the awful blood
poisoning. Slowly but surely, as the hours advanced, the fell disease
lost its power, the choking sensation grew less and less in the throat,
the horrible fungus-like membrane became absorbed, and the child,
exhausted, worn to a little shadow, dropped toward morning into a
peaceful and natural sleep.

"From my heart, I believe I have conquered," thought Dorothy. She sank
on her knees by the bedside. She felt worn-out herself. Never before had
she nursed a case like this. Never before had she gone through such a
hand-to-hand fight with death. The child was far gone when she arrived.
The diphtheria was particularly acute, and the poor little frame was
already terribly weakened by the sharp attack of scarlet fever.

"Another twelve hours, and nothing would have saved her," murmured
Dorothy. "Oh, I thank Thee, my God!--I thank Thee for this mercy! Oh,
what a joy it is to feel that I can give this child back to her mother!"

Dorothy remained by the bedside. Her head was bowed on her hands.
Someone touched her on her shoulder--she looked up, and met the keen
eyes of Dr. Staunton. He was looking dreadfully pale and tired himself.

"See," said Dorothy, rising and pointing to the child, "she is not
feverish now, she sleeps sweetly."

"She will recover," said the d