all up
if it makes you and mother unhappy."

"But it doesn't, my dear. The old birds cannot expect to keep the young
ones in the nest for ever and ever. Your mother spoke very sensibly
to-night. I never saw any woman so altered for the time being. She would
not let me imagine there was a thing the matter with her, and she spoke
all the time about you, as though she wanted to plead with me, your
father, to give you a happy life. Do you think I would deny it to you,
my dear little girl?"

"No, father; you have never denied me anything."

"I have never denied what was for your good, sweetheart."

Dr. Staunton clasped Effie to his breast. She flung her arms round him
with a sudden tight pressure.

"Easy, easy!" he exclaimed; "you are half-choking me. My breathing
certainly feels oppressed--I must have taken a chill. I'll get off to
bed as fast as I can. No, child, you need not be alarmed. I have often
noticed this queer development of hoarseness in people who have long
breathed the poisonous air which surrounds diphtheria and scarlet fever,
but in my case the hoarseness means nothing. Now, Effie, let me say a
word or two to you. I don't know what the future has in it--it is
impossible for any of us to know the future, and I say, thank God for
the blessed curtain which hides it from our view; but whatever it has in
it, my child, I wish you to understand that you are to do your best with
your life. Make it full if you can--in any case make it blessed. A month
ago, I will admit frankly, I did not approve of lady-nurses. After my
wonderful experience, however, with Dorothy Fraser, I must say that I
have completely changed my opinion. The girl with heart and nerve, with
common sense, with an unselfish spirit, can be a nurse whatever her
station in life. If to these qualifications she adds the refinements of
good breeding and the education of a lady, she is the best of all."

"Hurrah!" cried Effie--tears filled her eyes. "What a grand triumph for
Dorothy!" she exclaimed.

"She deserves every word I have said of her. If she wishes to take you
back with her to London when she goes,--if that is what is now at the
bottom of your heart,--go, child, with my blessing. We shall miss you at
home, of course, but we are not worth our salt if we are going to be
selfish."

"You never, never were that," said Effie.

"Now I have one more thing to say--it is about your mother. I have never
really told you my true fears about her. You