"Ah, yes, poor soul,"--the doctor gave an apprehensive glance toward his wife. "I cannot call to see Mrs. Watson for a day or two," he said; "not that there is the least scrap of infection, for I changed everything before I came home, but in her state it would not do to make her feel nervous. Well, wife and daughter, it is good to see you both again; and now I am going out for a stroll." The doctor left the room. Effie stood by the table. She was putting back his empty cup on the tray, and preparing to take the things into the kitchen, when her mother spoke. "What is the matter with your father?" she said in a husky voice. Effie slightly turned her back. "He is just tired," she answered; "that's all." "Put down that tray, Effie, and come here," said her mother. Effie obeyed. "Yes, mother," she said. "Now, mother darling, you are not going to get nervous?" "No, no, I am not nervous," said Mrs. Staunton,--her lips trembled slightly,--"I am not nervous. Nothing shall make me show nervousness or weakness of any sort in a time of real extremity. But, Effie, child, I know something." "What in the world do you know, mother?" Effie tried to smile. "Your father is ill. The unimportant people have escaped, but he has taken this complaint. He is ill, Effie--I know it." "Now, mother, is that likely?" said Effie. "Father comes home tired, he has gone through a great deal of anxiety--has he not all his life been exposed to infection of all kinds? Why should he be ill now? Besides, if he were ill, he would say so. Mother, darling, I cannot listen to this kind of talk." "All right, my dear, I will say no more. It sometimes happens so, Effie. Lives we think of no account are spared--spared on indefinitely. The one life on which so many others hang is taken." "Mother, I do not understand you." "I understand myself," said Mrs. Staunton. "I know what I fear. Nay, I do not fear it--I rise up with strength to meet it. You will see, Effie, dear, that your mother is no coward in any real danger." "You are a dear," said Effie. "You are the best and most unselfish mother in the world. I feel ashamed of myself when I see how bravely you struggle against the weakness and the anxiety which must be yours, more or less, always. But now, mother, dear, you will not look trouble in the face before it comes--you will not meet it halfway. If you are really better, come out into the garden, and we will take a turn before dinner." "Very well, my dear." "I want to show you the sweet-peas that have come up in the south border," continued Effie. "Come, let us talk of pleasant things, and be cheerful when father comes home." "Oh, I will be perfectly cheerful," said Mrs. Staunton. She went into the good-sized garden at the back of the little cottage, and began with nervous, energetic fingers to pick some flowers, and to arrange them in a big nosegay.