"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 his side, and a moment later the two had disappeared. Effie stood by the open hall door looking up and down the quiet village street. The great man of the place had come and gone like a flash. The thing Mrs. Staunton had longed for, dreamed of, and almost prayed for, had come to pass at last--her husband was sent for to The Grange. Effie wondered if Fortune were really turning her wheel, and if, from this date they would be better off than they had been. Dorothy Fraser's people lived in the house nearly opposite. From where Effie stood she could see a light still burning in her friend's window. The thought of Dorothy raised the girl's state of excitement almost to fever pitch. She longed to go over and see her friend; she knew she must not do that, however. She shut the hall door, and went slowly back to her bedroom. She wanted to sleep, but sleep was far away. She lay listening during the long hours of the summer night, and heard hour after hour strike from the church clock close by. Between two and three in the morning she dropped off into a troubled doze. She awoke in broad daylight, to start to her feet and see her father standing in the room. "Get up, Effie," he said. "I want you; dress yourself as quickly as you can." There was an expression about his face which prevented Effie's uttering a word. She scrambled into her clothes--he waited for her on the landing. When she was dressed he took her hand and went softly down through the house. "I do not want your mother to be disturbed," he said. "There is a very bad case of illness at The Grange." "What is it, father?" asked Effie. "Well, I fear that it is a complication of scarlet fever and diphtheria. The child will have an awful fight for her life, and at the present moment I am afraid the odds are terribly against her." "Oh, father, and she is the only child!" said Effie. "Yes, yes, I know all that; but there is no use in going into sentiment just now--the thing is to pull her through if possible. Now, look here: I can send to London, of course, for a nurse, but she would not arrive for several hours--do you think your friend Miss Fraser would undertake the case?" "Yes, I am sure she would," said Effie.