“Yes, show him up; I must talk with him,” he said, and a moment after Squire John stood before his rival, his honest face full of anxiety, and almost bedewed with tears as he stated all he knew of Dora’s case. “If I could see her I could do so much better,” Richard said; “but that is impossible to-day, so I must send,” and with hands which shook as they had never shaken before, he gave out the medicine which he hoped might save Dora’s life. “If you were able to go,” the Squire said, as he stood in the doorway, “I would carry you myself; but perhaps it is not prudent.” He looked anxiously at the doctor, who replied: “If she gets no better, I’ll come.” And then as the door closed upon the Squire, he gave a great pitying groan as he thought how trustful and unsuspicious he was. Holding fast to the medicine, and repeating the direction, Squire Russell hastened back to the house, finding that Dora had been divested of her soiled garments, and placed in bed, where she already seemed more comfortable, though she kept talking incessantly of the light on the wall which would not let her sleep. “It’s perfectly dreadful, isn’t it?” Jessie said to Robert, who, ere going home, stepped to the door of Dora’s room. “I’m sure I don’t know what to do. I wish Bell was here.” Dora heard the name, and said: “Yes, Bell; she knows, she understands,—she said I ought not to do it. Send for Bell.” Accordingly Robert was furnished with the necessary directions, and left the house for the telegraph office, just as the Squire entered. Johnnie was nearly frantic. At first he had seemed to consider that his trip to Europe was prevented, and, boy-like, only was greatly disappointed; but when he was admitted into the room and saw Dora’s burning cheeks and bright, rolling eyes, he forgot everything in his great distress for her. “Auntie must not die! Oh, she must not die!” he sobbed, feeling a keener pang than any he had known when they brought home his dead mother. Intuitively he seemed to feel that his father’s grief was greater than his own, and keeping close to his side he held his hand, looking up into his face, and whispering occasionally: “Poor father, I hope she won’t die!” The father hoped so too, but as the hours wore on and the fever increased, those who saw her, shook their heads doubtingly, saying with one accord: “She must have help soon, or it will come too late.” “Help from where? Tell me. Whom shall I get? Where shall I go?” John asked, and the answer was always the same. “If _Dr. West_ could come, but I suppose he can’t!”