All through the long hours of that day Dorothy watched by the sick child. The child was on the Borderland. Her life hung in the balance—a feather's weight on either side and she would go to the country from which there is no return, or she would become well again. Dorothy's efforts were directed to turning the balance in the scale toward life.

Notwithstanding all her care, however, and all the alleviations which she used, the sick child suffered and moaned terribly. The awful state of the throat, the terrible prostration caused by this form of blood poisoning, were no light foes to have to beat and conquer. But unceasing care presently produced a happy result, and toward evening the high temperature went down a couple of degrees, and the child's breathing became less difficult.

"I believe she will recover," said Dorothy, looking at Dr. Staunton, who had just come into the room. "I hope you agree with me, doctor, in thinking that she is rather better?"

"Yes," replied the doctor, "she is better; she is less feverish, and her breathing is easier. You have done wonders already."

"What happy news for her poor mother! I am so glad that I can tell her that the child is really better," said Dorothy. "I want to induce her to give the little creature altogether into my care for the present, and not to come near her again unless a change for the worse should set in. I hear Mrs. Harvey stirring now in the next room, so she may be in at any moment. May I speak to her, doctor? Do you give me leave to tell her that her child is on the mend, and that you would rather she kept out of the room?"

"I would do anything in the world to keep her out of the room," said the doctor. "Yes, I give you full leave to say what you please. You would have more influence with her than I should have. I am almost as great a stranger to her as you are. Use your strongest influence, nurse—do what you can. I believe in you. I am sure she will do the same."

"I'll go into the day nursery and wash my hands before I see Mrs. Harvey," said Dorothy.

She was scarcely a moment away. In a couple of minutes she was standing by Mrs. Harvey's bed.

Exhausted by her days and nights of watching, the tired-out mother had slept all through the long hours of the day. She opened her eyes now with a start. Healing sleep had done wonders for her—the dewy look of youth had come back to her face; her beautiful blue eyes were fixed for a moment on Dorothy with a puzzled expression of non-recognition.

"Where am I? What has happened?" she asked in a startled voice.

"You have just had a lovely sleep," said Dorothy. "You'll be all the better for it."

"And who are you? I cannot quite collect my thoughts—I know something has happened. Who are you? I cannot remember you."

"I am the nurse who is taking care of your dear little girl. She is better."

"Oh, yes, now I remember," said Mrs. Harvey. She sat up in bed and clasped her hands tightly.

"It was wrong of me to sleep so long," she said, "but I won't be a moment getting dressed; I must go back to the child at once."

"Will you come to your room?" said Dorothy. "You can change your dress there. I know Mr. Harvey is most anxious that you should dine with him this evening."

"Dine with my husband!—have dinner? But Freda is ill; she is at death's door."

"She is ill undoubtedly, but she is better; she is on the mend. I am taking good care of her. Don't you trust me?"

"Oh, yes, I trust you; but I must go back to her. Don't talk to me of dinner; I could not eat. Is it really evening? Oh, now I remember everything—at last I remember! We have been in agony. We have lived through such a week. We have been down in the depths, truly. Yes, yes, I recollect it all—my little child, my only little child, my darling, my treasure! Oh, nurse, you should not have allowed me to sleep on all day, you should have called me; she may have been wanting me. But you say she is better—better; but perhaps Dr. Staunton—oh, I am frightened! Are you keeping anything from me? Oh, my head, my poor head! I shall go mad; I shall lose my senses."

"No, dear Mrs. Harvey," said Dorothy; "I have good news for you, not bad. Freda is really better—she is less feverish, and her throat does not hurt her so badly. I don't pretend that she is yet out of danger, but if she continues to improve as she has done during the last seven or eight hours, she will be out of danger before long. Now I want you to take care of yourself and to trust your child to me."

"Oh, I cannot give the child up to anyone. You must not keep me from her another moment. I am not a bit hungry, but I'll have something to eat in her room if you'll bring it to me. How awfully my darling must have missed me!—she is such a child for her mother. Let me go to her at once—my dear little treasure!"

"Dr. Staunton is very anxious that you should not go to her to-night."

"How can he dare to keep a mother from her child? Here, give me my dress, will you? I tell you that nothing will keep me from the room. I am sure you are deceiving me."

"Do you really think I would deceive you?" said Dorothy. "Before you went to sleep you promised to trust me. Look at me now—look into my eyes. I have nursed a great many sick children—I have seen many mothers in agony—I have never deceived one. When the truth was good I have told it; when it was bad I have also told it. I am not deceiving you, Mrs. Harvey."

Poor Mrs. Harvey's dazed and frightened eyes gazed into Dorothy's strong face. Its repose, its calm, impressed her. She was in an overstrung and highly hysterical state. She burst into tears.

"I do trust you, nurse," she said, with a great sob. "I trust you, and I bless you. I know my dear little one is better. Oh, thank God; thank the great and good God! But, dear nurse, I must go to her. You are tired, and I am quite rested and refreshed. I'll spend the night with the child, and you can go to bed."

"No, dear madam; I cannot resign the care of the child to anyone. I am using a certain remedy in the form of a spray which no one in this house understands but me. If that remedy—which has made the child better—is not continued unceasingly during the whole of this night, her throat will get as bad as ever, and there will be no hope of her recovery. I want you, Mrs. Harvey, to sleep to-night, and leave the child in my care, I wish this, and the doctor wishes it, and I am sure, if you asked your husband, he would tell you that he wished the same. You are not required to do anything for little Freda, and it is your duty to take care of yourself. If she gets worse, I promise to come for you—I promise this, Mrs. Harvey. Now, will you go to your room and dress, and then go downstairs and have some dinner? In the morning I expect to have splendid news for you."

Mrs. Harvey clasped her hands in perplexity and uncertainty.

"It is dreadful to keep a mother from her child," she said; "and yet—and yet——"

"And yet in this case it is right," said Dorothy. "You must remember that you have not only Freda to think of. There is your husband, and——"

"Oh, yes, I know; there is my poor little unhappy baby, but I cannot love it as I love Freda."

"Still you owe it a duty. It is not right of you to do anything to risk its life or your own. When it comes to you, you will see how dearly you love it. Now, please, let me take you to your room."

"But may I not take one peep at my little treasure?"

"She is asleep just now, and you may wake her. Please let me take you to your room."

Mrs. Harvey staggered to her feet.

"I trust you, nurse," she said, with a wistful sort of look. "You will remember your promise?"

"I will; nothing in the world will make me go back from my word. Now, come with me."

Dorothy led Mrs. Harvey away. They walked down the corridor together. The nurse opened a baize door, which shut away the nurseries from the rest of the house, and a moment later found herself standing in Mrs. Harvey's luxurious bedroom. Her maid was there, and Dorothy asked her to help her mistress to dress.

"What dress will you wear, madam?" asked the girl.

"Anything—it doesn't matter what," replied Mrs. Harvey.

"Yes, it matters a great deal," said Dorothy. "You ought to wear a pretty dress; I think it is your duty to do so. You have got to think of the Squire. Nothing will please him and reassure him more than 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 doctor. "Thank the Almighty!"

"I believe she will certainly recover," replied Dorothy.

"It is your doing, nurse."

"With God's blessing," she answered, bowing her head.

The doctor asked her one or two more questions.

"Now, the thing is, to keep up her strength," said Dorothy in conclusion. "She must have every imaginable form of nourishment. But that can be done, for I mean to undertake the management of her food myself. Please, Dr. Staunton, will you tell Mrs. Harvey the good news that her child is out of danger?"

"Yes," said the doctor; "but ought not that to be your own reward?"

"No, no; I don't want to go near her. I wish you to do all in your power to keep her from the room. I believe that when she knows that her child is really on the mend she will be guided by your wishes and those of her husband. I have a kind of feeling,—I may be wrong, of course,—but I have a kind of feeling that God will stay His hand in this matter, and that the plague will not spread. Now, the thing is to think of the mother. I suppose you will attend to her when her baby is born?"

"She has asked me to do so."

"Then, don't you think," said Dorothy, after a pause for reflection,—"don't you think you might leave little Freda to me? I am willing to be shut up in this part of the house with the child and one of the maids, a girl called Rhoda, who has been most helpful to me during the last twenty-four hours. If you are wanted, doctor, you are on the spot; but, unless there is occasion, don't you think it would be best for you not to come into this room?"

"It would be certainly the safest course as regards the mother," pursued the doctor in a thoughtful tone. "You are a wonderful woman, nurse. I'll go and consult the Squire."