Two months passed away without any special incident. Effie's month of trial being over, she was now established at St. Joseph's as a regular probationer. Her salary of twelve pounds a year began from the day her second month commenced. All those qualities which Dorothy was quite sure that Effie possessed were coming abundantly to the fore. She had tact, she had courage, she had nerve. She was also absolutely unselfish. Self was not in the foreground with her; the work which she had to do, the work which she meant to carry through in the best possible manner, in the bravest spirit, with the most conscientious sense of duty, ever filled her mental horizon. Sister Kate began to trust Effie. She began to smile at her now and then, and to give her not quite so much floor-scrubbing and grate-polishing, and a little more work to do for the patients themselves.

The patients liked to call Effie to smooth their sheets, to turn their pillows, to give them their drinks. One or two of them, when they had an odd moment, began to make little confidences to her. She learned their histories almost at a glance. She also studied their fancies; she began to find out the exact way Mrs. Robinson liked her gruel flavored, and how Mrs. Guiers liked her pillows arranged. Effie made no fuss over the patients,—fuss and favoritism were strongly against the rules,—but notwithstanding, she was a favorite herself.

More than one pair of tired eyes looked at her with longing and refreshment as she passed, and more than one pair of wearied lips smiled when she came near.

Two months went by in this fashion—very, very quickly, as such busy months must. It was found impossible to allow Effie to go home every Sunday, but she went, as a rule, every second one.

Things seemed to be going fairly straight at home. The extravagance she had noticed on her first Sunday was not repeated to the same extent. Mrs. Staunton seemed decidedly better, and Effie gave herself up with a thankful heart to her work.

It was now the middle of winter, close upon Christmas-time. The weather outside was bitterly cold, although, in the ward, Effie scarcely felt this. She wore her neat lilac print dress just the same in winter as in summer.

One day, about a week before Christmas, when a thick yellow fog was shutting out all the view from the high ward windows, Effie was doing something for No. 47, a poor, tired-looking woman of the name of Martin, when Lawson, the young medical student, came suddenly into the ward. He had been sent by the house physician to take notes on a certain case. This case happened to be the very one which Effie was attending. When he saw Effie a peculiar expression passed over his face. It was against the strictest of all rules for the medical students ever to address a word to the probationers; even the necessary duties required of them had to be conveyed through a Sister or a ward nurse. Effie was helping poor No. 47 to drink a little milk and soda water. As she put the glass back in its place, Lawson came close to her. He said abruptly:

"I am very anxious to have a conversation with you about George."

She colored crimson when he addressed her.

"Yes," she said.

"Nurse!" exclaimed Sister Kate's voice at that moment, in a harsh, sharp tone, "go at once and make up the fire at the other end of the room."

Effie went off, trembling and disturbed.

The fact of Lawson having specially addressed her passed out of her mind immediately, but the mention of George's name filled her with fear.

It was the first time in her hospital life that she absolutely forgot the rules laid down for her conduct. Sister Kate, who had the eyes of a hawk, noticed when Lawson bent over to speak to the pretty little probationer. It was her duty to correct the faintest attempt at flirting on the part of the probationers and medical students. She felt shocked at Effie, who was fast becoming a favorite of hers, permitting such a thing for a moment, and, when next Effie had anything to do for her, quite resumed her icy manner toward her.

No. 47 required some special attention again that evening—she was feverish, and not going on well. She called Effie to her side in an eager voice.

"You might turn my pillow again for me, dear," she said. "You know how to hitch it right under the small of my back, better than any of those other nurses. There now, that's better. Stoop your head a bit, love. I believe if you go downstairs into the hall near the surgery, you are safe to see that young doctor; he is sure to be in the dispensary about this time, and you might catch him when he is going out."

"Hush!" said Effie. "I know you mean kindly, but you ought not to talk like that."

"Oh, my love, I know, I know," said the woman, with a wink. "We was all young once—I am three-and-forty, and have never had a mate. I missed my chance when I was young. Don't you miss yours, nurse."

Effie turned pale with indignation; but then, seeing that the woman meant kindly, she tried to smile.

"I am very much obliged to you," she said, "but things aren't a bit the way you think." She then went off to perform her other duties.

Sister Kate spoke to her sharply.

"Nurse," she said, "I hope you remember the rule which forbids favoritism—I noticed that you stayed longer than was necessary with No. 47."

"She complained a good deal of her back, Sister, and I was arranging her pillows for her."

"Don't try to deceive me," said Sister Kate. "You know perfectly well that you did not spend all that time arranging a pillow. Now, go and help to bring up the teas."

Effie turned to her duties with a tingling sensation in her eyes.

It was the first time since her arrival at St. Joseph's that her work seemed almost impossible to her. Her heart quite ached with longing to know what Lawson had meant. What had he to tell her about George? As she thought, her fears grew greater and her memory of the hospital rules less and less.

She determined at any risk to try and see Lawson that evening. It would be impossible for her to venture down into the central hall of the hospital, but she knew for certain that he would come into the ward again late that evening.

Sister Kate would be off duty at nine o'clock, and Sister Alice, the night superintendent, was not nearly so strict. Effie hovered about near the door; she knew she was disobeying rules, for she ought to have gone to bed soon after nine o'clock. No one noticed her, however. The night nurses were all busy taking up their different duties, and Sister Alice was talking to the house physician at the farther end of the ward.

Suddenly Effie, standing near one of the doors, saw Lawson coming upstairs; she ran to him without a moment's hesitation. "What have you to tell me about George?" she said.

He colored, and looked almost annoyed when she spoke to him.

"I cannot tell you here," he said in a hasty voice. "Are you going home next Sunday?"

"No; it's my Sunday in—unless I could get one of the other probationers to change with me."

"I wish you would manage to do that; I really want to see you very badly. If you'll go home on Sunday, I'll call in the course of the afternoon, and then I can walk back with you to the hospital. Now, go at once—you must not be seen talking to me."

Effie flew down the corridor to her own little room.

That night she could scarcely sleep; she felt oppressed with all kinds of forebodings. The idea of her having broken one of the rules, and, in fact, laid herself open to dismissal, never once entered into her head.

She was still the faithful nurse—the earnest-minded, gentle, good girl, who would give up her whole life to the alleviation of the sufferings of others. The fact of Effie having a dual life, of having a nature which could not forget the old home ties, was not likely, however, to be recognized in the hospital.

The next morning at breakfast she noticed that one or two of the probationers giggled a little when they saw her. She sat down in her usual seat, and one of the girls nudged her elbow.

"Well," she said, "you're no better than the rest of us."

"What in the world do you mean?" said Effie, coloring scarlet.

"Oh, don't be so sly!" said the girl, with a poke which she intended to make playful. "He is a very good-looking young fellow, too; only, if you don't want to get into mischief, don't let Sister Kate see it."

"I know what you mean," said Effie in a steady voice; "but you are altogether mistaken. I scarcely know Mr. Lawson; he only spoke to me yesterday because he happened to be a great friend of my brother's."

"Oh, the usual thing," laughed the girl. "It's so very convenient to have brothers; is it not, Lucy?"

The girl addressed as Lucy grinned, and Effie felt very uncomfortable.

At dinner that day, it suddenly passed through her mind that she must, by hook or by crook, induce one of the probationers to change Sundays with her. Lucy was usually a good-natured girl. Her people did not live in town; as a rule she spent her Sundays out with her aunt-in-law. Effie went up to her when she had a moment to spare.

"Lucy," she said, "I wish you would do something for me."

"To be sure I will, Effie," she replied—"anything in my power."

"I want to go home very badly next Sunday; do you think it would be possible for me to change with you?"

"Heigh-ho!" said Lucy, "You want to meet Mr. Lawson; I know your sly little ways."

"No, indeed, it is not true," began Effie; but then she stopped, for she knew it was true. She would meet him. "Oh, how little Lucy knows the burden that is pressing on me!" thought the poor girl.

Tears suddenly rose to her pretty brown eyes.

"I cannot explain things to you," she said; "I would if I could. You must believe in me and trust me. I have a great deal of anxiety. Oh, it has nothing to do with the hospital; it is about my home life. There is a great burden laid upon me. I want very much to go home on Sunday. Indeed, Mr. Lawson has little to do with the real burden, only I believe he can tell me something."

"I know you are a good girl," began Lucy, who became grave on the spot. "Of course you shall take my turn if Sister Kate will allow it."