“What is the matter?” answered that young gentleman, jumping up with the alacrity of one accustomed to be suddenly awakened. “Do you feel queer?”
“Yes, I do rather,” answered Geoffrey, “but it isn’t that. There is somebody crying outside here.”
The doctor put on his coat, and, going to the window, drew the blind.
“Why, so there is,” he said. “It’s a little girl with yellow hair and without a hat.”
“A little girl,” answered Geoffrey. “Why, it must be Effie, my daughter. Please let her in.”
“All right. Cover yourself up, and I can do that through the window; it isn’t five feet from the ground.” Accordingly he opened the window, and addressing the little girl, asked her what her name was.
“Effie,” she sobbed in answer, “Effie Bingham. I’ve come to look for daddie.”
“All right, my dear, don’t cry so; your daddie is here. Come and let me lift you in.”
Another moment and there appeared through the open window the very sweetest little face and form that ever a girl of six was blessed with. For the face was pink and white, and in it were set two beautiful dark eyes, which, contrasting with the golden hair, made the child a sight to see. But alas! just now the cheeks were stained with tears, and round the large dark eyes were rings almost as dark. Nor was this all. The little dress was hooked awry, on one tiny foot all drenched with dew there was no boot, and on the yellow curls no hat.
“Oh! daddie, daddie,” cried the child, catching sight of him and struggling to reach her father’s arms, “you isn’t dead, is you, daddie?”