Miss Sterling began to dress.  “Where is Miss Sniffen now?”

“She went downstairs.”

“I will keep watch till she gets still, then I’ll go down.”

“What can you do?”

“I’m going for Dr. Dudley.”

“Suppose she sees you?”

“I know how to run!”

“She might catch you!”

“She shan’t!”

“I’m afraid to let you try it.”  She lingered irresolute.

“You needn’t.  I’ll let myself!  Go back to Miss Crilly, and tell her to keep up courage a little longer and I’ll have Dr. Dudley here as soon as I can.”

She put on her softest slippers and crept carefully down the stairs.  All was dark.  Not a sound came to her keen ears.  She crossed the hall and reached the heavy front door.  Cautiously she passed her hand from lock to lock—­something squeaked!  She frowned, and hastily slid the last bolt—­A light flared behind her!

“What are you doing?—­Miss Sterling!” Miss Sniffen came quickly towards her.

“I am going for the doctor!” She was out the door.

Miss Sniffen was almost as quick.  “Come back!” she cried.  “Come back this minute!”

Juanita Sterling was on the long flight of granite steps, so was Miss Sniffen.  The lithe little figure ran swiftly along the walk to the street; the pursuer was close behind.  The feet ahead seemed heavy and slow; the steps that followed came nearer, nearer!  Miss Sterling could almost feel the big hand upon her shoulder!  Her heart beat suffocatingly, her ears thundered defeat, she must drop or die!  Then she thought of Nelson Randolph and grew strong!  She bounded forward—­she was nearly there!  No, she was only passing the corner!  On, on, on!  She reached the gate, bumped against it, sped along the walk, stumbled up the steps, and pushed the bell button—­not until then did she venture a backward glance.

A tall figure was walking slowly, very slowly up the street!

“Out—­of—­breath!” she said softly, with a chuckle that was half a sob.

A light flashed inside, and Mrs. Dudley opened the door.

“Why, Miss Sterling!”

“Is—­Doctor—­home?” she puffed.

“No, he isn’t.  He’s out of town.  Come in!  Somebody sick?”

Mrs. Dudley put her into an easy-chair, felt her pulse, smiled in happy assurance, and waited for the story.

Before it was finished, Polly peeped in.

“I thought it was your voice!  What is the matter, Miss Nita?” She drew up a chair and sat down, folding her crimson robe about her.

Part of the tale was hurriedly retold.

“Doctor may come on the 11.55 train; if not, he can’t get here before one o’clock.”

“And Dr. Vera is watching with Dorothy!” cried Polly.

“So I told her,” said Mrs. Dudley.  “Dorothy is a very sick child; he cannot leave her.  I would go over if I thought I could do any good.”