ng but a rushing sound and a
vision of foam. He shuddered a little as he thought of it, for his
nerves were shaken; it is not pleasant to have been so very near the End
and the Beginning; and then his heart went out with renewed gratitude
towards the girl who had restored him to life and light and hope. Just
at this moment he thought that he heard a sound of sobbing outside the
window. He listened; the sound went on. He tried to rise, only to find
that he was too stiff to manage it. So, as a last resource, he called
the doctor.

"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?"

"No, my love, no," answered her father, kissing her. "Why should you
think that I was dead? Didn't your mother tell you that I was safe?"

"Oh! daddie," she answered, "they came and said that you was drownded,
and I cried and wished that I was drownded too. Then mother came home at
last and said that you were better, and was cross with me because I went
on cryin