George stayed at Whittington for a week; he followed his father to the
grave. Mrs. Staunton clung to him with a sort of feverish tenacity;
whenever he came into the room, her eyes followed him. A sort of
wistful, contented expression came into them when he sat down beside
her. During all the time George was in the house she never broke down.
At last, however, the time came when he must leave her.
"I must go back to my work," he said; "but you are coming to London
soon, then I'll be with you every evening. You know my father has given
you to me to take care of. It will be all right when we are in London
together."
"Yes, my boy," she replied, "it will be all right then. I don't
complain," she added; "I don't attempt to murmur. I shall go to him, but
he cannot return to me; and I have got you, George, and he gave me to
you. I am willing to stay with you just as long as you want me."
It was late that night when George left his mother's room. Effie was
standing in the passage--the brother and sister looked at each other.
Effie had come home the day after Dr. Staunton's death.
"Come out with me for a bit, Effie," said her brother. They went into
the garden, and she linked her hand through his arm.
Dorothy Fraser had now returned to her duties in London; the Stauntons
were to go up to town as soon as ever the cottage could be sold. It had
belonged to the doctor. George was to live with them when they were in
town, and perhaps Effie would be able to follow the great wish of her
mind. There was just a possibility that she might be able to be trained
as a hospital nurse. She looked up at George now.
"You have been such a comfort to us," she said. "Dorothy told me
everything; and I know that if you had not come just at the opportune
moment, we should have lost our mother as well as our father. I'll do
all in my power to hurry matters, so that we can come to London before
the winter."
"Yes," said George. He was a finely built young fellow, with a handsome
face. He was not the least like Effie, who was dark and rather small,
like her mother. George had the doctor's physique; he had great square
shoulders, his eyes were frank and blue like his father's, but his mouth
wanted his father's firmness.
"Effie," he said. "I don't know how I am to bring myself to confide in
you."
"Confide in me?" she said, with a little start. "We always did tell our
secrets to one another, but all this terrible trouble seems to have put
childish things away. Have you really a secret, George, to tell me?"
"I don't know how I can tell it to you," he replied; his lips
quivered--he looked down. Effie clasped his arm affectionately.
"You know I would do anything for you," she said.
"Yes; I know you are the best of girls, and you're awfully pretty, too.
I know Fred Lawson will think so when he sees you."
"Who is he?"
"A friend of mine--a right good fellow--he is a medical student at St.
Joseph's Hospital. I have often met him, and he has talked to me about
his own sisters, and one day I showed him your photograph, and he said
what a pretty girl you were. Somehow, Effie, I never thought of you as
pretty until Fred said so. I suppose fellows don't think how their
sisters look, although they love them very dearly; but when Fred said
it, it opened my eyes. Dear, dear, why am I talking like this, when time
is so precious, and I--Effie, when I came down that day to see my
father, I was in trouble--great trouble; the shock of seeing him seemed
to banish it from my mind, but it cannot be banished--it cannot be
banished, Effie, and I have no one to confide in now but you."
"You must tell me of course," said Effie; she felt herself turning pale.
She could not imagine what George's trouble was. The night was dusk; she
raised her eyes to her brother's face--he avoided meeting them. He had a
stick in his hand, and he began to poke holes in the gravel.
"How much money have we got to live on?" he asked abruptly.
"How much money have we to live on?" repeated Effie. "I believe, when
all is collected, that there will be something like a hundred a year for
mother and Agnes and Katie and the two little children. Of course I am
going to support myself _somehow_, and you are naturally off our hands."
"It's awful," said George; "it's awful to be so starvingly poor as that.
Why, I get a hundred a year now; fancy five people living on a sum on
which I never can make both ends meet!"
"What is the matter with you, George? How queerly you speak! You knew we
should be awfully poor when father died. You are going to pay for your
board, are you not, when you come to us, and that will be a great help."
"Yes, of course; I vow and declare that I'll give mother at least half
of what I earn."
"Well, that will be fifty pounds--a great help. My idea for myself
is--but----" Effie stopped abruptly. She saw that George was making an
impatient movement. "I'll tell you another time," she said in a gentle
voice. "You have something now to tell me, have you not?"
"I have--God knows I have. I want to get two hundred and fifty pounds
somewhere."
"Two hundred and fifty pounds!" exclaimed Effie. George might just as
well have asked her for the moon.
"I don't understand," she said, after a pause.
"No, and I never want you to, Effie," replied the young man. "I can't
tell you what I want the money for, but it's a matter of life and death.
I thought I had made up my mind"--a husky sound came into his throat--"I
made up my mind to tell everything to my father when I came down that
night--I could have told him. It was not a sort of thing to talk to you
about, but I thought I could tell him; he died, and he gave me mother.
He left mother with me. You know perfectly well, Effie, that our
mother's life hangs on a thread. You know she must not have a shock,
and yet--Effie, Effie, if I don't get that £250, she will have such a
shock, such a terrible shock, that it will send her to her grave!"
"I must think," said Effie. "I cannot answer you in a moment."
"Is there no earthly way you can help me? I must be helped," said George
in a frantic voice. "I have got six weeks longer--I must get that £250
in six weeks, or--no, I can't tell you."
"Yes, you must try--I won't help you unless you try."
"Well, then--here goes. If I don't get it, I shall have to go
to--_prison_." George's voice sank to a hoarse whisper.
Effie could not suppress a cry.