"Yes, I am more than delighted," exclaimed Mrs. Harvey. "This plan suits me in every way. You won't fail us, Miss Staunton? for, in case Freda by any chance has taken that awful whooping-cough, you can keep her in isolation from the very first."

"Oh, yes!" said Effie, smiling; "but I dare say she is all right."

She shook hands with her new employers and left the house.

The gold was in her pocket. She felt that she had sold herself and her mission in life for ten sovereigns. "It is the present need which makes the thing so desperate," she said under her breath. "If George has drawn all the money, they have absolutely nothing to live on; but more will come in, and there's this to go on with. We'll manage somehow now."

She returned to the lodgings, but before she went upstairs she had an interview with the landlady.

"What do you charge my mother for rent?" she asked.

"Well, Miss Staunton," exclaimed the woman, "with the dinners and one thing and another, I am obliged to make it a pound a week."

"That is a great deal too much," said Effie. "I don't suppose it is too much for your rooms, but it is more than we can afford just now. When we first came to you, you agreed to let us the rooms without attendance for fifteen shillings a week. We cannot by any possible management afford to pay more."

"But Mrs. Staunton wished for attendance, miss--she said it made all the difference; there was half a crown for attendance and half a crown extra for kitchen fire."

"But the kitchen fire was included in the fifteen shillings a week."

"Then there wasn't late dinner."

"Surely there is no late dinner now?" exclaimed Effie.

"Oh, yes, miss; every evening Mr. Staunton requires a nice little bit of dinner sent up when he comes home. You see, miss, it is quite impossible for me to have extra fires without charging for them."

"Certainly. Well, I don't think there will be any extra dinner in future. And now please tell me exactly how much is due to you."

"Four pounds, miss; but if I'm paid one, on account, I shan't mind waiting. I'd be really sorry to dislodge such a nice lady as your mother, Miss Staunton."

"Here is the money in full," said Effie. "Will you give me a receipt?"

"Oh, with pleasure, miss. Won't you sit down? I hope, Miss Staunton, nothing will induce your good mother to move from here. I will do everything in my power to make her comfortable."

"You must understand," said Effie, "that in future she only pays fifteen shillings a week without extras. My sisters Agnes and Katie are quite old enough to do all the waiting which my mother requires. In fact they must do so, for we can't afford to pay a penny more."

"Am I to understand, miss, that there's no late dinner?"

"Certainly not."

"Very well; I am sure I'll do all in my power to oblige."

Effie left her, putting her receipt carefully in her pocket as she did so. She went upstairs and entered the little sitting-room where her mother was now pacing quickly and restlessly up and down. There was a deep flush on her cheeks, and a look of despair in her eyes.

"Oh, Effie, you've come!" she exclaimed, the moment she saw her daughter. "George has been in. There's something wrong, I know--I know there is. He came in just for a minute and he kissed me, and said he wasn't coming home to-night, and he--he looked _wild_. He stuffed a few things into a bag, and said I wasn't to expect him back to-night. I didn't dare ask him about the money. What--what can be the matter, Effie?"

CHAPTER XXI.

Effie did all in her power to soothe her mother. It was past the hour for her return to St. Joseph's, but under the present circ.u.mstances she could not give this matter a thought. Mrs. Staunton was strung up to a terrible condition of nervousness. She walked faster and faster about the room; she scarcely spoke aloud, but muttered words under her breath which no one could hear. At every footfall on the stairs she started.

Sometimes she went to the door and flung it open--sometimes she went to the window and pressed her face against the gla.s.s. Darkness set in, and the lamps were lit in the street. Katie went to the window to pull down the blinds.

"No, don't touch them," said Mrs. Staunton fretfully--she still kept staring out into the street. Presently she called Effie to her.

"Doesn't that man turning the corner look something like George?" she exclaimed.

Effie looked eagerly.

"No, that's not George," she said.

"Agnes, you have better sight," called Mrs. Staunton to her next daughter; "come and watch with me--we are sure to see him soon. It can't be that he has gone away for the night--for the whole night. Isn't that him? Look at that man,--that one crossing the road--that one in the waterproof. Oh, how hard it is raining! If George is out much longer, he'll be drenched to the skin. Aggie, look; and you, Katie, can't you watch? Now, _that_ man, isn't that George?"

"No, no, mother!" answered the poor children, in affright.

Mrs. Staunton kept on making exclamations. Again and again she cried out hopefully that surely George was coming now; but George himself never really appeared. Effie knew that she would get into hopeless disgrace at St. Joseph's. No matter! she could not leave her mother at such a moment. Each instant she became more anxious about her. She called Agnes aside, and told her that she had put a stop to the late dinner, and also to the extra attendance, but as probably some dinner had been ordered for that evening, she had better go down and bring it up, as Mrs.

Staunton must be forced to eat at any cost.

Agnes tripped out of the room, and presently returned with a couple of pork chops and some baked potatoes. She flung them down on the table, exclaiming that the tray was heavy. She looked cross, and evidently seemed to think that Effie was making a great fuss over nothing.

"Why can't George be away for a single night without everyone getting into such a state?" she murmured.

Effie took the tray from her and gave her a look of reproach. She laid the cloth herself, and made the table look as pretty as she could. She then went to her mother, drew her gently but firmly away from the window, and, making her sit down, tried to coax her to eat.

Mrs. Staunton looked at the chops with dazed eyes.

"Those were for George," she exclaimed. "What a shame to bring them up before he has come into the house! They'll be cold and sodden, and he hates his food sodden. You don't suppose I'm going to touch my boy's dinner? No, not I! Put the chops down in the fender, Aggie. When George comes in, I always ring the bell twice. How careless of Mrs. Robinson!

Effie, my dear, I don't think we can stop with her if she treats us in this fashion. It's perfectly disgraceful to cook George's food before he is ready for it."

Agnes began to explain that George was not coming home, but Effie silenced her with a look. She saw, to her horror, that her mother's mind was beginning to wander. She was really expecting George--who had not the faintest idea of coming back. Poor Effie saw there was nothing for it but to humor her mother. She put the food inside the fender, and then, going to a davenport in a corner of the room, wrote a hasty letter to Dorothy Fraser.

"We're in great trouble," she wrote. "I know you can't come. I know it is absolutely impossible for you to come, but neither can I go back to St. Joseph's this evening. Please tell Sister Kate, make any excuse for me you like--say anything that comes into your head. My career as a nurse is ended."

A big tear dropped from Effie's eyes as she wrote these last words. She folded up the letter and gave it to Agnes.

"Agnes," she said, "you must take this at once to St. Joseph's Hospital."

"Oh, I don't know how to get there," said Agnes, "and I was never out so late before in the evening."

"I am sorry to have to send you--stay, you had better take Kate with you. It would be better for the two of you to be together. Put on your hats and your warm jackets; don't be longer away than you can help--you have just to give this note to the hall porter and come straight back.

You must take the red omnibus that goes along Oxford Street, and----"

Effie added a few more practical directions. Agnes' eyes sparkled at the thought of a little variety in her dull life. Katie ran willingly into her room to fetch her own and her sister's hats and jacket's. They were dressed in a very short time. Effie heard them running downstairs, and listened to the slam of the hall door. She had now set the irrevocable seal to her own act. She had deliberately turned her back on the life that she loved. She stood for a moment with a dizzy feeling in her head; then, with a little prayer which she sadly needed, to help her, she put aside all regret, and turned with a brave heart to face the dark present and the gloomy future.

Mrs. Staunton stood near the window, with her back to her daughter.

Effie listened with a sick heart to her mutterings. She knew that her mother could not possibly get better if she refused to eat.

She was wondering what to do, and how she could dare to leave her, when a quick step was heard running up the stairs, and the next moment Fred Lawson came in.