A Girl in Ten Thousand by L. T. Meade (books for 8th graders txt) 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
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"George, I am here—I have come."
He did not make any response. She gave a little cry when he took no notice of her, and sank down helplessly on the nearest chair.
Lawson strode across the room and grasped George's shoulder.
"Look here, Staunton," he said; "you have got to pull yourself together. I have brought your sister here to consult what is best to be done. Look up, old chap! Take courage—all isn't lost yet. Now try and tell your sister everything."
"I have nothing to tell her," said George—he raised two lackluster eyes and fixed them with a sort of dull stare on Lawson's face.
"Don't talk folly—you have to tell her what you told me. You know the position you are in—you may be arrested at any moment. No one can help you but your sister; don't turn away from her."
"Oh, I understand all that," said George, shrugging his shoulder out of Lawson's grip. "I know well enough what has happened—I have gone under. I'm only one more. I—I can't help it—I have nothing to say."168
Lawson looked at the big fellow almost in despair. He was really puzzled what to do. This was the moment, however, for Effie to take the initiative. She sprang suddenly to her feet, dashed the tears from her eyes, and went up to her brother. She fell on her knees by his side, and put her soft arms round his neck.
"Think of the old days, Geordie," she said, "when we were both little children. Think of mother and father, and the little old house, and the apple tree in the garden. Don't you remember the day when that ripe red apple fell, and we ate it bite about?"
When Effie began to speak, George trembled. He avoided her eyes for a moment longer, then he gave her a quick, furtive glance.
changed voice. "Before God, I couldn't help it."
a changed voice. "Before God, I couldn't help it."
[Transcriber's note: These two fragmented lines appear, as shown, at this point in the original text.]
Lawson stepped softly out of the room.
The moment he had done so, George said eagerly:
"He has told you, hasn't he?"
Effie nodded.
"Then I needn't go over it. Let's talk of something else. How is mother?"
"She is very ill indeed—she watched for you all the evening."
"Watched for me? But I told her I shouldn't be back to-night."
"Yes; but she didn't believe you, or she forgot it—anyhow, she watched for you, and when you didn't come, her mind began suddenly to wander; she is in bed now—she is very, very ill."
"Go on," said George; "hammer it in hard—I deserve it all."
"Oh, George, why will you talk like that? Don't you believe in my love for you?"
"I believe in mother's love. It's the only thing I have left to cling to. I believe she'd go on loving me even after this—I do truly."
"Of course she would—nothing could turn her love from you. Now, won't you let us consult together when Mr. Lawson comes into the room?"
"There's nothing to be done—nothing; I'm perfectly safe to be committed for trial, and then I shall get at least two years. Mother will die. And I shall have gone under forever."
"Nonsense! I have a thought in my head."
"You?" George spoke with almost contempt. "You always thought a great deal of yourself, Effie, but even you can't pull the ropes on the present occasion. I'm a thief, and I must suffer the penalty. That's the long and short of it."
Effie rose suddenly and walked to the door. She called Lawson—he came in at once.
"I think George will talk over matters now," she said. "But before we begin any discussion, I wish to say what I have made up my mind to do. I don't know Mr. Gering, but that does not matter. I mean to go to see him the first thing to-morrow morning, and beg of him not to prosecute George. That is the only chance for mother's life, and I mean to try it."
When Effie said these words, Lawson gave her a startled glance, and George's sulkiness seemed to vanish magically. He opened his lips as if to speak, then closed them again; a rush of color spread over his face, and he turned his head aside.170
"I fear it is impossible that you can do the least vestige of good, Miss Staunton," said Lawson. "All the same it is a brave thought, and worthy of you."
George looked round when Lawson said this; he fully expected Effie to explain herself more fully, to argue the point, and to give her reasons for approaching Mr. Gering. To the surprise of both the men, however, she was silent. After a little pause, she said, turning to Lawson:
"Do you think George will be safe here until the morning?"
"I do—perfectly safe," answered Lawson.
"Then I will say good-night. I will come to you, George if I have news, in the morning."
"Oh, you won't have news," replied George; "there never was such a hard nut to crack as old Gering."
Effie made no reply.
"Good-night," she said to her brother.
He did not offer to kiss her, but he took her hand and gave it a silent squeeze. It seemed to Effie then that she got near his heart.
Lawson took her downstairs and put her into a cab.
"You are only wasting your time in going to Mr. Gering," he said, as he stood for a moment at the cab door.
"I must waste it, then," replied Effie; "for, whatever the consequence, I am going."
"Then, if you will go, you had better do so early. Gering is always at his office by nine o'clock. George may quite possibly be arrested to-morrow morning, and brought before the magistrates at Bow Street at ten or ten-thirty. When once he is arrested, Mr. Gering can do nothing. The law then takes up the case, and prosecutes on its own account. You will171 see, therefore, that if you wish to save your brother you must be astir betimes."
"I quite see, and thank you very much," said Effie.
Lawson said good-by, the cab rolled away, and Effie soon found herself back again at her own lodgings.
She ran upstairs, to find that her mother was still sound asleep. She sent the two tired girls to bed, and, lying down on the sofa in the sitting room, tried to sleep. She had left her mother's door slightly ajar, and knew that she would hear the least movement in the room. All was perfect stillness, however, and presently Effie fell into a light doze.
She awoke long before the dawn of day, thought carefully over the whole complex situation, and then rose and dressed herself. She slipped softly into her mother's room. The opiate was still taking effect. Mrs. Staunton's face looked pinched and drawn as it lay on the pillow, there were blue lines under the eyes, and a blue tint round the lips which spoke of heart trouble; but just at the present moment the spirit was at peace, and the body resting calmly.
"Poor mother!" murmured Effie; "poor, tried, faithful heart! If you really knew what I know, you could not survive the shock. Oh, George! who could have thought of this who remembered you in the old days? Yes, I will do what I can to save mother and to rescue you. It is true that I am only a weak girl, but sometimes girls like me have power. I will not be afraid; I will go now to exercise all the power that is in me."
Effie left the room; she went to the one where her sisters slept, changed her dress and washed herself,172 and then waking Agnes, to tell her to be sure to look after her mother, she ran downstairs.
The landlady, Mrs. Robinson, met her in the passage.
"Why, surely, Miss Staunton," she said, "you are not going out on a raw, foggy morning like this without breakfast?"
"Oh, I can't wait for breakfast," exclaimed Effie.
"I have some tea in my sitting room—do come in, and let me give you a cup, miss. Do, now—you're so white, you look as if you'd drop."
"Thank you," said Effie, after a little pause. "I should be very glad of a cup of tea," she added.
The landlady bustled her into her little sitting room, seated her by the fire, and would not leave her alone until she had swallowed a cup of tea and a piece of toast.
"I'm all the better for the tea," said Effie; "thank you very much."
The unlooked-for kindness cheered the poor girl; she looked upon it as a good omen. She walked quickly up the narrow street which led into the larger thoroughfare, and was soon on her way to Mr. Gering's office in Leadenhall Street.
She arrived there just as the clock was striking nine. She did not allow herself even to feel nervous, but, walking boldly in, asked to see Mr. Gering at once.
"Have you an appointment with him?" asked the clerk whom she addressed.
"No; but I hope he will see me without that; my business is very pressing."
"What is your name, miss?"
"Staunton." Effie hesitated for a minute, then she said abruptly, "I am the sister of George Staunton, who is a clerk here."173
The moment she uttered the words every clerk in the place looked up with interest, and one, coming up in a somewhat familiar way, said cavalierly:
"I don't think there's the least use in your troubling Mr. Gering; I may as well tell you beforehand that he certainly won't see you."
At this moment a man came out of an inner room. He spoke to the head clerk, who gave him a bundle of letters.
"Take these to Mr. Gering at once," he said.
Effie followed this man with her eyes.
The other clerks stared at her, expecting her to go.
She looked at the one to whom she had first spoken.
"Will you take my message to Mr. Gering?" she said. "Will you tell him that Effie Staunton—George Staunton's sister—wishes to see him on most important business?"
There was much distress in her tone, but withal such firmness that the clerk could not help looking at her with admiration.
"I would gladly take your message, Miss Staunton, but it would be useless. I know beforehand that nothing will induce Mr. Gering to see you."
"He must see me," replied Effie in a firm voice. "If no one here will be polite enough to take him my message, I will go to him myself."
Before one of the clerks could prevent her, Effie walked across the large room, opened the door where the clerk who took Mr. Gering his letters had vanished, and found herself the next moment in a handsomely furnished room, where a portly old gentleman was seated at a desk.
He looked up in unfeigned astonishment when he saw a pretty girl standing near the door.174
As she did not speak for an instant, he raised his voice with an inquiry.
"May I ask what you are doing here?" he said.
"I have come to speak to you about my brother," said Effie.
"Your brother! What do you mean? Who is your brother?"
"George Staunton."
"Then, Miss Staunton, let me tell you that you have taken a great liberty in coming to see me. You have forced your way into my room unannounced. I must ask you to have the goodness to retire as quickly as you came. If you do not leave my room this moment, I shall be forced to compel you to go."
"No, you will not," said Effie—"no, that is not like you. You would not willingly be unkind to a suffering and innocent girl, when she forces herself, against her true inclinations, against her real modesty, to seek an interview with you. I come in great sorrow and despair, and you are not the man who will treat me roughly—I don't fear it. You like to say harsh words, but your heart is not harsh. I beg of you, therefore, to listen to my story. I will not keep you long."
"You are a very queer, courageous sort of girl," said Gering, after a pause. "As you have come, I suppose I may as well listen to you; but please understand at once that I have no mercy for your brother; that his career here is ended."
"That is only just and right. I have not come to plead with you
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