A Girl in Ten Thousand

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  Effie saw very little of Dorothy Fraser, but on the following day, toher great surprise and pleasure, as she was leaving the dining-hall,Dorothy came up and spoke to her.

  "You have a minute to spare," she said; "just come out on this balconyand talk to me."

  Effie obeyed her.

  "What do you want with me, Dorothy?" she asked.

  "I wish to know why you look so pale and worried--you seem to havedispleased Sister Kate, too."

  Effie very nearly burst into tears, but she restrained herself.

  "I'll tell you what it is," she said. "It is the most unjust thing!"

  She then mentioned in as few words as possible the circumstance ofLawson having spoken to her--of her great anxiety about George--and ofher having walked back with the young medical student from her home onthe previous evening.

  Dorothy looked very grave while Effie was speaking.

  "It is unfortunate," she said. "This is just the sort of thing thatinjures a girl at the commencement of her hospital life."

  "But it is so ridiculous and unjust," said Effie. "What in the world canMr. Lawson be to me?"

  "Oh, nothing, of course, my dear," replied Dorothy. "But still the rulescannot be too strict on this point. You know I am not a prude, but allgirls are not like you, Effie; and, in short, Sister Kate is in theright. Someone must have seen you walking back with Mr. Lawson, and musthave told her, or hinted, at least, at the state of the case. Nothingelse would have induced her to question you."

  "She had no right to speak to me about acquaintances that I meet out ofthe hospital."

  "Strictly speaking, she has no right; that's why I say she must have gota hint."

  "Oh, well, never mind her," said Effie. "I won't speak to Mr. Lawsonagain, unless I meet him out of doors, where I can, and shall, whateverSister Kate may say."

  "Effie, you must be careful."

  "I don't want to think of myself at all. Can't you see how miserable Iam about my mother and about George?"

  "Yes; it is a most wretched business. I am more sorry for you than I cansay."

  "Oh, I wish something could be done," said Effie. "I feel tired andfettered here--I feel almost wild. I cannot devote myself to mynecessary duties."

  "Poor child," said Dorothy in her caressing voice. "Let me think: I musthelp you in some way. Suppose I go to-day to see your mother? I had achance of having the whole afternoon to myself, but, as I had nowhere inparticular to go, was determining not to avail myself of it, but now Ican be of use to you."

  "Oh, Dorothy! would you really go to see mother? It will be of thegreatest possible use. You have such tact--you can say things that noone else would venture to say; and then if only you could see George!"

  "I'll take the thing up somehow," said Dorothy; "you shan't be draggedand worried to death, you dear, brave little girl. Give me a kiss,Effie, and go back to your work. Between Mr. Lawson and me, we willpull you through this trouble, see if we don't!"

  "Do you know Mr. Lawson, Dorothy?"

  "Know him! Of course I do. He is one of the very nicest fellows here--asgood as gold and as steady as a rock, and with such a beautifulenthusiasm for his profession--he'll make a splendid doctor by and by.Yes, Effie, don't mistake me: it is not the man I object to, it is thefact that he is a medical student, and that you are a nurse. So many badthings have been said about nurses and medical students that all nursesworthy of the name have to make up their minds to show the world thatthey can and will nurse without even the thought of flirtation cominginto their head."

  "You're right, of course," said Effie, with burning cheeks. "But it's ashame, it's horrible! How can anyone think I wish to flirt?"

  She turned away--she was obliged to go back to her duties; but her heartfelt much lighter after her conversation with Dorothy.

  That afternoon Sister Kate, watched Effie as she would, could find nofault with her. She was attentive, tactful, kind, and considerate; alittle bit of her old pleasant cheerfulness had also returned toher--her face looked less careworn.

  The fact is, she was leaning on Dorothy, and felt the comfort ofDorothy's strong support.

  The patients were only too glad for Effie to do things for them; and No.47, who was very weak and low, smiled whenever the girl approached herbedside.

  "Hold my hand, love, whenever you have a minute to spare," said the poorcreature. "I feel low like, awfully low; I am going down--down, and itsupports me to hold your hand; you're a good girl, anyone can see that."

  "I try to be," said Effie, tears springing to her eyes.

  "Ah, it's well to be good," continued the woman. "When we come to lie asI'm lying now, we think a sight of goodness."

  "I hope you'll soon be better," said Effie.

  "Never, my love, never again. I'm going out--that's what is happening tome; it's a lonesome thing to die, but I don't feel so lonesome when I'mholding your hand."

  Effie came to the poor creature as often as she could. Once again thefascination of the life she so dearly loved drew her out of herself, andenabled her to forget the heavy home cares.

  In her bedroom that night Sister Dorothy paid her a visit.

  "Well, Effie," she said, "I've news for you. Mr. Lawson saw George lastnight. He spoke to him quite frankly, and said that, if he did notimmediately give over this awful gambling, he'd go and see his cousin,Mr. Gering."

  "And what did George say?" asked Effie.

  "Oh, he promised as faithfully as possible that he'd give it up. Mr.Lawson seemed quite pleased with him, and said he didn't think he'd havebeen so penitent and so easily influenced as he has been."

  "But will he give it up?" questioned Effie.

  "He promised to. Of course he is anxious at not being able to earn moremoney, for the foolish fellow encouraged your mother to be extravagant,and now there are several debts which must be met somehow. What's thematter with you, Effie? Why do you start?"

  "How can I help it? Debts would kill mother. Perhaps I ought to tellyou, Dorothy--you have been so good to me, and I trust you so much thatI don't think it can be wrong to tell you any trouble which concernsme."

  "No, of course it isn't. Speak out what is in your mind, Effie."

  "Well, George was in trouble that time he came to see father--that timewhen father was dying. He owed Mr. Lawson--I can't tell you how, Ican't tell you why--L250. He said that if the money were not paid backwithin six weeks, that he, George--oh, Dorothy, how can I say it?--thathe'd have to go to--to _prison_! He said he must have the money; I felt,too, that he must have the money; for our mother's sake. So I went tosee Squire Harvey, and he--he lent it to me."

  Dorothy sat down on the side of the bed. Effie's story made her feelvery grave. She paused for a moment, puzzled what to say.

  "He lent me the money," continued Effie, looking straight at her friendwith her bright eyes. "I know he never wants it back again, but he musthave it back."

  "Oh, yes! he must have it back," exclaimed Dorothy.

  "Well, he lent it to me," continued Effie, with a sigh; "and I thought,of course, that George would be all right after that, and I arrangedthat the Squire should have his interest regularly. I thought my ownsalary would nearly cover that."

  "It can't be done," interrupted Dorothy. "Your salary barely pays foryour washing and your few out-of-pocket expenses. It's absolutelyimpossible that you can live here without a penny; the little you earnmust go to yourself."

  "Then there's nothing for it," said Effie; "I must go where I can earnmore. I hate the thought beyond all words, but I must--I must do it!"

  "You don't mean to tell me that you would give up your life as a nurse?"

  "Do you think for a moment, Dorothy, that I'd give it up willingly? Itmakes me sick to think of relinquishing what has been my dream eversince I was a little girl; but I see plainly that I must do something toearn money to help mother; and then, if George does keep straight,perhaps we may all be happy some day."

  Tears choked Effie's voice, her eyes gre
w dim.

  "What do you think of doing, dear?" said Dorothy in a gentle voice.

  "I'll go to the Harveys and ask them to take me as a governess forFreda. I fancy, somehow, that they might be induced to give me a goodsalary--something like fifty or sixty pounds a year, and I can teach achild like Freda very well indeed, for her father saw that I was welleducated. There's nothing else for it, I can see that; but it breaks myheart all the same."