you ask me."
Annie shuddered.
"I hate it," she said with sudden emphasis.
"You what?" asked Saxon, bending towards her.
"Hate it," she repeated. "I want to get away."
"You can't just now," he said, speaking in a low, sympathetic tone. "Itwould be impossible--would it not?--while your uncle is so ill."
"He isn't really ill," said Annie; "he just wants care."
"He wants the sort of care you can give him," repeated Saxon.
"Or you," said Annie.
"I?" said the young man. "How can I possibly do what you would do forhim?"
"You can do far better than I," said Annie restlessly. "And the factis, Cousin John--may I call you Cousin John?"
"Call me John, without the `cousin,' as I will call you Annie if youdon't mind."
"Then we are Annie and John to each other," said the girl; "that meansthat we are friends. Give me your hand, John, to close the compact."She laid her little white hand in his, and he grasped it with rightgoodwill.
"John," said Annie, "I must confide in you; I have no one else."
"Of course if I can help you I shall be glad," he said a little coldly;for there was something in her words which brought back his distrust ofher.
"Well, it is just this: I have to go to Paris for a short time--"
"You have--I don't understand."
"And the painful part," continued Annie, "is this--that I am unable toexplain. But I can tell you this much. I have a school friend--indeed,two school friends--who are both in--in trouble; and they can't possiblyget out of their trouble without my help. If I go to Paris now to joinmy friend, things will be all right; if I don't go, things will be allwrong."
"But, excuse me," said Saxon, "how can you go when your uncle is soill?"
"That is it," said Annie. "Of course, if he were in real danger Ishould be obliged to give my friends up. But he is not in danger, John;he only wants care. What I mean to do is this--or rather, I should say,what I should like to do. I would go, say, to-morrow to London, andthen across to Paris, and there get through my little business and putthings straight for those I love."
Annie spoke most pathetically, and her blue eyes filled with tears.
"She has a feeling heart," thought the young man. Once again hissuspicions were disarmed.
He drew a little closer to her. She felt that she had secured hissympathy.
"Can't you understand," continued Annie, "that things may happen whichinvolve other people? Can't you understand?"
"It is difficult to know why you cannot speak about them, Annie,"replied the young man. "Nevertheless, if you say so, it is of coursethe case."
"It is the case. I undertook, perhaps wrongly--although I don't thinkso--to get a school fellow what she wanted most in the world last term.I wish you knew her; she is such a splendid, noble girl. She is veryclever, too. I will tell you her name--Priscilla Weir. She has such afine face, with, oh! so much in it. But she is unhappily situated. Herfather is in India, and either cannot or will not help her; and she hasno mother living, poor darling! and her uncle, her mother's brother, isquite a dreadful sort of creature. Priscilla is, oh, so clever! Shehas quite wonderful talents. And what do you think this uncle wants todo? Why, to apprentice her to a dressmaker. Think of it--adressmaker!"
John Saxon did think of it but he showed no surprise. One of the nicestgirls he knew in Tasmania was a dressmaker. She was very well informed,and could talk well on many subjects. She read good books, and had adear little house of her own, and often and often he sat and talked withher of an evening, when the day's work was done and they were both atleisure to exchange confidences. John Saxon was not the least bit inlove with the dressmaker, but for her sake now he could not condemn theoccupation. He said, therefore, quietly:
"As long as women wear dresses there must be other women to make them, Isuppose. I see nothing derogatory in that, Annie, provided your friendlikes it."
"Oh, how can you talk in such a way?" said Annie, her tone changing nowto one of almost petulance. "Why, if Priscie were turned into adressmaker she would lose her position; she wouldn't have a chance; shewould go under; and she is so clever--oh, so clever! It does notrequire that sort of cleverness to be a dressmaker."
"Perhaps not," said Saxon. "I begin to understand; your English view ofthe calling is not ours in Tasmania. And so you want to go to Paris tohelp this girl?"
"Yes; principally about her. In fact, I may say I am going almostwholly about her."
"I am not to know the reason?"
"I cannot tell you, for it would betray her."
"Have you spoken to your uncle on the subject?"
"Yes."
"And what did he say?"
"Well," said Annie eagerly, "it was this way. My other great friend isa certain Mabel Lushington. She is staying with her aunt LadyLushington; and Lady Lushington most kindly sent me an invitation tojoin them both on Tuesday evening. They are going to take me toSwitzerland and pay all my expenses, and of course I shall have a jollytime."
"But would that help your friend, the prospective dressmaker?"
"Yes. It may sound very puzzling; but if I were to join MabelLushington, it would put things all right for my friend."
"It is puzzling, of course, for me to understand, Annie; but I must takeyou at your word and suppose that it is so."
"Indeed it is, John; indeed it is. And I am, oh, so unhappy about it!"
The blue eyes filled with tears. They looked very pretty as theybrimmed over and the tears rolled down the smooth young cheeks. Anniecould cry just a little without her appearance being at all spoiledthereby. On the contrary, a few tears added to a certain pathos whichcame at such times into her face. John Saxon found himself looking atthe tears and accepting Annie's view of the matter as quite plausible.
"It is very good of you to give me a little of your confidence," hesaid.
"I do!" she answered resolutely; "for I want you to help me."
"Anything in my power that is not wrong I will do," he replied.
The firm tone of his voice, and the way in which he said, "Anything thatis not wrong," damped Annie's hopes for a minute. Then she continued:
"I spoke to Uncle Maurice, not telling him, of course, anything aboutPriscie, but simply expressing a desire to accept the invitation, and hesaid that I should go and he would find the money if Lady Lushington wasall right."
"What does that mean?" asked Saxon.
"Oh, really, John, it was too bad. You know Uncle Maurice is verynarrow-minded. He wanted to write first to Mrs Lyttelton to discoverwhat sort of person Lady Lushington was, whether she was worldly or not;but, you see, there is no time, for if I don't join Mabel and LadyLushington on Tuesday night in Paris I shall not be able to join them atall, for they begin their travels on Wednesday morning, and I have notthe slightest idea where I can pick them up. Besides, I don't knowforeign countries. I could perhaps get to Paris, where I should be met;but I couldn't manage Switzerland or any place farther afield. Don'tyou see that for yourself?"
"I do."
"Well, John," continued Annie, imperceptibly coming a little nearer tohim, "I want you to do this for me. I want to go to Paris, but only fora day or two. I want to see Mabel and put that thing right with regardto poor, dear, clever Priscie; and then, if Uncle Maurice is really ill,I will come back. I know he would let me go if you persuaded him; and Iwant you to do so, dear John; and as he must not be worried in any way,will you lend me twenty pounds until Uncle Maurice is well enough to betroubled?"
"But you cannot go without telling him, Annie. Of course, my dear, Icould and would lend you the money, but even your friend is not soimportant just now as your uncle. He loves to have you near him. Iwish you could have heard how he spoke of you to me. You were hissunshine, his darling, the joy of his heart."
"I know I am," said Annie; "and it is what I want to be, and love tobe," she added. "But you are here, and there is
my dear friend, oh! insuch trouble; and she trusts me, and I can put everything right for her.Oh! if you would only lend me twenty pounds--and--and--tell UncleMaurice yourself that I am going away for a few days and will be backagain very soon. Won't you lend it to me, John--just because we arecousins, and you have come all the way across the seas--the wide, wideseas--to help me at this pressing moment?"
"You affect me, Annie," said the young man.
"You speak very strongly. I did not know