"I will write a note to Agnes," she said; "she is out—I had to send her to the hospital to say that I could not return there to-night." Then she added, her face turning whiter than ever, "If my mother knows of this, it will kill her."
"Your mother is the person to be considered, of course," said Lawson. "But for her, I should say that the best thing possible for George would be to undergo the punishment which he merits. As it is, however, matters are different. Well, write your note, and let us be quick. That strong opiate will keep your mother sleeping quietly until the morning. All your sister has to do is to watch her."
Effie drew a sheet of paper toward her, scribbled a few hasty lines on it, folded it up, and left it where Agnes could see it the moment she returned; then she followed Lawson into the street.
He hailed a passing hansom, and they drove straight to his rooms on the Embankment.
The feeling of a dream remained with Effie all during that drive; she kept rubbing her eyes and saying to herself, "It's only a dream—I shall awaken presently and find myself back at St. Joseph's."
The hansom drew up at the lodgings, and Lawson preceded Effie upstairs. He threw open the door of his little sitting room.
"Come in," he said. "Here is your sister, Staunton," he sang out.
Effie entered. She found herself in a small bright room. The gas was turned full on; one of the windows was open—a fresh breeze from the river came in. George was seated on a horse-hair sofa at the farthest end of the room. He held a small walking-stick in his hand, and was making imaginary patterns with it on the carpet. His shoulders were hitched up to his ears, his eyes were fixed on the ground. Effie looked at him. She said:
"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.