"Then you will kill our mother," said Effie.
"I know that."
"And father left her to you. George, it cannot be. I must think of something—my head is giddy—we have not any money to spare. It will be the hardest fight in the world to keep the children from starvation on that hundred pounds a year, but something must be done. I'll go and speak to the trustees."
"Who are the trustees?" asked George. He rose again to his feet. There was a dull sort of patience in his words.
"Mr. Watson is one,—you know the Watsons, father has always been so good to them,—and our clergyman, Mr. Jellet, is the other. Yes, I must go and speak to them; but what am I to say?"
"You must not betray me," said George. "If you mention that I want the money, all will be up with me. In any case, there may be suspicion. Men of the world like Mr. Watson and Mr. Jellet would immediately guess there was something wrong if a lad required such a large sum of money. You must not tell them that I want it."
"How can I help it? Oh, everything is swimming round before my eyes; I feel as if my head would burst."
"Think of me," said George—"think of the load I have got to bear."
Effie glanced up at him. His attitude and his words puzzled and almost revolted her. After a time she said coldly:
"What hour are you leaving in the morning?"