nciation. His eyelids drooped over his
dying eyes--he never spoke again.

CHAPTER X.

George stayed at Whittington for a week; he followed his father to the
grave. Mrs. Staunton clung to him with a sort of feverish tenacity;
whenever he came into the room, her eyes followed him. A sort of
wistful, contented expression came into them when he sat down beside
her. During all the time George was in the house she never broke down.
At last, however, the time came when he must leave her.

"I must go back to my work," he said; "but you are coming to London
soon, then I'll be with you every evening. You know my father has given
you to me to take care of. It will be all right when we are in London
together."

"Yes, my boy," she replied, "it will be all right then. I don't
complain," she added; "I don't attempt to murmur. I shall go to him, but
he cannot return to me; and I have got you, George, and he gave me to
you. I am willing to stay with you just as long as you want me."

It was late that night when George left his mother's room. Effie was
standing in the passage--the brother and sister looked at each other.
Effie had come home the day after Dr. Staunton's death.

"Come out with me for a bit, Effie," said her brother. They went into
the garden, and she linked her hand through his arm.

Dorothy Fraser had now returned to her duties in London; the Stauntons
were to go up to town as soon as ever the cottage could be sold. It had
belonged to the doctor. George was to live with them when they were in
town, and perhaps Effie would be able to follow the great wish of her
mind. There was just a possibility that she might be able to be trained
as a hospital nurse. She looked up at George now.

"You have been such a comfort to us," she said. "Dorothy told me
everything; and I know that if you had not come just at the opportune
moment, we should have lost our mother as well as our father. I'll do
all in my power to hurry matters, so that we can come to London before
the winter."

"Yes," said George. He was a finely built young fellow, with a handsome
face. He was not the least like Effie, who was dark and rather small,
like her mother. George had the doctor's physique; he had great square
shoulders, his eyes were frank and blue like his father's, but his mouth
wanted his father's firmness.

"Effie," he said. "I don't know how I am to bring myself to confide in
you."

"Confide in me?" she said, with a little start.