GEORGIE staid in Chicago nearly two months, and
for that sacrifice mentally arrogated to herself the
right to a martyr's crown, if not to be canonized as
a saint. She had found Annie better than she expected, and
that of itself was in some sort a grievance, as it implied undue
anxiety, if not actual deception, on Jack's part. In order
to get her there, he had represented Annie as worse than
she was, Georgie thought; and at first she was inclined to resent
it, and made herself generally disagreeable, to Jack and
Aunt Luna, but not to Annie, whose arms closed convulsively
around her neck, and whose whole body quivered with

[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]

emotion when she first saw her sister, and knew she had
really come. For two days Georgie sat by her, continually
gazing at her, and listening to her prattle, until there came a
softer look into her face, and her eyes lost somewhat of their
cold, haughty expression. Annie told her everything she
could think of about Mrs. Churchill, who had gone, no
one knew where, and about herself and her little joys, and
griefs, and faults. Everything bad which she had done was
confessed, her impatience and fretfulness, and the falsehoods
she had told, and then with a faltering voice Annie said:

“I have asked Jesus to forgive, and I most know He has,
for I don't feel afraid of the dark any more, and I love to
think He is here with me when my back aches, and I lies
awake nights and can't sleep a bit. And will you forgive me
too, sister Georgie; and did you ever tells a lie, though in
course you never. You's always so good. I wonder what
makes me bad? Do you know, sister Georgie?”

Oh, how abased and sinful Georgie felt while listening to
this innocent little child, whose garment she was not worthy
to touch, but who had exalted her so highly, and held her as
something perfect. Perhaps she might have solved the
mystery which troubled Annie so much as to what made her
so given to the bad, when she wanted to be good. She
might have told of blood, so tainted with deceit that a single
drop of it in one's veins would make the fountain impure.
But she did not; she kissed and comforted the child, and
folding her arms about her said, with a gush of real, womanly
feeling:

“Oh, Annie, my darling, what would I give to be as innocent
as you; continue what you are; shun a lie or deceit
of any kind as you would shun the plague, and pray for me
that I may be half as good as you.”

She lifted herself up, panting with emotion, while Annie
looked wonderingly at her.

[figure description] Page 188.[end figure description]

“Why, sister Georgie,” she said. “You can't be bad.
You are the goodest woman I know. I does pray for you
that Jesus will take care of you, but never that He'd make
you good, because I thought you were.”

“No, child, I am not,—” and the proud Georgie sobbed
aloud. “I'm not good, but I love you. I want you to remember
that, Annie, whatever may happen; remember that
I do love you, oh my darling, my darling.”

There was some terrible pain tugging at Georgie's heart,—
some fierce struggle going on, and for a few moments she
cried aloud while Annie looked wonderingly on and tried to
comfort her. After that she never gave way again, but was
her old, assured self. Of the influences warring within her
the wrong one had prevailed, and she had chosen to return
to her formal life of ease rather than remain where her duty
clearly lay, and where the touch of a little child's hand
might have availed to lead her away from the ruinous path
she was treading.

Between herself and Jack there was a stormy interview
one night after Annie was asleep, and the brother and sister
sat together before the grate, talking first of the past and
then of the future. Jack had received, as he thought, an
advantageous offer to go to Jersey City and enter an insurance
office. There was a house there for sale on very reasonable
terms, and Jack's friend urged him to buy it, and
have a home of his own. How Jack's heart beat at the
thought of a home of his own, with no constantly recurring
rent-bill to pay, and no troublesome landlord spying about
for damages! A home of his own, which he could improve
and beautify as he pleased, with a sense of security and
ownership, and where, perhaps, Georgie might be induced to
stay a portion of the time. In Annie's present helpless condition
it was desirable that she should not often be left alone,
and as old Luna must at times be out, it seemed necessary

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that a third person should form a part of Jack's household,
and who more fitting and proper than Georgie, provided she
could be made to think so. Jack did not expect her to give
up Aunt Burton's home, with its luxuries, altogether; only
for a time he wanted her, and he was revolving in his mind
how to tell her so, when she surprised him with the announcement
that “she was going back to New York in a few
days; that she had already stayed longer than she intended
doing, especially after she found how well Annie was, and
how little she needed her except for company.”

Jack was astonished. He had fully expected Georgie to
remain with him until spring, and he told her so, and told
her further of his plans for the future, and his hope that she
would be interested in his new home, if he had one, and stay
there a portion of the time. Georgie heard him through,
but there was an expression in her black eyes which boded
ill to the success of Jack's plan, and her voice, when she
spoke, had in it a cold, metallic ring, which made Jack shiver,
and involuntarily draw nearer to the fire.

“I bury myself in Jersey City! you must be crazy to propose
such a thing. Why, I'd rather emigrate to Lapland,
out and out. I can't endure the place, and I don't see why
you wan't to go there. You are doing well here, and these
rooms are very comfortable.”

The fact was Georgie did not care to have Jack and Annie
quite so near to herself as they would be in Jersey City,
and she quietly opposed the plan, without however changing
Jack's opinion in the least.

“Are you not afraid that your return to New York will
bring up old times? There are those there still who have
not forgotten,” she said, and in her eyes there was a kind of
scared look, as if they were gazing on some horrid picture
of the past.

“And suppose they do remember,” Jack said, a little

[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]

hotly. “There's nothing in the past for which I need to
blush; and surely no one could possibly recognize in the
heiress Georgie Burton, the—”

“Hush, Jack, I won't hear what I was, even from your
lips,” Georgie said, fiercely. “Perhaps there is no danger
for myself; but I never walk the streets even now, as the
daughter of Ralph Burton, without a fear of meeting some
one who remembers. Still I know that as Miss Burton, of
Madison Square, I am safe, but as your sister, in Jersey
City, I should not be; and I will run no risks.”

“Not for Annie's sake?” Jack asked; and Georgie answered:

“No, not for Annie's sake,” though her chin quivered a
little as she glanced at the sleeping child.

Then they talked on and on, Jack trying to persuade his
sister to stay with him a little longer, and she as persistently
refusing, saying she must be home, that she had already lost
too much time there in Chicago.

“Georgie,” and Jack began to get in earnest, “by losing
time, I suppose you mean losing your chance with Roy
Leighton. I've never said much to you upon that subject,
but now I may as well free my mind. If Roy Leighton
really cares for you he has had chances enough to make it
known; and that he has not done so is pretty good proof
that he does not care. But supposing he does, and asks you
to be his wife, will you marry him without telling him all?”

“Most certainly I will;” and Georgie's eyes flashed defiantly.
“I need have no concealments from you, who
know me so well, and I tell you plainly there's scarcely anything
I would not do to secure Roy Leighton; and do you
imagine I would tell him a story which would so surely thrust
him from me? A story, too, which only you know; and
you remember your oath, do you not?”

[figure description] Page 191.[end figure description]

She said the last words slowly, and her eyes fastened themselves
upon Jack, as a snake's might rest upon a bird.

“Yes, I remember my oath;” and Jack returned her gaze
unflinchingly.

Something in his manner made Georgie wince a little, and
resolve to change her tactics. Sweetness and gentleness
had always prevailed with Jack, when nothing else could
move him, and so she tried them now, and her voice grew
very soft, and reverent, and beseeching, as, laying her hand
on his shoulder, she said:

“Don't let us quarrel, brother. I do want to do right,
even if I cannot tell that dreadful thing to Roy. I am not
going home either so much to see him as for another reason,
of which I ought perhaps to have told you before. Jack, I
am trying to be a better woman, and have made up my mind
to be confirmed when our bishop comes to the little church
near Oakwood, which will possibly be week after next.
Aunt Burton is anxious for it, and is going to arrange to be
there; and so you see I must go. You do not blame me
now, I am sure. You respect religion, even if you do not
profess it.”

Her hand pressed more lovingly on Jack's arm, but he
shook it off, and, starting to his feet, confronted her with a
look which made her shiver, and turn pale.

“Blame you?” he began. “Respect religion? Yes, I
do; and respect it so much that sooner than see you take
those solemn vows upon you, knowing what I do, I would
break my oath a hundred times, and feel I was doing right.”

Georgie's breath came pantingly, and the great drops of
sweat stood around her lips, as she asked:

“What do you propose to do?”

He did not answer her question directly, but went on to
say:

“I do not profess to be good myself, or to have the first

[figure description] Page 192.[end figure description]

principles of goodness, but my mother, who died there in
that bed”—and he pointed to where Annie lay—“knew
what religion was, and lived it every day; and when she
died, there was a peace and a glory around her death-bed,
which would not be around yours or mine, were we to die
to-night. I am not judging harshly. By their fruits ye shall
know them. He said so,—the man Jesus, whom mother
loved and leaned upon, just as really as she ever leaned on
me, and whom she taught Annie to love and pray to, until
He is as much her companion when she is alone, as you are
when you are with her. Georgie, there is something needed
before one kneels at that altar, as you propose doing,—something
which you do not possess. You do not care for the
thing in and of itself. You have some selfish object in view,
and I will not be a party to the deception.”

“Will you drag me from the altar, or tear the bishop's
hands from my head?” Georgie asked, beginning to grow
both alarmed and angry at her brother, who replied:

“No; but this I will do: If you go to confirmation, and
if before or after it Roy Leighton asks you to be his wife,
and you do not tell him the whole truth, I will do it for you.
He shall not be deceived.”

“And your oath?” Georgie asked, in a choking voice.

“I break my oath, and do God service in breaking it,”
Jack answered.

And then there was silence between them for ten minutes
or more, and no sound was heard except the occasional
dropping of a dead coal into the pan, and the low, regular
breathing of the little child, so terribly in the way of the
woman who had so unexpectedly been brought to bay.

She gave up the confirmation then and there, and after
a few moments arose and went to Jack, and putting her arms
around his neck, cried aloud upon his shoulder, and called
him the best brother in the world, and wished she was half

[figure description] Page 193.[end figure description]

as good as he, and a great deal more, which Jack took at its
fair valuation. He was used to her moods, and knew about
how to prize them. Still, in this instance, he had been a little
hard on her, he thought, and he kissed her back at last, and
said he was not angry with her, and bade her go to bed lest
she should be sick on the morrow.

She staid a week after that, and when at last she went
away, her diamond pin, ear-rings, bracelets, and two fingerrings,
lay in the show window of a jeweller's shop where they
bought such articles; and Annie held in her hand a paper,
which contained the sum of one thousand five hundred dollars,
and on which was written, “To help make the first payment
on the new house.”

Annie thought her an angel of goodness and generosity,
while Jack, who understood now why he had seen his sister
coming from Jachery's shop, said to himself: “There are
noble traits in Georgie, after all;” and felt that the house in
Jersey was a sure thing.

The bishop came to the little church near Oakwood at
the appointed time, but Georgie Burton's proud head was
not one on which his hands were laid. Aunt Burton, who
had gone for a week or so up to her country house and taken
Georgie with her, had urged her to it, and so too had the
rector; and when Georgie gave as a reason for holding back,
that she was “not good enough,” the rector said she had set
her standard far too high, while Aunt Burton wondered
where the good were to be found if Georgie was not of the
number, and cried softly during the ceremony, because of
her darling's humility. What Georgie felt no one knew.
She sat very quietly through the service, with her veil dropped
over her face, and only turned her head a little when Maude,
who was among the candidates, went up to the altar. But
when Roy Leighton too arose, and with a calm, peaceful expression
upon his manly face, joined the group gathering in

[figure description] Page 194.[end figure description]

the aisle, she gave a start, and the long lashes which dropped
upon her burning cheeks were moist with tears. She had
not expected this of Roy. He was not one to talk much of
his deeper feelings, and so only his God, and his mother,
and the rector, knew of the determination to lead a new and
better life, which had been growing within him ever since
Charlie's sudden death. “Be ye also prepared, for in such
an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh,” had
sounded in his ears until he could no longer resist the
Spirit's gentle wooings, but gave himself to God without reserve
of any kind. There was a slight stir perceptible all
through the congregation as Roy went up and stood by
Maude. “He was a member worth getting; he, at least, was
sincere,” even the cavillers at the holy rite thought within
themselves; and when it was over, and he came down the
aisle, all noted the expression of his face as of one who was
in earnest, and honest in what he had done. Georgie saw it,
too, and for a moment the justice of what Jack had said asserted
itself in her mind, and in her heart she cried out:
“Roy ought not to be deceived, and yet how could I tell him,
even supposing—”

She did not finish the sentence, but she meant, “Supposing
he does ask me to be his wife.”

And Georgie had again strong hopes that he would. He
had seemed very glad to see her when she came to Oakwood;
had called on her every day, and shown in various ways how
much he was interested in her. There was about her now a
certain air of softness and humility very attractive to Roy,
and he had half hoped that when he knelt at the altar, Georgie
might be with him, and he felt a little disappointed that
she was not, and he told her so that night after the confirmation,
when, as usual, he called at Oakwood, and they were
alone in the parlor. Georgie had borne a great deal that
day, and lived a great deal in the dreadful past which she

[figure description] Page 195.[end figure description]

would so much like to have blotted out. Her nerves were
unstrung, and when Roy said to her so gently, and still in a
sorry kind of way, “Why were you not confirmed, Georgie?”
she broke down entirely, and laying her head upon the table,
cried for a moment like a child.

“Oh, Roy,” she said, at last, looking up at him with her
eyes full of tears, “I did want to; but I am not good enough,
and I dared not. But I'm so glad you did, so glad”,—and
she clasped her pretty hands in a kind of tragic way,—“for
now you will teach me, won't you?”

Roy was a man, and knew nothing of that scene in Chicago,
and Georgie was very beautiful to look upon, and seemed
so softened and subdued, that he felt a strange feeling throbbing
in his heart, and would without doubt have proposed
taking the fair penitent as his pupil for life, if Maude had not
just then come suddenly upon them and spoiled their tete-a-tete.
Georgie's eyes were a little stormy now, but Maude
pretended not to notice it, and seated herself very unconcernedly
before the fire, with her crocheting, thus putting to
an end any plan Roy might have had in his mind with reference
to Miss Georgie Burton.

Maude had scarcely seen Roy since her visit to Rocky
Point, and she told him all about Uncle Phil, who was his
agent there, and of his niece, Miss Overton, the prettiest
little creature, to whom she had given the pet name of
“Dot,” she was such a wee bit of a thing. And then the
conversation turned upon Charlie and Charlie's wife; and
Maude asked if anything had yet been heard from her, or if
Roy knew where she was. Roy did not, except that she was
teaching, and would not let him know of her whereabouts.

“How do you know she is teaching then?” Georgie
asked; and Roy replied:

“I know through an aunt of hers, to whom I wrote last
Christmas, asking her to forward a box of jet to Edna.”

[figure description] Page 196.[end figure description]

“Oh-h!” and Maude jumped as if she had been shot; then
quickly recovering herself, she exclaimed: “That dreadful
pin,” and put her hand to her collar as if the cause of her
agitation were there.

Maude had received an impression, which made her quiver
all over with excitement, and sent her at last to her own
room, where she bounded about like a rubber ball.

“I knew there was something queer about her all the
time, but I never suspected that. Poor little Dot; how I
must have hurt her feelings with my foolish talk of Charlie,
if she really is his widow, and I know she is, for I remember
now how interested she was in the Leightons, and how many
questions she asked me about Roy and his mother; and
then that box of jet. I'm sure of it,—perfectly sure; but,
Dotty, if I can ferret out a secret, I can keep one too: and
if you don't want Roy to know where you are, he never shall
from me.”

Maude wrote to Edna that night, and told her everything
about the Leightons which she thought would interest her,
and then with feverish impatience waited for her summer's
vacation, when she meant to go again to Rocky Point, and
satisfy herself.

Roy did not renew the conversation Maude had interrupted,
but when in the spring he decided upon his trip to Europe,
he half made up his mind to take Georgie Burton with him.
He knew it would please his mother, and from all that had
passed between himself and the lady he felt that he was in
some sort bound to make her his wife; and why wait any
longer? She was at Oakwood now. City air did not agree
with her as formerly; she felt tired all the time, she told her
aunt, who was ever ready to gratify her darling's slightest
whim, consented to leave New York at least a month earlier
than usual, but never dreamed that the real cause of Georgie's
pretended weariness was to be found in the pleasant

[figure description] Page 197.[end figure description]

little house in Jersey City, where Jack Heyford was settling
himself. Although constantly assuring herself that her fears
were groundless, Georgie could not shake off the nervous
dread that, by Jack's presence in New York, the black page
of her life might somehow come to light. She went over
to Jersey several times, for she could not keep away; but
she took the Hoboken Ferry, and then came in the street
car to the corner near which Jack lived, thinking thus to
avoid meeting any one who knew her, and would wonder
what she was doing in Jersey City. Still it was not so much
through herself as through Jack that she dreaded recognition;
and until he was fairly settled and at work, and swallowed
up in the great Babel, it was better for her to be away;
and so she went to Oakwood, and saw Roy every day, and
was so soft, and sweet, and pious, and interesting in her new
rôle of half-invalid, that Roy made up his mind, and started
one morning to settle the important question.

His route lay past the post-office, and there he found the
letter Edna had written in answer to his own, acknowledging
the receipt of the money. He read it in the shadow of an
old elm-tree, which grew by the roadside, and under which
he dismounted for a moment. There was nothing remarkable
in it, but it turned Roy's thoughts from Georgie for a
time, and sent them after the frolicsome little girl whom he
had once seen in the car, and who was now his sister. She
wrote a very pretty hand, and seemed so grateful for the few
crumbs of interest he had given her, that he wished so much
he knew where she was. If he did, he believed he would
take her to Europe, instead of Georgie; but not as his
wife,—he never thought of such a thing in connection with
Edna,—but as his sister, for such she was. And so, with her
letter in his hand, he sat thinking of her, while his pony fed
upon the fresh grass by the fence, and feeling no check
from bit or bridle, kept going farther and farther away, until,

[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]

when Roy's reverie was ended, and he looked about for his
horse, he saw him far down the road, in the direction of
Leighton Place, instead of Oakwood. Roy started after him
at once; but the pony did not care to be caught, and seeing
his master coming, he pricked up his ears and started for
home, where Roy found him at last, standing quietly by the
stable door, as if nothing had happened. That circumstance
kept Roy from Georgie's side that day, and when on the
morrow he saw her at his own house, he was guilty of a feeling
of relief that he had not committed himself, and would
have no one's luggage but his mother's and his own to look
after in Europe.

He sailed early in June, and Georgie stood upon the
wharf, and watched the vessel as it went down the bay, and
felt such bitter pain in her heart as paled the roses on her
cheek, and quenched some of the brightness of her eyes.

“Roy is lost to me forever,” she said to herself, as she re-entered
her aunt's carriage, and was driven back to Madison
Square.

Still, as long as he remained unmarried, there was hope;
and though her youth was rapidly slipping away, she would
rather wait on the slightest chance of winning Roy Leighton,
than give herself to another. And so, that summer,—at
Saratoga, where she reigned a belle,—she refused two very
eligible offers; one from the young heir of a proud Boston
family; the other from a widower of sixty, with a million
and a half of gold, and seven grown-up daughters.

p595-204

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