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Effie rubbed and cried not real crying, but the kind your eye does all by itself without your being miserable inside your mind and then she went to her father to have the thing in her eye taken out. Effie's father was a doctor, so of course he knew how to take things out of eyes he did it very cleverly with a soft paintbrush dipped in castor oil.
"I am sure," replied his moiety, "that murther by trust is the way that the gentry murther us merchants, and whiles make us shut the booth up but that has naething to do wi' Effie's misfortune." "So that," said the good woman, "unless poor Effie has communicated her situation, she'll be hanged by the neck, if the bairn was still-born, or if it be alive at this moment?"
She awoke in broad daylight, to start to her feet and see her father standing in the room. "Get up, Effie," he said. "I want you; dress yourself as quickly as you can." There was an expression about his face which prevented Effie's uttering a word. She scrambled into her clothes he waited for her on the landing. When she was dressed he took her hand and went softly down through the house.
If you turn away from me, Effie, I shall go to the bad I shall go to the worst of all; there will not be a chance for me if you turn from me." The tone of despair in his voice changed Effie's frame of mind in a moment. She ran up to him and put her arms round his neck. "I won't turn from you, poor George," she said.
As soon as this desire had germinated it became so strong in her that she regretted having promised Effie to take her out for the afternoon. During their excursion Anna found it impossible to guess from his demeanour if Effie's presence between them was as much of a strain to his composure as to hers.
George had gone to London, and the first tiny spark of discontent had visited Effie's heart. She would be so lonely without her brother. It was so fine for him to go out into life, her own horizon seemed so narrow. Then Dorothy came, and they had made friends, and Dorothy told her what some women did with their lives.
"If it is like most of the letters of that sort of people, it would be little loss though she never got it. Such extraordinary epistles as I sometimes read for my servants!" "This seems quite a respectable affair, however," said Mr Seaton, reading the direction in Effie's fair, clear handwriting: Christina Redfern, Care of J.R. Seaton, Esquire. "That is a very pretty direction very."
But I prayed, too, that you might bring me a book. I meant `The Scottish Chiefs, or something; but you brought my Bible. I have thought, sometimes, that was one of the prayers answered in a better way than we ask or expect." The last few words were spoken in a very husky voice; and as she ceased, her head was laid on Effie's lap. There were tears in Effie's eyes too she scarcely knew why.
"But who's taking care of you?" persisted Paul. "Oh, Miss Dora and Miss Bee said they would, but they always let us do anything," said Effie easily, "it was such a lovely chance." "Well, I think you are big sillies," said Pauline virtuously, but she began untwisting Effie's tight brown curls and twisting them together again in the way she had ever loved to do.
It was miserably ill written and spelt; sea-sickness having apparently aided the derangement of Effie's very irregular orthography and mode of expression. In this epistle, however, as in all that unfortunate girl said or did, there was something to praise as well as to blame.
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