University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
ANNIE HEYFORD.

EARLY in November the Burtons went back to
their city home on Madison Square; and Edna
was looking forward to a long, delightful winter
alone with Roy. But Georgie decreed it otherwise. It was
of no use to be engaged, and not have her lover at her disposal
when she wanted him; and so she kept up a continual
siege, until Mrs. Churchill signified her willingness, and even
her wish, to spend a portion of the winter in New York,
where she could have the best of medical advice for her
eyes, that being one of Georgie's strongest arguments. Roy
had sold his house in Fifth avenue the year before; and, as
the elegant residence far up-town, on which Georgie had
fixed her mind, was not now available, he had a suite of
rooms in that prince of hotels, the Worth House, where his
mother could have all the luxuries and all the quiet of a
private house, with none of its annoyances.

And thither, in December, he came with his mother, and
Miss Overton, and his mother's waiting-maid. It was late
in the afternoon when they arrived, and took possession of
their handsome rooms looking out on Madison Square; and,
as in duty bound, Roy called at once upon his bride elect,
who lived not far away. She did not know of his arrival in
town, and seemed surprised and a little flurried at seeing him.

She had not expected him for a week or more; and
all through the interview she was confused and absentminded;
and her thoughts were less with her lover than
with little Annie, who up in her room was waiting her return,
and wishing so much that she could see the gentleman
whom “sister” was to marry.

Georgie had never been in the habit of visiting Jersey
City often; but she had gone there immediately after her
return to town in November, and had felt shocked at the
great change perceptible in Annie. It was not so much a
wasting of the flesh as a spiritualization of the whole face,
which shone, as the faces of angels are supposed to shine,
and which looked as if its owner were already through with
the things pertaining to earth, and was realizing the joys of
heaven.

“Tired all the time,—that's all,” Annie said, when Georgie
bent over her and asked what ailed her darling.

“Tired,—so tired,” was all the child complained of; but
it was evident to those who knew her that she was rapidly
passing away; and Georgie saw it too, and her tears
fell like rain, as she sat by Annie's couch, and listened to
her childish talk.

“And you are to be married, Georgie?” Annie said;
“and Jack will be married, too; and he has brought Maude
to see me; and I loved her so much right away; and I am
glad for Jack. But, Georgie, mayn't I stay part of the time
with you when you are married to Mr. Leighton? I should
be so 'streemly happy there, seeing you every day.”

There was something very pleading in the tone of the
voice; and Georgie's lip quivered as she replied: “Yes,
darling, you shall. I'll have a nice room fitted up next to
mine, and I'll call it Annie's Room, and put so many pretty
things in it.”

And then, by way of amusing the child, Georgie told how

she would furnish that room which was to be Annie's, picturing
such a fairyland that Annie's eyes shone like stars as
she exclaimed, “It will be most as good as heaven, where
I am going before long; but not till I've lived a little bit of
a while in that splendid room. O Georgie, I don't want to
die till I've been there. And you won't forget, will you?”

Then she talked of Roy, and asked Georgie to bring him
there some day; and Georgie promised that she would, without
meaning at all what she said. She was very morbid upon
the subject of an interview between Annie and her lover, so
long as he was her lover. Once his wife, she should not care
so much, she thought; and she was really in earnest in thinking
that Annie should spend a portion of the time with her.
Roy knew there was such a child; that in some way she
was connected with the family, and that she called Georgie
her sister; but he had never evinced any special interest in
her, and Georgie did not mean that he should until she
chose to have him. So when Annie asked if she might go
over to New York at once, and spend a few days at Mrs.
Burton's, Georgie hesitated, and calculated the chances of
Roy's coming to see her, deciding finally that she was safe,
and promising Annie that she should go if Jack was willing.
He was willing, and was more friendly and cordial with
Georgie than he had been before since her engagement.
He always liked her best when she was interested in Annie,
and he assented readily to the visit; and Georgie appointed
the next day to come for the little girl. But one of the
sinking turns to which the child was subject came on to
prevent the visit, which was deferred until December, when
it at last occurred; and Annie had been a week with Georgie,
and was intending to stop a few days longer, when Roy
suddenly made his appearance, and the visit was at an end.

Georgie could scarcely define to herself why she dreaded
so much to have Roy see her sister; and when she received

his card, and knew he was waiting for her in the parlor below,
her first impulse was to bring him up at once to her
room, and have the interview over; but with that impulse
there came a feeling that she could not stand by Roy and
see him talking so kindly to Annie as he would, without
suffering such pangs of remorse and anguish as she was
not willing voluntarily to incur. And so she merely said
to him, when he remarked that she looked pale and tired,
“I am a little worn, I guess. I have had Annie, my
adopted sister, you know, here for a week or more, and, as
she is a great invalid, it has kept me closer in my room than
was altogether for my health. How is your mother? And
are you comfortable at the Worth House? Though of
course you are. I went through the rooms the other day,
and almost envied you. Such elegance, with so much of
home-comfort, is not to be found elsewhere in New York,
or, one may almost say, in the world,—such a gentlemanly
host as the man in charge, and then the proprietor himself.
I went down into the bookstore, to get some note-paper I
did not want, for the sake of seeing him. One of his authors
has styled him the `Royal George,' and he is fully
entitled to the name. I wish I knew him intimately. I
must manage it somehow, if I have to write a book.”

She was talking very fast, for the sake of driving all remembrance
of Annie from Roy's mind; but the ruse did
not succeed, for, as soon as she ceased, Roy proposed
taking herself and Annie for a drive to the park.

“It will do you good,” he said, “and the little sick girl
too. I've never seen her, you know; and I would like to
make the acquaintance of all my relatives.”

He spoke playfully; and Georgie's face flushed for a moment
with pleasure at his allusion to their projected marriage,
then grew pale again and troubled, as she declined
the invitation both for herself and Annie. The latter was

not well enough to bear the ride, she said, (forgetting that
she had promised to take her there that very afternoon,)
while she felt it her duty to stay and amuse the child, who
was so fond of her. And so, Roy, thinking how self-sacrificing
she was, and liking her the better for it, bade her a
more affectionate adieu than usual, and drove his mother
and Edna to the park that afternoon, never dreaming of the
bitter disappointment which filled poor Annie's heart, when
told in Georgie's most honeyed tones that it would be impossible
for her to fulfil the promise of a ride, as her head
was aching so hard, and she felt too sick to go out.

The largest, handsomest doll on Broadway was bought
next morning as a peace offering to Annie; and then, as
Georgie found that she owed a call in Jersey City, and
would pass directly by Jack's house, she suggested that
Annie should go with her and see Aunt Luna, while she was
making her call.

“You can come back with me if you like,” she said,
smoothing the silken hair, and thinking how she would mannage
to prevent the coming back, in case Annie took a fancy
to do so.

But Annie did not; her own home and easy chair looked
so pleasant to her, and Luna was so glad to have her back
again, that she at once expressed a wish to stay, and
Georgie bade her a loving good-by, and drove directly to the
ferry, leaving the call which had existed only in her imagination
unmade!

That night Georgie went to the opera with Roy and Miss
Overton, and occupied the most conspicuous seat in the
box, and was more admired and commented upon than any
lady in the audience, as she sat flushed, and brilliant, and
beautiful, with diamonds on her neck and arms, and in her
flowing hair. Roy was sufficiently attentive, and, proud of
her position as his betrothed, she carried herself regally, and

felt a very queen, as, leaning on Roy's arm, she made her
way through the crowd after the play was over.

Close behind her, as she emerged into the open air, came
another figure,—the figure of a man, who, all through the
play, had watched the glowing beauty, with a look upon his
bad face, which, had Georgie seen it, would have driven
her to the verge of insanity. But Georgie did not see it,
or dream of the shadow following her so fast, just when
her sky was brightest, and her triumph seemingly sure.
She did think of Annie, however, when she reached her
room, and saw the little bed where the child had lain, and
the thinking of her kept her from praying, as was her nightly
custom.

She could not pray with Annie's face before her, as it
looked when told that the Park must be given up, and she
lay awake a long time trying to quiet her conscience by
thinking how much she would do for Annie when once she
was Mrs. Roy Leighton, with no fear of anything either in
the past or future. She did not go to see Annie as she had
promised to do. Her time was so occupied with Mrs.
Churchill and Roy, and all her fashionable duties, besides
which Mrs. Burton was about to give a party, which, for
costliness and elegance, was to surpass anything which had
been or would be seen in New York that winter.

Maude, on whose taste and skill in many matters both
Mrs. Burton and Georgie relied, had obtained a vacation of
a few days, and was busy with Georgie's dress, which was
made in the house, where the ladies could give it their
hourly inspection if they chose. Edna, who was to be included
in the invitations sent to the Worth House, was also
eager, and expectant, and supremely happy in the beautiful
gauzy fabric which Mrs. Churchill had presented to her, and
which was made by a fashionable modiste. It would be her
first introduction to New York society, as seen at a brilliant

party, and though she dreaded it somewhat, she was looking
forward to it with eager anticipations, and was frequently in
earnest consultation with Maude, who, like herself, was
flushed, and excited, and happy.

The cards were already issued, and but two days intervened
before the appointed night, when Georgie suddenly
appeared at the Worth House, and asked to see Miss Overton.
She was very pale, and there were traces of great
mental agitation and distress in her manner, as she proceeded
at once to her errand. A note had just come from Jack,
who wrote that Annie was dangerously ill, and desired to see
Georgie as soon as possible, while he too joined in the sick
child's request, and wished his sister to bring several little
delicacies which he named, and which he could not well find
in Jersey City.

“It is impossible for me to go, with my dress and everything
in its present condition, and the party to-morrow night,”
Georgie said, “neither can I spare Maude, and as it does
seem necessary that Jack should have some woman there
besides Aunt Luna, I came to see if you would be kind
enough to go over just for to-day. You can, of course,
return to-morrow, when Annie will, I am sure, be better.
Jack is easily frightened, and has, no doubt, exaggerated the
case. Will you go, Miss Overton, if Mrs. Churchill can
spare you?”

She was holding Edna's hand, and squeezing it affectionately;
in fact, she had held and squeezed it ever since she
commenced talking, and she was so urgent and anxious, that
Edna consented, feeling a genuine pleasure in the prospect
of seeing the little girl who had been her pupil for a short
time, and in whom she had been so much interested.

“Thank you so much. You don't know how you have
relieved me, for I know you will do everything that is necessary,
and Mrs. Churchill says you are a capital nurse,”

Georgie said, kissing Edna twice, and promising to send the
carriage round at once with the articles Jack had ordered.

Edna had never seen Annie since she left Chicago, and
she got herself in readiness immediately, and in less than an
hour was standing in Jack Heyford's house, and explaining
to him why she had come instead of Georgie.

“Not coming! Sent you in her place?” he repeated,
appearing more angry and excited than Edna had ever
before seen him. “She is a hard, unnatural woman, and if
Heaven lets her prosper, I shall lose my faith in everything I
have been taught to respect,” he said, grinding his teeth
together as he uttered the words, which seemed almost like
a curse upon the proud girl, who at that very moment was
trying on her party dress, and calculating the effect upon her
guests when she appeared before them in her costly and
becoming robes.

Still she did not forget Annie, and all the day long there
was a dull, heavy pain in her heart, and a foreboding of evil,
which at last prompted her to tell Maude of the note from
Jack, and to ask her as a favor to go herself to Jersey City,
and bring news of the sick girl. It was the first Maude had
heard of Annie's danger, and she opened her eyes wide with
wonder and surprise, as she asked:

“Why not go yourself, Georgie? Not that I am unwilling,
but Annie wants you. Neither Miss Overton nor
myself will answer the purpose.”

“I can't,” Georgie replied. “I might ride over this
evening, if I was sure of coming back, but once there,
Annie and Jack both would insist upon my staying through
the night, and you know just how loss of sleep affects my
nerves and spirits.”

“And looks,” Maude added, sarcastically, knowing that
this was the real key to the whole matter.

Georgie must be fresh and bright for the next evening's

party; Georgie could not afford to peril her beauty by
nursing a sick child who wanted her, and so she made herself
believe that there was no immediate danger threatening
the little girl, and she staid at home, and sent Maude in her
stead, with injunctions to pass the night, if necessary, but to
send back a correct account of Annie's condition, and
excuse her to Jack as far as practicable.

“More comfortable, but very sorry not to see you. I
shall stay all night, as will Miss Overton, also. Please get
word to Mrs. Churchill.”

This was Maude's message, which Georgie read aloud to
Roy, whose interest in Annie's illness arose more from the
fact that it had taken and was keeping Miss Overton away;
and, handsome and elegant as were his rooms at the Worth
House, they were not quite the same without the hired
companion.

“I hope Miss Overton will not think of sitting up to-night.
She does not seem very strong, and I want her to be as
fresh as possible for the party,” he said, and his manner
betrayed even more annoyance than his words.

There was a threatening look in Georgie's eyes, and a
very little impatience in her voice, as she said:

“I suppose I ought to have gone myself, and so spared
Miss Overton.”

“Certainly not,” Roy said, earnestly. “It is more to me
that you should look your best, and watching is not conducive
to that. I trust, however, that nothing will keep
Miss Overton to-morrow.”

He would persist in bringing in Miss Overton, and
Georgie fumed with inward rage and hate of the girl at that
very moment bending over Annie's couch, and wiping the
moisture from the pale, damp forehead.

Annie was very sick; so sick indeed, that although she
expressed pleasure at seeing Edna, she manifested no surprise

and did not ask where she came from. Neither did
she say much when told that Georgie had not come, but
with a low, moaning cry she turned her face to the wall,
while her body trembled with the sobs she tried to suppress.
When Maude came she seemed better, and nestling close to
her, laid her head upon her arm and appeared to sleep
quietly.

And while she slept, or seemed to, Jack freed his mind
with regard to Georgie's selfishness. It had always been so,
he said. She had left to others what she ought to have
done herself.

“Why, my mother, who was in no ways connected to
Annie, did far more for her than Georgie, even when she
lived at home,” he said, and then the great blue eyes
opened wonderingly, and fixed themselves upon Jack's face,
while Annie said faintly:

“Your mother—not mine too,—Jack? Did you say that?”

Jack was in a hard, desperate mood, and reckless of consequences,
he replied:

“I did say it. Your mother was a far different woman
from mine.”

“Oh, Jack,” and Annie put both her hands beseechingly
toward him. “Oh Jack, who was mother, then, and where
is she now, tell me?” she cried, while Maude and Edna
both looked up reprovingly, and the former said:

“How could you be so imprudent, Jack, and she so sick
and weak?”

“Because I'm a brute, I suppose, and feel sometimes like
blurting out things I must not say,” Jack replied, as he tried
to quiet Annie, who insisted upon knowing “who and
where her mother was.”

“Ask Georgie, she may tell you, but I cannot,” Jack
answered her at last, and with that reply Annie had to be
satisfied.

Both Maude and Edna staid by her during the night, forgetful
of their own fatigue, and scarcely giving a thought to
the brilliant party of the next evening, or the worn, tired faces
they would carry to it, provided they went at all, which
seemed very doubtful, as the daylight came creeping into the
room, and showed them the change in their patient. She
was not dying; she might linger for two or three days longer,
the physician said, when at sunrise he came, but there was
the sign of death upon her face, and she lay perfectly motionless,
only speaking occasionally to ask what time it was; if
it was to-night the party was to take place, and if Georgie
would surely come after it was over. Her absorbing thought
was to see Georgie once more, or “sister,” as she still called
her, for the idea did not seem to have entered her mind that
Georgie was not her sister, even though the kind woman
whom she remembered well had not been her mother.

Once, as Maude started to leave the bedside for a moment,
Annie grasped her hand and said to her:

“You won't go too and leave me; nor you?” turning an
appealing glance at Edna, then quickly adding: “Yes, you
must, you may; you want to see the party, and you'll tell
how Georgie looked, and bring her back with you.”

But neither Maude nor Edna had any heart for gay festivities
then; that white face with the stamp of death upon
it would be ever present in their minds, and each came simultaneously
to the same conclusion. They could not leave
Annie, and so a hasty note was written by Maude and despatched
to Madison Square, saying that though Annie was
not in immediate danger, neither Miss Overton nor herself
could think of leaving her unless their services were absolutely
required in New York. Would Georgie see Mrs.
Churchill for Miss Overton, and if possible send word to
Jersey if she was comfortable, and was willing to be left alone
another day.

Georgie read this note in her own room, and when she
saw that Annie was no worse, an involuntary, “Thank
God!” dropped from her lips, while her next remark was,
“I knew Jack was more alarmed than he need be,—he
always is;” and then she was conscious of a mean feeling
of relief that Edna was to be absent that evening. The
girl was too beautiful and attractive not to be noticed and
admired, while Roy was altogether too much interested in
her; and Georgie ground her teeth together as she recalled
certain looks she had seen him give to “that hypocrite.”

Mrs. Burton was greatly disappointed that Maude was not
coming back; she depended so much upon her, she said,
to fill up the gaps and amuse all the dull, prosy people.
But Georgie quieted her down, and promised to do her own
part and Maude's too, then went herself to see Mrs. Churchill,
who, in a different way, was quite as sorry about Edna as
Mrs. Burton had been about Maude.

“She is anticipating so much, and her dress is so pretty,
and she is so sure to be appreciated and admired, that I cannot
bear to have her lose it all,” she said, smoothing fondly
the gauzy folds of the party dress, which had been sent
home, and was spread out upon her bed.

Georgie was so sorry, too, and felt almost as if she must go
herself to Jersey, and take Dotty's place, only Aunt Burton
would not hear of it; and it was a great relief to know that
Annie was being cared for by nurses as efficient and kind as
Maude and dear Miss Overton; neither of whom should
lose anything by their unselfish kindness.

This was what Georgie said, and her voice was sweet,
and low, and sad, and she kissed Mrs. Churchill tenderly,
and bade her come over early, and then tripped back to the
house on Madison Square, where the preparations for the
coming night were going rapidly forward.