Sam."
"My word!" said Sam.
"And I don't know the way," continued Annie. "Do you think that you--you would come with me and find a ship that is going--a long way fromEngland--where you would take a passage for me? A steerage passage,Sam; I can't afford anything else."
"And lose sight on yer, miss, for ever and ever?"
"Oh, but--Sam, you promised to help me."
"My word!--and I will," said Sam.
"They are coming back," said Annie in a husky voice. "I'll get upearly--quite early. When do you get up, Sam?"
"I am off to my work at five in the mornin'."
"How much do you earn a day?"
"Five shullin'--and good wage, too."
"I will give you a whole sovereign if you will stay away from your workand help me to-morrow. Shall we meet outside this house--just outside--at five in the morning?"
"Oh, my word, yus!" said Sam; "and there's no talk o' sovereigns. It'ull be jest the greatest pleasure in my whole life to sarve yer,missie." The girls bustled noisily into the kitchen, and Tilda conveyedAnnie to her own tiny attic in the roof. Annie refused to undress, butlay down, just as she was, on the hard, uncomfortable bed. For longafterwards she could not quite remember what occurred that night. Itwas all a horrible nightmare. She was ill; she was dying. Her throatseemed to suffocate her. Every bone in her body ached. She wasconfronted by ghastly images; unknown and awful terrors pursued her.Something touched her. She screamed. She opened her eyes andrecognised Tilda bending over her.
"What--what do you want?" she said; for Tilda had just grasped thepocket where the money lay.
"Nothing--nothing at all, miss," said Tilda.
"You leave that gel alone!" shouted a harsh voice from another atticclose by.
"My word!" said Tilda. She sank down, trembling. "And I didn't mean totake her money. I am bad, but I ain't as bad as that; only I wanted tosee wot she 'as got. She might make a present to Martha and me; but efSam 'as took her up, there ain't no chance for none o' us."
Towards morning Tilda crept into the other side of the bed and fell intoprofound slumber. Annie also slept and dreamed and awakened, and sleptand dreamed again.
"`Be sure your sin will find you out,'" she kept repeating under herbreath; and then, all of a sudden, when she felt a little--just alittle--calmer, a hand was laid on her shoulder, a great rough face bentover her, and a voice said:
"I say, missie, it's time for you and me to be off."
Annie looked up. The red-haired giant had entered the room and hadsummoned her. Trembling, shaking, her fever high, her throat almost toosore to allow her to speak, she rose from that horrible bed, tried toshake her tumbled clothes into some sort of order, took up her bag, andfollowed Sam downstairs. A minute or two later, to her infiniterefreshment, they were both out of the house and in the open air. Samwas all alive and keen with interest but when they had walked a fewsteps he glanced at Annie and the expression of his face altered.
"You be--my word!--you be real bad!" he said.
"I am," said Annie hoarsely. "I can scarcely speak. It is--my--sin,Sam--that has--found me out."
"Your sin!" said Sam. "You be a hangel o' light."
Annie laid her little, white, burning hand on his.
"I can't go to the docks," she said. "I can't go anywhere--except--except--oh, I must be quick!--oh, my senses will go! Everything swimsbefore me. Sam, I must tell you the truth. Sam, hold me for a minute."
He did so. The street in which they found themselves was quiet as yet.There were only a few passers-by, and these where hurrying off to theirrespective employments. Annie put her hand into the little pocket whichcontained her money. She took out her purse and gave Sam a five-poundnote.
"Go," she said, "to-day to Rashleigh, the place where your sister hasbeen. Go to the Rectory and tell them that I--Annie Brooke--have foundout--the truth of one text: `Be sure your sin will find you out.' Tellthem that from me, and be quick--be very quick. Go at once. But firstof all take me to the nearest hospital."
Before poor Sam could quite understand all Annie's instructions the girlherself was quite delirious. There was nothing for it but to lift herinto his strong arms and carry her to a large hospital in theneighbourhood of Islington. There she was instantly admitted, and,after a very brief delay, was conveyed to the fever ward.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT.
Late on that same evening Rover at the old Rectory thought it expedientto raise his voice in the extreme of exasperation and anger. A strangerof the sort that ought not to be seen about the Rectory gardens wasdaring to approach the back-door right through Rover's specialterritory. Luckily for the red-haired giant, Rover could not get at himbeyond the limit of his chain. The giant knocked at the back-door, andpresently a timid-looking woman, who had been called in to help to nurseMrs Shelf, opened the door about an inch.
"Now what is up?" she said. "You get out of this; you are a strangerhere, and we don't want parties of your sort about."
"I ha' come," said Sam, "with a message from one as calls herselfAnnie."
Mrs Shelf was still lying on the sofa in the kitchen. She was feelingfar too weak and shaky to rise; but at the name strength seemed to comeinto her like magic. She tottered off her sofa and approached the door.
"Whoever you are, come right in," she said.
Sam entered and stood gloomily leaning up against the dresser.
"What is your message?" said Mrs Shelf. "Do tell me quickly! Do youknow where Annie Brooke is?"
"In the Great Northern Hospital," said Sam Freeman, "where I left herthis mornin'. She said I was to come here and say--that her sin hadfound her out. She guv me five pounds to come and give the message.It's a sight too much money. I tuk a third-class ticket down, and'ere's the change." He put three sovereigns and a pile of silver on thetable. "I tuk a return ticket," he said. "I'll be off, arter givin' mymessage."
"But tell us everything," said Mrs Shelf. "Why, we are just mad toknow. Whatever do you mean?"
Thus abjured, Sam did tell what little he knew. Annie had come backwith his sister and a friend of hers to their house the night before,and she had wanted him to help her, and he had arranged to do it. Butin the morning she was taken bad--very bad--and lost her head, onlyfirst of all she was able to give him more than enough money to come toRashleigh, and a message which he was to convey to the old folks at theRectory.
"Can't make 'ead nor tail on it," said the giant; "for if ever there wasa beautiful, 'eavenly creature, it were her. Why, I tak her in thesearms to the 'ospital. Oh, she's like to die!" he continued. "You'dbest go to Annie if ever you want to see her again."
"And so I will--and this night, too," said Mrs Shelf. "I'll go rightalong back with you; but first of all I must send a telegraphic messageto Mr John Saxon."
In vain the neighbour who had been put in charge of Mrs Shelfexpostulated with her in regard to her madness in going to London.
"If this is madness," was the sturdy woman's reply, "I would rather bemad than sane. Is not _his_ bit lamb in danger and suffering, and am Ithe one to keep away from her?"
Sam heard these words without understanding them, but felt immediatelyinclined to think that Mrs Shelf was a very good sort. Accordingly,that very same evening Mrs Shelf and Sam Freeman went up to London bythe very train which had taken Annie the night before. When theyreached London, however, Mrs Shelf bade her companion good-bye.
"I will never cease to thank you as long as I live," she said; "and ifour Annie, our bit lamb, gets better, you will hear from me."
"I won't wait for that ma'am," said Sam. "I'll call every day at the'ospital to inquire. I can't say no more; there's naught I wouldn't dofor her, ma'am."
He hurried away, his great shock head towering above most of hisfellow-men. Mrs Shelf sighed heavily. At Paddington she got into afour-wheeler and drove straight to the hotel where she knew John Saxonwas staying.
He wa
s out. She sat down patiently to wait for him. It was pastmidnight before he returned. What was his amazement to see the worthy,homely face of Mrs Shelf as she rose from her seat in a corner of thehall of the hotel!
"I have no news for you," he said. "My good soul, why did you come totown? Now this only adds to our complications. I have spent a fearfulday, and have put detectives on poor Annie's track, but up to thepresent we have heard nothing."
"Then I have news for you, Mr John. You don't suppose I'd come all theway to London for nothing." And the good woman repeated the astoundingintelligence which Sam Freeman had brought her.
"A message from the child herself," she said; "and you can guess fromits tone, sir, and the words she used, how bad our poor Annie must be.Oh, may God spare her, and save her life!"
"Spare her and change her!" murmured John Saxon. "With God all thingsare possible. I will go at once to the hospital," he said.
"And you will take me with you, sir?"
"Yes, if you like; but I don't think we can be admitted at this hour."
"Oh, sir! I couldn't stay away. We must at least have a good try.Haven't I nursed her since she was a little thing--she, who all her dayswas really motherless?"
"All right," said Saxon. "We will go at once." The porter who answeredtheir summons at the great hospital went away immediately to get newswith regard to Annie Brooke. This was the reverse of reassuring. Shewas very ill, quite delirious, and could not possibly be seen until thefollowing morning.
"Then I will wait here," said Mrs Shelf, settling herself downdeterminedly. "You can't put me, a woman of my years, into the street.I will go to her when the day breaks."
When Saxon and Mrs Shelf were allowed to visit Annie she did not knowthem. Her delirium ran high, and for days and weeks she lay truly atthe point of death. All that could be done for her was, however, done.She had special nurses and a private ward; and at long last there came aday when, in answer to anguished prayers and bitter sorrow, a girl creptslowly back from the shores of death and lay truly like the shadow ofher former self high and dry above danger and on her way to recovery.Day after day, slowly, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, her strengthreturned, until at last there came an hour when she recognised her oldfriends. Then by degrees she returned to health and strength.
It was three months later, and all the events which make up this storyseemed to have passed into a distant part of Annie Brooke's life, whenshe and John Saxon had an earnest talk together.
Annie was well once more, but so changed that few would have known herfor the laughing and almost beautiful girl of the early part of thatsame year. She had said very little of the past since her recovery, buton this occasion she made a clean breast of everything to John Saxon.
"I am sorry," she said. "I knew at last what repentance meant when Ipassed into that awful state of delirium and when I felt myself face toface with an angry God. But I have got something in my nature, John,which makes me tremble for the future. I am very wicked still. Whatcan I do with my life?"
Then John Saxon made a proposal to her. "Will you and Mrs Shelf and ourfriend Sam Freeman, who is an excellent fellow at heart and the veryperson for a colonist, take passage with me to Canada? You can start anew life there, Annie. You have enough money to buy a little land, andSam Freeman is the very man to help you. I myself will stay near youfor the first year, and you can start your Canadian life in the house ofa cousin of mine, who, I know, will be only too glad to receive you. Ina new country, dear," continued her cousin, "one can have a clearhorizon, a wider view, a better chance. Take up your cross bravely,Annie; never forget that you have sinned, but also that you haverepented."
"Do they know at the school?" she asked in a whisper.
"Yes, everything is known; Priscilla told the truth."
"You won't tell me what they said?"
"There is no need to tell you. Your punishment, perhaps, is not toknow. You have done with Mrs Lyttelton's school. Turn your facetowards the West, dear. Think of the new life and the new, clean, freshcountry."
"Yes, oh yes, I will go--I will go."
"Then that is settled," said Saxon, "and I will make immediatepreparations."
On the day before Annie sailed to Canada she was seated in a Londonhotel. All the packing had been done. There were really no farewellsto make. Mabel Lushington had never written to her from the day she hadleft Zermatt Lady Lushington had doubtless also forgotten her existence.Her school friends, if they thought of Annie Brooke at all, must thinkof her as one whose name should be spoken with bated breath, who wasdeceitful, who had gone far astray, and who had finally left her nativeland because it was best for her to turn her back on England. There wasno one for Annie to say farewell to, unless indeed, Priscilla Weir. Butshe and Priscilla had never been real friends, and was it likely thatPriscilla would think of her now? It made her head ache--for she wasnot nearly as strong as before her illness--even to try to rememberPriscilla. She pressed her hand to her forehead. She and John Saxonand her other friends were to start early on the following day.
Just at that moment the room door was opened. The light had not yetbeen turned on. The days were a little dusky. A tall girl camehurriedly forward. She came straight up to Annie where she sat, droppedon one knee, and took one of her little, cold hands.
"Annie--Annie Brooke," she said; "I am Priscilla. Have you nothing tosay to me?"
Annie looked at her, at first with a sort of terror, then with asoftened expression in her blue eyes; then all of a sudden they kindled,there was a smile round her lips, and a radiation spread itself over herwan little face. She flung her arms round Priscilla.
"Oh! Did you know I was going? Have you come to say good-bye?"
"I only heard it to-day from Mr Saxon," said Priscilla. "Yes, I havecome to kiss you, and to tell you that I, in spite of everything, loveyou."
"You can't," said Annie. "You don't know."
"I know everything, Annie. Annie, we have both been in deep waters; wehave both sinned, and God has forgiven us both."
"I am going away," said Annie restlessly. "When I am in another countryI won't hear that awful text echoing so often."
"What text, Annie?"
"`Be sure your sin will find you out.'"
"But it did find you out," said Priscilla; "and that was the very bestthing that could have happened, because then you turned to God; youcould not help yourself; and God, who is infinite in His compassion,forgave you."
"Oh, do you think so--do you think so?" said Annie, beginning to sob."Priscie, I promised him--my angel uncle, my more than father--to meethim in the home where he is now. Oh Priscie! can I--can I?"
"You will meet him," said Priscilla, with conviction.
"But, Priscie, do you quite know everything?" Annie, as she spoke,still kept her arms round Priscilla's neck, and her words were whisperedin Priscilla's ears. "Do you know all about Susan Martin and thepoems?"
"Yes," said Priscilla, "I know. Mr Manchuri is going to help Susan;only, if possible, I should like to have the manuscript book back."
"I sent it back to Susan herself with a letter. I did that to-day,"said Annie. "It seemed the very last thing left, the final drop in mycap of humiliation."
"I am so glad," said Priscilla. "Mr Manchuri will help Susan. She isgoing to be educated, and will give up dressmaking."
"Who is Mr Manchuri? I seem to know his name and yet to have forgottenhim," said Annie.
"Oh Annie, dear Annie! he belongs to _my_ story. He took me home thattime from Interlaken; and--and I resemble a girl of his who died; andsince then, ever since then, I have been living with him and lookingafter him, and he has finally arranged that I am always to stay with himas his adopted daughter. I am not going to school any more, but I ambeing taught--oh! in many and wonderful ways--by my dear, dear friend MrManchuri himself, by the beautiful picture of the girl who went to Godand whom I am supposed to resemble; and I have books as many as I want,and--oh, I, who
have sinned too, am happy, very happy!"
"And what about Mabel?" said Annie.
"Lady Lushington knows all about Mabel. Everybody knows abouteverything, Annie. Mabel is to stay at a school in Paris for a year.It is a good thing for her, too, that things have been found out Annie,I don't think you need fear that text any more."
"You comfort me," said Annie. "Oh! sometimes, Priscilla, when you prayto God, ask Him to give me a clean heart, and to renew a right spiritwithin me."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends