on, who was not so unobservant.
He felt vexed that the women should see him with Effie, but now that he
was with her he must at least unburden his mind.

"George told me," said Effie,--"perhaps it is not wrong to repeat it to
you,--that he is likely to make a great deal of money."

"Did he? Did he tell you that--did he happen to say how much?"

"Well, he spoke as if money were very easily earned," said Effie. "He
said something about getting fifty pounds this week."

"I must tell you the truth," said Lawson. "There's no help for it. Your
brother will go straight to the bad if he is not rescued, and that at
once."

"What do you mean? Oh, how you frighten me!"

Effie's face was as white as a sheet.

"I am ever so sorry," said Lawson; "but what is the use of keeping back
the truth? George has had no rise of salary--indeed, if he is not
careful, he is mother has gone far beyond our means. She hasn't
[Transcriber's note: text of this paragraph in original is as shown and
ends abruptly at this point.]

"Then how does he get his money?"

"He gets it by gambling."

"Gambling! Oh, no! oh, no!" said Effie.

She had the horror of that vice which a pure-minded, well-brought-up
girl must ever have.

"It is true," said Lawson; "it gives me the greatest pain to tell you
anything so bad of your brother, but there's no help for it."

"But how do you know?" interrupted Effie.

"I know by the best of evidence. I have had my suspicions for some time,
but I happened to see him coming out of one of those places last
week--yes, I must tell you, I saw him coming out of a gambling den. I
think he goes night after night. At present he is winning more than he
loses, but that is always the game for drawing fellows on."

"It must be stopped," said Effie. She felt quite faint and sick. If her
mother knew this it would kill her on the spot.

They had nearly reached the hospital, and Effie turned and faced
Lawson.

"You don't half know what this means to me," she said. "George is not
exactly like an ordinary brother. When my father died quite suddenly of
diphtheria some months ago, he left my mother in George's care. If
George goes to the bad now, she will certainly die; you must have
noticed for yourself how she is wrapped up in him."

"Yes; no one could fail to notice it. I think her love for him
beautiful; and he loves her, too. Poor fellow! that is his great
redeeming point."

"Oh, I don't call it real love," said Effie, a