Meanwhile, Ruth and Mollie were crying in each other’s arms in the privacy of their bedroom-that is to say, Ruth was crying and Mollie was storming and shedding an occasional tear more of anger than distress.

“I’ve never been so insulted in my life, and I won’t stand it from fifty thousand Uncle Bernards!  I’ll tell him so, and make him beg my pardon and yours too, darling!  Don’t cry!  It makes your nose so red, and you hate to look a fright!”

“Oh, Mollie, we were far happier at home when we thought we were so badly off!  What was the use of coming here to have our hearts broken?  I loved that man, I thought he loved me, and now I can only despise him.  He deliberately tried to fasten suspicion upon me this afternoon, and I can never prove my innocence, for I was in the library, and alone for quite a long time, on and off.  What can I do, or say, if they won’t take my word?”

“Everybody will, whose opinion is worth having Victor Druce thinks of nothing but his own advantage; and I won’t allow you to say you cared for him.”

“It’s easier said than done!  Can you practise what you preach?  You don’t say anything, but I know,-I can see!  When Jack goes away, will you find it easy to forget all about him?”

Mollie’s face changed.  Excitement disappeared, to be replaced by a sweet and serious dignity.

“I shall never forget him,” she said quietly; “but he is in love with another girl-he told me about her the other day-so our lives must be spent apart.  I shall never be as happy as I might have been, but I’m going to be as happy as I can.  I won’t mope!  We were happy enough just to be together a few weeks ago; let’s go back to where we were, and forget all about the tiresome men!”

“It’s easier said than done,” sighed Ruth once more.  She sank down in a chair by the window, and, leaning her head on her hand, gazed drearily across the park, beautiful in the changing light of late afternoon.  With what joy and confidence had she regarded the same scene a few weeks ago, her heart expanding in the happy certainty that some day it would be her own, and with it unlimited powers of helping those she loved.  Now, between Victor’s faithlessness and her own fall from favour, hope had gradually died away, and the future seemed to hold nothing but bitterness and regret.

Ruth’s heart turned homewards with yearning affection.  The love of the little mother was a certainty which could be depended upon through good report and ill; nothing that could be said against her child would shake her trust and faith, she would be even more tender in failure than success.

The dear old pater, too-how good he had been all these years, making no distinction between his step-daughters and his own children, except perhaps to show a more anxious care for their needs!  He worked so hard, and was so absolutely self-denying and uncomplaining; it was not his fault if he did not possess the power of money-making.  When she was at home again she would be more thoughtful of his comfort, more affectionate and sympathetic.  She recalled all the step-brothers and sisters whose very existence she had grudged at times, each name bringing with it some kindly, humorous recollection.  How truly lovable they were, despite their faults!

Then Ruth’s thoughts roamed a little further afield to the few intimate friends of the family, foremost among whom came Eleanor Maclure and her brother.  What would Eleanor say if the grand expedition ended in ignominious failure?  A good many words of sympathy, of cheer, and a few simple heart-to-heart truths, pointing out the spiritual side of the puzzle, spoken in that soft Scotch voice which was so good to hear.  Ah yes, it would be a help to meet Eleanor again.  And the-the doctor!

During the first weeks of her stay at the Court, Ruth had been so much absorbed in the present that she had had no leisure to think of old friends; but during the last few days the vision of Dr Maclure’s face had risen before her not once but many times-strong, earnest, resolute, with steady glance and square-built chin, such a contrast from that other face with the veiled eyes, which seemed to hide rather than reveal the soul within.

In the midst of soreness and humiliation it had been a comfort to remember that such a man had loved her enough to wish to make her his wife.  She recalled the conversation in the brougham with new sympathy and understanding.  Had he suffered as she was suffering now?  Did his life also stretch ahead blank and grey because of that little word from her lips?  Her heart yearned over him, yet felt mysteriously lightened at the thought.

“There’s the postman’s collie!” cried Mollie’s voice, interrupting her reverie.  “That means that the evening post is in.  I’ll run down and see what there is for us.”

She disappeared for a few minutes, then reappeared carrying one letter in her hand.

“From mother, to you.  Open it quickly, dear!  It is an age since she has written.  I only hope and pray it is good news!” But, alas! that aspiration was shattered at the sight of the first few sentences.

“My darling girls,-I have delayed writing as I could not bear to cloud your pleasure, but I can keep back the truth no longer.  You must be brave, dears, and help me to be brave, for it is no half and half trouble this time.  We are quite, quite ruined, and Heaven only knows what is to become of us!

“It is not the pater’s fault in any one way.  For the last two years he has been doing a good deal of business for a man who appeared to be in very good circumstances.  At first he paid up his accounts most regularly, but lately they have sometimes been allowed to run on from month to month.  I don’t understand business, but it seems that this is often allowed, and as he had been such a good client, and had met his payments regularly before, the pater felt safe in trusting him, and paid out all his own little capital to finance the business of the last few months, which was unusually large.

“He expected to make such a handsome commission as would set us on our feet again; but it was all a deliberate fraud.  Other poor men have been taken in in the same way, and that scoundrel has disappeared, leaving us to bear the brunt.  I hope I may be able to forgive him some day; just now, when I see the pater’s broken heart and think of you, and all those children, it’s too difficult.

“Everything that we have or can raise in any way will not pay what we owe, and the pater cannot carry on his business without some capital.  The future is very dark; but God has helped me through many dark days, and He will help us still.  Trix is splendid!  She went of her own accord to the headmistress and offered to teach one of the junior classes in exchange for Betty’s education, and a few finishing classes for herself.  Miss Bean came to see me, and it is all arranged, for she says Trix has a genius for managing children, and will be a valuable help.  She is a good woman, and is glad of the opportunity of helping us, so that difficulty is overcome; but there are oh, so many others to be faced!

“What is to be done about the house-the boys-yourselves?  Pater and I have talked until we are too tired and puzzled to talk any more, but, so far, no light has dawned.

“Write to the pater as well as to me, for he has been good to you, and will value your sympathy.  Oh, my darlings, it is hard that this should have happened just now to spoil your happy visit!  My heart aches for your trouble, for these things are so hard when one is young.  I hope, I trust, I pray that the future may be so bright for you as to make up for all the anxieties you have had to bear.  Tell Uncle Bernard our trouble; you and he must decide what you had better do.

“I long for your help and comfort, but leave the decision entirely in your hands.  Every one is good and sympathetic, and the pater has had most kind letters from his friends in town.  We have this great comfort that his good name is untarnished, and that there is no shadow of disgrace in our misfortune.  God bless you, my darlings!  If we are rich in nothing else, we are rich in our love for one another.-Your devoted Mother.”

The girls looked at each other in a long, breathless silence.  Ruth laid her hand across her heart with a little gasp of pain.

“Oh, mother!  Poor little mother!  And we are away, we who should be her best comforters!  There is only one thing to do,-we must go home at once!”

“Yes,” assented Mollie firmly, “we must go home to-morrow.”