over to mother's."

Thornton accompanied her to the door. Her air was defiant and sullen;
Thornton contemptuously refrained from questioning her.

"Well," he said, quietly, when he had returned. Something very bad was
to come; it had been hanging about in the air for months.

"Jarvis, I can't tell you; it's so awful. What shall we do? Poor Aunt
Mary and Aunt Sophie!"

"They have lost their money."

She nodded.

"Through Bradley?"

"Oh, Jarvis, I have brought you so much trouble; I am afraid I ought
not to have kept you here in Boston."

"I don't see how that could affect this," he replied kindly to her
irrelevant contrition. "Has it all gone?"

"I suppose so."

"How did he get hold of it?"

"I don't remember anything. Papa had it--all their money--to invest,
and he let Ruby's husband have it to put in wheat. It's all gone."

Thornton had heard that John Ellwell's sisters had been left a small
fortune by their father with strict directions to keep it out of their
brother's hands. They were two delicate maiden ladies, who had floated
about Europe aimlessly for a number of years, living in one
watering-place after another. Their refusal to have anything to do
with their brother had been one fruitful topic of family discussion. A
few years before, however, when American stocks were booming, the two
maiden ladies had withdrawn their hundred thousand from the woollen
mill where old Mr. Ellwell had placed it, and had given it to the
stock-broker for reinvestment. Their brother had always fascinated
them. He was clever, wicked perhaps, but so clever that he always got
into good things. The conclusion came shortly. For the last six months
Ellwell had managed to keep up the interest; now he had come to the
end of his rope, and he was about to commit suicide by selling his
seat in order to provide a pittance, at least, for his sisters.

Husband and wife sat silent for a long time.

"Why did Ruby come to break the news?" Thornton asked at last. His
wife looked at him timidly, then flushed.

"I suppose she thought we could do something; but what shall we do? We
never have anything left over."

The bolt had fallen; Thornton traced its course in a few little
moments.

"There is but one thing," he said, gently; "we must see that your
aunts do not starve, at least for the present."

"You'll have to give up your investigations and laboratory work, and
all that?"

She was striving to comprehend his situation, a