e had elected to live his
life. It was simply the story of one who had much and who wanted more,
who strained every nerve to win in the great game he was playing, the
game of money-getting. It was the story of one who risked all in one
grand final coup, who risked all and lost all. And what was risked and
lost was not his alone; everything belonging to his mother and sister
had gone too. Worse still, he had made use of money which was not
theirs, funds of the bank of which he was treasurer. Of course, he had
only borrowed them, he had been so sure of success, and he intended
replacing the money in a few days. He had reasoned as so many men before
him had reasoned, as men will continue to reason as long as this world
shall be.

Such had been the trial which faced Cecile that day two years ago. Her
one thought had been that mother must never know; her heart had always
been weak and the shock would kill her, simply kill her. Words her
mother had once spoken to her returned to her mind as she had finished
reading those letters. The remark had been caused by some little act of
thoughtfulness on Philippe's part, some little gift he had sent her,
for Philippe had always been careful to remember all the little
household feast days with beautiful and often costly gifts.

"Cecile," her mother had said, "you have both been good children to me,
you and Philippe, good and kind and thoughtful. I think it would break
my heart if my children should ever forget me, ever cease to love me. I
can imagine but one thing worse, to have them forget their God, to know
that they had committed any grievous wrong. I have sometimes heard of
mothers whose sons have been led astray into ways of wickedness and
proved a disgrace to themselves and to their families, and I have said
to myself: 'Poor woman, how can she bear it, how can she go on living
knowing what her boy has become? It would kill me, I know it would.
Thank God, my Philippe is a good boy, brave and upright like his father;
I shall never have cause to worry about him.'"

Those words kept ringing through Cecile's brain as she had read the
letters over, and over again, and she had determined then and there, at
all costs, her mother should never know. But how was she going to
conceal the fact of their poverty, of their absolute ruin?

They had always lived in comfort and where was she to find the money to
supply their daily needs? Since her father's death and her mother's
affliction, the