of the soul
within, and for the first time since their meeting there came no
lightening to greet hers. Jean's thoughts flew backward to that
afternoon years ago when she had seen the same dazed look in Vanna's
eyes. Her heart contracted with a sickening dread.

"Robert, are you ill? Have you seen a doctor? Has he said--"

He shook his head blankly.

"No! No--not that!"

Jean drew a long, thankful breath. Relieved of this dread, she felt
prepared to face all other ills; but first she must be alone with
Robert, behind shut doors, safe from intruding eyes. She slid her arm
through his, and leading him into the den, pushed him gently into his
own big chair. His hat was still on his head, she lifted it off,
smoothed the hair on his forehead with a swift, caressing touch, then
sinking on her knees before him, lifted her face to his.

"Robert, we are here together--you and I, in our own dear home. The
children are upstairs. There is nothing, nothing in all the world worth
grieving for so much!"

He looked at her hopelessly, blankly.

"But it's gone, Jean--it's gone. The home's gone! It's all gone--
everything! Gone! Ruined!"

"What, darling? What has gone? Tell me! I want to know--I want to
help!"

"The Bank, Jean! The Glasgow Bank. To-day! Ruin for us; ruin for
thousands."

Jean rested her hands on the arms of the chair, and braced herself to
thought. The Glasgow Bank! Father had disapproved of it from the
first, and had wished Robert to sell his shares, but he had objected
because of the high interest given. They were always hard up, and
needed every penny they could get. Besides, Robert declared that it was
perfectly safe--as safe as the Bank of England; it was absurd to doubt
it. And now it had stopped, and he talked of ruin. Jean's knowledge of
finance had not increased with her years of matrimony, and after the
first shock of surprise she told herself with a sigh of relief that,
after all, there could not be so much to lose. When she had spoken of
selling shares a few weeks ago, Robert had refused on the score that
there were so few left. Robert was so dazed, poor man, that he was
exaggerating his loss. He must be calmed and soothed.

"Dearest boy, I'm sorry--dreadfully, dreadfully sorry for all those poor
people; but you and I have not much to lose, have we? We have rubbed
along quite comfortably without a big balance at the Bank, and if a few
hundreds have gone--well, we'll