taken the one man they had all so earnestly desired to
shield--Charlie Bryant.

Without waiting another moment she left the scene. She had blindly
rushed from the proximity of that gaping, awe-stricken, curious crowd.
And her way had taken her straight home. She had no thought for any
object. How could she? Her mind and heart were overflowing with fear
and concern, and a world of sympathy for Kate--the absent Kate.
Charlie was dead. Charlie had been caught red-handed. Charlie, that
poor, helpless, besotted drunkard. He--he--after all their faith in
his integrity, after all Kate's lavish affection, he was the real
criminal, and--Fyles had run him to his death. She had no thought now
of Bill's absence from her side. She had no thought of anything but
this one overwhelming disaster.

So she ran on home. Nor did she pause till she flung herself upon the
coverlet of her little white bed in a passionate storm of weeping.

How long she lay there she never knew. A merciful Providence finally
sent sleep to her weary brain and heart. And when she ultimately awoke
it was to start up dazedly, and find herself staring into the solemn,
dreadful eyes of her sister, Kate, who was standing just beyond the
open doorway of her bedroom, gazing in upon her.

Then followed a scene never likely to be wholly forgotten.

She sprang from her bed and ran toward that ominous figure. She was
prepared to fling herself upon that strong support which had never yet
failed her. But, for once, no such support was forthcoming. Long
before she reached her side Kate had stepped into the room and seemed
to collapse into the rocker beside the dressing bureau. The brave
Kate was reduced to a pitiful outburst of tearless sobs.

For one brief instant Helen was again on the verge of tears, but she
remembered. With a great effort she forced them back, and held herself
in a strong grip. Then, slowly, a change began to creep over her. It
was not she who must look for support from Kate. It was she who must
yield support, and the memory of all those years when Kate, never by
word or act had failed her, came to her aid.

But though she sought by every means in her power to comfort the
heartbroken woman, her efforts were wholly unavailing. They were
perhaps worse than unavailing. For Kate proved as unreasonable as any
weak, hysterical girl, and, rebuffing her at every turn, finally broke
into such a storm of bitter self-reviling as to leave her sister
helpless.