But remembering her own great error, she could not blame. How deeply they had both been at fault! She began to sympathise with the Colonel's mistakes, to understand him better, to wish that in their relations they had not been so aloof. He must have been many times in doubt, pain, the deepest of trouble, and she had never suspected. Judith began to be stirred by more daughterly feelings than since childhood; her grief and pity grew stronger, unavailing regret seized her, and when George Mather arrived he found her in tears.
He had never imagined such a sight, nor had he met such sweet dignity as that with which, controlling herself, she rose and welcomed him. She told him of her father's death. Mather had not admired the Colonel; he was not surprised at such a weak end; and while she spoke all his senses dwelt on her—on the wonderful fresh charm, which, springing from the new humility, made more of a woman of her. Stoically but stupidly he paced the room, remembering that he was not there to consider himself, but to do what he could for her. There were things which must be done; as gently as he could he reminded her of them, and going to the telephone called up the doctor and asked him to bring the medical examiner. And while Mather did this, cursing himself that he could not console her, all the time a new sensation was occupying her—the comfort of having, for the first time in her life, a man to depend on.
Then Beth arrived, with Pease who had met her in the street—Beth, wild of eye, the very foundations of her nature shocked, in one evening twice betrayed. The poor little thing still maintained a false composure, checked from time to time the tears that would spring, and fought with all her force against the thoughts which were ready to engulf her. She went straight to Judith and rested at her side, feeling that there was strength, and that with George in the house, and with Pease there, silent and steady, no more harm could come to her.
Judith sent the two men to her father's study, where they saw the evidence of his one resolute deed. They took the letter, the result of his only wise one. Again in the parlour, they opened and read the letter together; their brows clouded as they read, and at the end their eyes met in a look of inquiry.
"Read it aloud," demanded Judith.
"I think we had better," said Pease, and Mather assented. And so the girls learned the full extent of their calamity, for with unusual brevity the Colonel had written:
"I have nothing left, not a stock nor a bond. The furniture is mortgaged, so is the house; Ellis, through brokers I suppose, has bought me up completely and threatens to turn me out on Monday. He can do it; besides, I owe him fifteen thousand dollars. The girls don't own anything but their clothes and knick-knacks, and Judith's typewriter.
"I don't see any way out of this, and I'm tired of thinking. You two are young and clever; I turn the problem over to you.
"Take care of my girls."
And with these words the Colonel had handed his burden over to others. Tears sprang to Beth's eyes as she understood. It was natural that even so soon his selfishness should force itself to notice. Ah, if men could but guide themselves by the consideration of what will be thought of them after they are gone, how different would be their lives! Not the religion man professes, nor even the love he actually bears, can teach him to overcome caprice or to sink himself in others. Yet since it may be that the punishment after death is to see ourselves as others see us, let us not belabour the poor Colonel with words, but leave him in that purgatory where the mirror of souls will teach self-understanding.
Judith was stunned. The real meaning of her father's statements came upon her like a blow, the room vanished from before her eyes, and she clutched the arm of the sofa where she sat, to keep from falling. The house mortgaged! The furniture pledged! And the great debt besides! The calamity overpowered her.
"Judith!" cried Mather in alarm.