"Then let me ask what object he had in lending money to your father?"
"Oh, don't you see," she cried, "that only makes it worse? If I—led him on, if on my account father supposed——It all comes back to me. It's my fault, my fault!" She was almost wild.
"But you did not know," he pointed out. "This debt cannot bind you."
"It is all my fault," she repeated.
"What does your sister think?" asked Pease. "What would Mr. Wayne say?" He spoke with the hope of new influence; but Beth dissolved in sudden tears, and holding out her hand, showed her finger bare of its ring and red with the rubbing which all this time she had been giving it, to remove even the mark of Jim's pledge.
"Do not speak of him!" she sobbed.
Judith gathered her in her arms; the men walked into the next room. As Judith sought to comfort unhappy Beth she felt mounting in herself an unknown tenderness. In this crisis all selfishness was impossible, all worldliness was far from her thoughts. Her heart spoke naturally in murmurings, softened the hand which gave the sweet caress, yet lent the strength that held her sister to her breast. It was a blessed minute for them both, for Judith learned new kindness, and Beth found, in place of a reserved sister, one who seemed to have a mother's gentleness. And yet their communion was brief, for the outer door—earlier left unlatched for Beth's return—opened and then shut, steps were heard in the hall, and a voice said inquiringly, "Colonel Blanchard?" It was Ellis!
Judith rose quickly to her feet, dashing the tears from her eyes; Beth also rose, astonished and alarmed. Scarcely had they made an attempt to compose themselves before Ellis appeared in the doorway. He slowly entered.
"Excuse me," he said; "I did not ring because I was afraid you would not receive me. I came to beg your pardon."
"It is granted," Judith answered coldly.