"Tom's a fine boy!" she cried, with eagerness. "He's honest and true, Mr. Forbes—he is, indeed!"
"I think so," said Kenneth.
"If he wasn't my Lucy would never have loved him. He had a bright future before him, sir, and that's why my child went mad when he ruined his life for her sake."
"Was she mad, do you think?" asked Beth, softly.
"She must have been," said the mother, sadly. "Lucy was a sensible girl, and until this thing happened she was as bright and cheerful as the day is long. But she is very sensitive—she inherited that from me, I think—and Tom's action drove her distracted. At first she raved and rambled incoherently, and Will and I feared brain fever would set in. Then she disappeared in the night, without leaving a word or message for us, which was unlike her—and we've never heard a word of her since. The—the river has a strange fascination for people in that condition. At times in my life it has almost drawn me into its depths—and I am not mad. I have never been mad."
"Let us hope for the best, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth. "Somehow, I have an idea this trouble will all turn out well in the end."
"Have you?" asked the woman, earnestly.
"Yes. It all came about through such a little thing—merely an unjust accusation."
"The little things are the ones that ruin lives," she said. "Will you let me tell you something of myself? You have been so kind to us, my dear, that I feel you ought to know."
"I shall be glad to know whatever you care to tell me," said Beth, simply.