For one moment Jean stood still, paralysed with horror; at the next the blood raced through her veins, and her heart swelled within her in an anguish of love and longing. In the history of the last eight years Jean had invariably been the one to need pity and help; Robert, the one to strengthen and console. She had suffered, and he had ministered; she had despaired, and he had consoled; she had repined, and he had gallantly borne her burden as well as his own. Until this moment his strength had made no demand on her weakness. But now, now it had come. He was in trouble--her Robert--in desperate, aching need, and Jean's whole being rushed out towards him in a passion of love and longing. Dropping her skirts, she skimmed down the stairway, scarcely seeming to touch the ground, so light and swift were her steps. Out of her white face her eyes gleamed with unnatural light. There was something almost tigerish in the flame of Jean's love at that moment. Some one had been cruel to her mate, her man. She must fly to the rescue--hold him safe in her arms. "Robert! What is it?" The vacant eyes looked into hers, those clear, brown eyes, which more than any other eyes she had ever seen were the windows 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."