“No. It would have been useless. Besides, the very mention of his name would have been resented. I should have had to fling myself headlong against the feelings of the whole public. And no man has any right to do that.” “No,” said Mrs. Thornton. “No man has. That was another mistake that the martyrs made. They would fling themselves against public opinion.” “All men can not be martyrs. Besides, the cases are not analogous.” Thornton spoke calmly and dispassionately. “True. It is absurd in me; but I admire one who has for a moment forgotten his own interests or safety in thinking of others.” “That does very well for poetry, but not in real life.” “In _real life_, such as that on board the _Tecumseh_?” murmured Mrs. Thornton, with drooping eyelids. “You are getting excited, my dear,” said Thornton, patiently, with the air of a wise father who overlooks the petulance of his child. “I will go on. I had business on the Continent when poor Brandon’s ruin occurred. You were with me, my dear, at Berlin when I heard about it. I felt shocked, but not surprised. I feared that it would come to that.” “You showed no emotion in particular.” “No; I was careful not to trouble you.” “You were in Berlin three months. Was it at the beginning or end of your stay?” “At the beginning.” “And you staid?” “I had business which I could not leave.” “Would you have been ruined if you had left?” “Well, no--not exactly ruined, but it would have entailed serious consequences.” “Would those consequences have been as serious as the _Tecumseh_ tragedy?” “My dear, in business there are rules which a man is not permitted to neglect. There are duties and obligations which are imperative. The code of honor there is as delicate, yet as rigid, as elsewhere.” “And yet there are times when all obligations of this sort are weakened. When friends die, this is recognized. Why should it not be so when they are in danger of a fate worse than death?” Thornton elevated his eyebrows, and made no reply. “You must have heard about it in March, then?” “Yes, at the end of January. His ruin took place in December, 1845. It was the middle of May before I got home. I then, toward the end of the month, sent my clerk to Brandon village to make inquiries. He brought word of the death of Brandon, and the departure of his family to parts unknown.” [Illustration: “THEN, COVERING HER FACE WITH HER HANDS, SHE BURST INTO AN AGONY OF TEARS.”] “Did he make no particular inquiries?” “No.” “And you said not a word to me!” “I was afraid of agitating you, my dear.” “And therefore you have secured for me unending self-reproach.” “Why so? Surely you are blaming yourself without a shadow of a cause.”