Instead of that, it realized poverty and ruin. The scheme failed--the usual result--and Dr. Raynor found himself responsible for more money than he would ever make in this world. Misfortunes, it has been too often said, do not come singly: Dr. Raynor proved an example of it. Just before the bubble burst, he lost his wife; and the only one element of comfort that came to him in the midst of his bitter grief for her, was to know that she died before the other blow fell. A frightful blow it was, almost prostrating Dr. Raynor. The creditors of the ruthless company took all from him: even to the gold watch upon his person. They sold up his furniture, his books, his carriages and horses, everything; and they told him he might thank their leniency that they did not imprison him until he could pay up the scores of thousands they made out he was responsible for. The fact was, the promoters of the company, and those of its directors who possessed funds, had gone over to the Continent; and there remained only the poor doctor, innocent and honourable, to come upon. Turned out of house and home, his name in the papers, his prospects gone, Dr. Raynor felt he should be glad to die. He did not even attempt to retain his practice, which was a great mistake; his only care was to escape from the scene of his prosperity and hide his humiliated head for ever. His little child, Edina, the only one he had, was five years old; and for her sake he must try and keep a roof over his head and find bread to eat. So he looked out for employment after a time, as far away from London and in as obscure a corner of the land as might be, and obtained it amidst the collieries in North Warwickshire, as assistant to a general practitioner. After remaining there for some years, he heard of an opening at a place in Cornwall. The surgeon of the place, Trennach, an old man, who wanted to retire, chanced to know Dr. Raynor, and wrote to offer him the succession upon very easy terms. It was accepted, and the doctor removed to Trennach. The returns from the practice were very small at first, he found, scarcely enabling him to make way, for it lay almost entirely amongst the poor; but subsequently Dr. Raynor dropped into a better class of practice as well through the death of another surgeon some two or three miles from Trennach. And here, in Trennach, he remained; a sad and silent man ever since the misfortune of his early days; and lived as retired a life as might be. His only care, his constant companion, had been his beloved child, Edina. He had trained her to be all that a woman should be: true, earnest, thoughtful, good. Mrs. Pine, who had no children of her own, had helped him, and been to Edina almost as a second mother. Not many women in this world were like Edina Raynor.