"Philip had always loved me. I saw my way. I would ignore the stigma on the family, I would marry Philip and carry what joy I could to him and his mother. My father tried to restrain me. He called me martyr, sacrifice, and all the rest, but I married--and I know I took comfort into poor Mrs. Dale's life, and--I never doubted what I did for Philip. But--" Ruth whispered the horrible secret--"John Dale _took_ the money for--Philip! He never wanted it for himself. He never used one dollar of it. It was Philip who ran the family honour, and his own, into danger--he made it seem to John that to tide him over the critical hour would be to save them all and bring no harm. But he was wrong. The crash came. John never cringed under the blow. To his simple nature the mere act was enough. He did not try to shield himself by one word of explanation--he went away!" Drew's throat and eyes burned. He seemed to know all this like an oft-told tale that still had power to awe and control him. "Then the years of agonized consecration began for Philip. I never knew until a week before his death, but the memory scorches into my soul day by day now. "You see I thought it was love for his brother, and the shame, that had changed Philip--and _that_ endeared him to me. All the lightness and carelessness of manner departed. A great, strong, tenderness took their place. But you know, it was so that he came into your life. He had a wide sympathy and charity, for all--oh! how it drew people to him. But think of his suffering--alone and through all those years! "The money that was John's ruin was the force that brought success to Philip. You see--he could not explain--at least he thought he could not, he was too cowardly--and the knowledge spurred him on. Wealth flowed in and in. He paid, and with interest, all that had been taken. How the world praised him--and how he suffered as they applauded him! He gave great sums to charity--mostly to those charities that mitigate the misery of--the outcasts. Men and women who come under the law. Can you understand?" "Yes! yes!" Drew's head was buried in his thin hands. His voice was full of anguish. "They used to come to him, those sad creatures,--and he never turned them away. I have seen and heard them bless him as they knelt beside him. He helped them so wisely because--oh! because he was--one of them, and they never knew! Then the disease came--the cancer. I think he welcomed it--it was so sure to open the door for him--and I think he even loved the suffering as a kind of expiation. "Never once did a murmur escape him of impatience or regret. It was he who cheered us. It was he who stood by my father's death-bed and comforted him, and strengthened me. Always cheerful, always helpful until--just before he went. When he knew the days were few--when the coward in him--his last enemy--died, he told me everything.