“You'll do nothing of the kind, do you hear!--keep still--somebody's coming downstairs. Not a word if it is Corinne. She is carrying now all she can stand up under.” He passed his hand across his face with a quick movement and brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Remember, not a word. I haven't told her everything. I tried to, but I couldn't.” “Tell her now, Garry,” cried Jack. “Now--to-night,” his voice rising on the last word. “Before you close your eyes. You never needed her help as you do now.” “I can't--it would break her heart. Keep still!--that's her step.” Corinne entered the room slowly and walked to Garry's chair. “Baby's asleep now,” she said in a subdued voice, “and I'm going to take you to bed. You won't mind, Jack, will you? Come, dear,” and she slipped her hand under his arm to lift him from his chair. Garry rose from his seat. “All right,” he answered assuming his old cheerful tone, “I'll go. I AM tired, I guess, Cory, and bed's the best place for me. Good-night, old man,--give my love to Ruth,” and he followed his wife out of the room. Jack waited until the two had turned to mount the stairs, caught a significant flash from Garry's dark eyes as a further reminder of his silence, and, opening the front door, closed it softly behind him. Ruth was waiting for him. She had been walking the floor during the last half hour peering out now and then into the dark, with ears wide open for his step. “I was so worried, my precious,” she cried, drawing his cheek down to her lips. “You stayed so long. Is it very dreadful?” Jack put his arm around her, led her into the sitting-room and shut the door. Then the two settled beside each other on the sofa. “Pretty bad,--my darling--” Jack answered at last,--“very bad, really.” “Has he been drinking?” “Worse,--he has been dabbling in Wall Street and may lose every cent he has.” Ruth leaned her head on her hand: “I was afraid it was something awful from the way Corinne spoke. Oh, poor dear,--I'm so sorry! Does she know now?” “She knows he's in trouble, but she doesn't know how bad it is. I begged him to tell her, but he wouldn't promise. He's afraid of hurting her--afraid to trust her, I think, with his sufferings. He's making an awful mistake, but I could not move him. He might listen to you if you tried.” “But he must tell her, Jack,” Ruth cried in an indignant tone. “It is not fair to her; it is not fair to any woman,--and it is not kind. Corinne is not a child any longer;--she's a grown woman, and a mother. How can she help him unless she knows? Jack, dear, look into my eyes;” her face was raised to his;--“Promise me, my darling, that no matter what happens to you you'll tell me first.” And Jack promised. CHAPTER XXVII