He stopped short, as if he could not go on. Something about his appearance made Shirley’s heart begin to beat fast with apprehension. It must be a very bad trouble indeed which could make Peter act so unlike himself, Peter the strong, the self-reliant. Her mind went back in a flash to the day, weeks before, when he had half promised to give her his confidence in regard to matters which it was evident were bothering him. But he had not looked then in the least like this. It had been merely business care which was heavy on his shoulders at that time. This was trouble, or she did not know the signs. His set face, upon which her welcome had brought no hint of an answering smile, the lines about his mouth, the suggestion of pallor which was already succeeding to the colour which had been the result of the tramp in the rain, all made her sure of her conclusions. "I want to hear," began Shirley, very gently, controlling the anxiety in her voice. Then, suddenly, as a startling thought occurred to her, "Peter, it’s not--Murray--or Jane?--or mother?" "No, no," said Peter, quickly, turning to her. "No, it’s not your trouble, it’s mine--ours. Only the others don’t know it yet. They must n’t know it till it--comes. That’s why I came here. It’ s not right to burden you with it, I ’m afraid. But, somehow I----" Shirley impulsively put out her hand, as if to touch his. He did not see it, and she withdrew it again. She longed to give him comfort in some way. Yet, until the story was told, she could not tell what to do. If only he would tell it quickly. But, plainly, it was hard to tell. He drew a deep breath; then sat up straight, staring into the fire. "There has been a long succession of misfortunes," he began, slowly. "I don’t need to go into those, though I thought them bad enough--until now. Now--if it were nothing worse than those things, if I could just go back to them, I ’d shoulder them all gladly, and not mind. It was property business, all of it--foreclosure of a heavy mortgage threatening Grandfather Bell’s farm, loss of the little money father had got together and put into stocks that have gone to pieces--that sort of thing. It was up to me to straighten it all out--and not much to do it with. And father--he seemed not very well--had two or three queer attacks of illness at the factory during the hot weather. I felt I could n’t worry him with it. He seemed to be getting old--all at once. Finally, yesterday----" Peter paused; then he went on in a lower voice: "Yesterday he had another of those attacks--much worse than before. A man near him sent for me, and I sent for a doctor. The doctor brought him round, but it took some time. To-day I made him go to another doctor--a specialist. He examined father, and told me what it was." Shirley, in a breathless silence, waited.