Yes, she saw it all; Ralph had come back with a wrecked life--had come home to die!--the man who had gone forth to win a fortune to lay at her feet. How bitterly disappointed he must be! This thought gave an added tenderness to her voice, and made her still more patient. All the night long she watched by his side. Sometimes he slept a little, but when awake lay gloomily staring at the wall. He never uttered a word of tenderness or pleasure at being home. Only once did he refer to the past, and then it was to rip open the old wound. "You've been very successful, Phebe." "Yes; God has greatly helped me." "No doubt; but still it was I who started you. I left you a good business, and in addition"--he had to pause to cough--"and in addition I had trained you well, so, after all, the success is mine as much as yours." How could she contradict him? If he found comfort in this thought would it not be cruel to put forward any doubts? So after a pause she answered: "Yes." "You don't seem very sure about it," with as much "snap" in the words as his breath would allow. "I should not be where I am now, but for you," she answered gently, and that answer seemed to please him. Then in a little while: "I must see the books in the morning. I shall soon be able to pick up the threads. There's a country branch, isn't there?" "Two." "Ah, that's good; I gave you that idea." Another fit of coughing. "I shall soon be all right; it's only an extra cold I've got. I'll soon be able to take the reins, and then----" But he was too weak to finish the sentence. Early in the morning Phebe went to break the news to Jack. He was sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes. She sat down by his side putting her arm round his neck, bringing his sunny head to nestle on her shoulder. "Jack, darling, I've something very particular to tell you." "Have you, mummy? What is it? Has Janie got a sweetheart?" "No, it is something very serious. You must not joke." "Is it?"--lifting his head to look at her. "Are you in trouble? Who's been hurting you?" in his impetuous way. "No one. Jack, your father has come home." "Father!--come home!" in a bewildered voice. "Father come home! I say," and he began to get excited, "I must get up at once. Then he wasn't dead after all?" "Stay a bit, Jack; he is very ill--and very poor." She knew the dreams the lad had cherished, of how his father would return, of the grand treasures he was to bring his boy. "Poor!" he exclaimed; "then why didn't he write and tell you so? Why did he leave us all this time!" "Jack," she answered gently, "I expect it was because he was so disappointed at not finding the fortune," and then she told him all the story of how she had found Ralph. "Has he asked after me?" "No, not yet. You see he is very ill." "Not asked after me! And been here all night!" He was rather glad to have this fresh reason for anger.