"You had no intention to do wrong, my poor boy, I know it, but no one will believe that but your mother. It’s my fault too in some way, I suppose." The agonized mother’s consciousness of failure in shaping her child’s character broke from her. "I’d willingly take the blame on my shoulders if I could." He held her hands tighter. She knelt beside him. "Let’s see. No one has had anything to do with the Fund except you, Chiswick, and Jim"—-the thought of Jim brought reassurance. Jim perhaps could help them in some way to evade discovery. "Jim—Jim," she reiterated. Henry answered her unspoken thought. "Jim and I quarrelled last night." "Quarrelled—about what?" "Diana." "Diana?" "They were spooning last night—I caught them. He loves Di"—and under his breath he cursed him. She hardly heard the last words. Jim loved Diana—her resolve was formed. She must see Jim. "Henry, try to control yourself and return to our guests. Let no one leave this afternoon under the impression that you are in trouble." "Why—" he began to expostulate—but she had already left the prayer-closet and was pulling the faded bell-rope in the library. A servant quickly answered. "Tell Captain Wynnegate that I wish to speak to him here." Quietly she commanded Henry, "Leave this to me." At first he was inclined to refuse; then touched by her supreme devotion, and partly because he dreaded an interview with Jim, he agreed to return to the garden. "You’ve pulled me out of many a scrape, mother," he said, as he drew her close to him. "God—if you gain time for me in this"—with the words, hope began to revive. "Go," she only answered as she pointed him to his duty. Furtively, from behind the curtains, she watched him join the Bishop. She dreaded to lose sight of him; the awful vision was ever before her. Her mind swung chaotically from her fear of the previous night to the salvation that must be gained for Henry. Could Jim help? What if all that remained of the estate were to be sold, and Jim were willing to give what he could—what if the years that followed were bereft of all save honor! Why should she not attempt this? But even as she reasoned she knew it was useless; all save the entailed portions of Henry’s inheritance were involved. She heard Jim’s step ringing along the corridor. "Bates says you want me, Aunt." As Jim stood before her, his face, with the purple shadows under his eyes and its grim resoluteness, told her much. Yes—he loved Diana. Her keen eyes, that took in every phase of the boy’s nature and every expression of his face, could easily see the desperate marks which the struggle of the night had left upon him. "Jim, Henry tells me that you have quarrelled; but for the moment we must forget all personal differences. We are face to face with a crisis which affects us all; you alone can help us to save the family from dishonor."