We had fondly hoped we might escort and protect her on the thorny
path of life, as pertinently shown in the drawing,[3] where we are
all three going along, our arms and hands fraternally intertwined and
linked together in perfect symmetry, as if therewith to tie the knot
of friendship and make it fast for ever and a day.

[Footnote 3: See Frontispiece.]

[Illustration: "ON THEIR HONEYMOON."]

But it was not to be. A big wave intervened to separate us, and swept
away all traces of the road before us. Poor Carry! Yes, she had a
story. Sad. Bright. Then sad again. First she gave to Amor what was
Amor's, and then to Hymen what was Hymen's. She tasted of the apple
her friend the serpent had told her so much about. Then--"la femme
à une chute est rare comme le Niagara"--and there are more apples
than one in the Garden of Eden--she tried another; such a bad one
unfortunately. It was a wonder it didn't poison her, body and soul,
but it didn't. There was a moment when the Angel with the flaming
sword threatened to cast her adrift, and it would have fared badly
with her had not a helping hand come to save her. But sound as she
was at the core, and true, she rallied and rose again to new life and
unhoped-for happiness. It was a young doctor who came to the rescue;
a mere boy he seemed to look at; but a man he was in deed and word. He
worked hard and walked fast; he defied convention and challenged fate.
With a stout heart he laboured to raise Carry to the level of his
affections, and with a strong hand he tightened his hold upon her. He
loved her passionately, devotedly, and she, clinging to him as to the
instrument of her salvation, gradually regained her better self, and,