over."

For a wild moment Mrs. Richie thought he meant Mrs. Maitland;
then she remembered. "It was very hard for you," she said
vaguely.

"And Elizabeth's mother," he went on, "my brother Arthur's wife,
left him. He never got over the despair of it. He--killed
himself."

Mrs. Richie's vagueness was all gone. "Mr. Ferguson!"

"She was bad--all through."

"Oh, _no_!" Helena Richie said faintly.

"She left him, for another man. Just as the girl I believed in
left me. I would have doubted my God, Mrs. Richie, before I could
have doubted that girl. And when she jilted me, I suppose I did
doubt Him for a while. At any rate, I doubted everybody else. I
do still, more or less."

Mrs. Richie was silent.

"We two brothers--the same thing happened to both of us! It was
worse for him than for me; I escaped, as you might say, and I
learned a valuable lesson; I have never built on anybody. Life
doesn't play the same trick on me twice. But Arthur was
different. He was of softer stuff. You'd have liked my brother
Arthur. Yes; he was too good to her--that was the trouble. If he