Shivering with horror the family gathered in the beautiful room which had been so suddenly turned into a death chamber, the servants weeping boisterously, Isabella and her mother in violent hysterics, and Marion clinging with wide, frightened eyes to Louis, who found himself thrust into a man’s place of responsibility and did not know what to do!

He sent one servant to the Hospital for Evadne—­instinctively he turned in his thought to her,—­another for the Doctor; while with one arm around Marion, he tried to sooth his mother and Isabelle.

And in the midst of all the wild commotion his father sat, unmoved and silent, his agonized face lifted in an attitude of supplication, his lifeless hands lying heavily upon the now worthless papers, since for him there would be no to-morrow!

* * * * *

The stately obsequies were ended.  The paid quartette had sung their sweetest, while Doctor Jerome, standing beside the frozen face in the massive coffin, had delivered an eloquent eulogium, and Mrs. Hildreth, clad in her costly robes of mourning, had been led to her carriage by her son.  Everything had been conducted in a manner befitting the Hildreth honor.

* * * * *

“Evadne!” Louis turned a white, scared face towards his cousin, who stood beside him as he sat at his father’s desk.  Upstairs Mrs. Hildreth and Isabelle were in solemn consultation with a dressmaker.  In the drawing-room Marion was being consoled by Simpson Kennard.

“Well, Louis?” She laid her hand on his shoulder gently.  She was very sorry for him.

“There is some awful mistake.  Poor Father seems to have counted on funds which we can find no trace of.  The estate is not worth an eighth of what he valued it at.  There is barely enough to keep you, mother and Isabelle, alive!” He laid his head down on the desk while great tears fell through his fingers.  The shameful mystery of it was intolerable.

“But, Louis, have you looked everywhere?  There must be some explanation—­”

Louis shook his head.  “Everywhere, but in this drawer.  I opened it but there is nothing but musty old letters.  I haven’t time to go into them now.  Oh, little coz, I don’t dare to look you in the face.  All the money that was left you by your father is gone!”

“Don’t tell Aunt Kate and the girls, Louis, There is no need that they should ever know.  I have my profession and I am strong.  Uncle Lawrence never meant to do anything except what was right, I know.”

Louis looked up at her and there was a strange reverence in his cynical face.  He was in the presence of a Christliness which he had never dreamed of.  “I am not worthy to touch the hem of your garment,” he said humbly.  But he did not offer to release her from her promise.  He had not learned to be generous—­yet.