“It was Daisy’s, you know,” he said to Andy, who, at his side, was not looking at the ring, but beyond it, to the two letters, his own and Richard’s, both of which he seized with a low cry, for he, too, was sure of Ethie’s flight.

“See, Dick, there’s one for you and one for me,” he exclaimed, and his face grew very red as he tore open his own note and began to devour the contents, whispering the words, and breaking down entirely amid a storm of sobs and tears as he read: 

“Dear Andy:  I wish I could tell you how much I love you, and how sorry I am to fall in your good opinion, as I surely shall when you hear what has happened.  Do not hate me, Andy; and sometimes, when you pray, remember Ethie, won’t you?”

He could get no farther than this, and with a great cry he buried his face in his hands and sobbed:  “Yes, Ethie, I will, I will; but oh, what is it?  What made you go?  Why did she, Dick?” and he turned to his brother, who, with lightning rapidity, was reading Ethelyn’s long letter.  He did not doubt a word she said, and when the letter was finished he put it passively in Andy’s hand, and then, with a bitter groan, laid his throbbing head upon the cushion of the lounge where he was sitting.  There were no tears in his eyes—­nothing but blood-red circles floating before them; while the aching balls seemed starting from their sockets with the pressure of pain.  He had had his chance with Ethie and lost it; and though, as yet, he saw but dimly where he had been to blame, where he had made a mistake, he endured for the time all he was capable of enduring, and if revenge had been her object, Ethie had more than her desire.

Andy was stunned for a moment, and sat staring blankly at the motionless figure of his brother; then, as the terrible calamity began to impress itself fully upon him, intense pity for Richard became uppermost in his mind, and stooping over the crushed man, he laid his arm across his neck, and, tender as a sorrowing, loving mother, kissed and fondled the damp brown hair, and dropped great tears upon it, and murmured words of sympathy, incoherent at first, for the anguish choking his own utterance, but gradually gathering force and sound as his quivering lips kept trying to articulate:  “Dick, poor old Dick, dear old Dick, don’t keep so still and look so white and stony.  She’ll come back again, Ethie will.  I feel it, I feel it, I know it, I shall pray for her every hour until she comes.  Prayer will reach her where nothing else can find her.  Poor Dick, I am so sorry.  Don’t look at me so; you scare me.  Try to cry; try to make a fuss; try to do anything rather than that dreadful look.  Lay your head on me, so,” and lifting up the bowed head, which offered no resistance, Andy laid it gently on his arm, and smoothing back the hair from the pallid forehead, went on:  “Now cry, old boy, cry with all your might;” and with his hand Andy brushed away the scalding tears which began to fall like rain from Richard’s eyes.