“You are very welcome.  Will you please find seats?  My affliction renders me helpless, as you may see.”

“We are very comfortable, I assure you, Mrs. Rogers,” said Beth.  “We have come to ask if you have heard anything of your daughter.”

“Not a word as yet, Miss DeGraf, Will is out with the horse and buggy doing his best to get information.  But Lucy has been gone so long now that I realize it will be difficult to find her, if, indeed, the poor girl has not—­is not—­”

Her voice broke.

“Oh, you don’t fear that, do you, Mrs. Rogers?” asked Beth, quickly.

“I fear anything—­everything!” wailed the poor creature, the tears streaming from between her closed lids.  “My darling was frantic with grief, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation and disgrace of her position.  Will told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course.  But it wasn’t so bad, Mrs. Rogers; it wasn’t a desperate condition, by any means.”

“With poor Tom in prison for years—­and just for trying to help her.”

“Tom isn’t in prison, you know, any more,” said Beth quietly.  “He has been released.”

“Released!  When?”

“Last evening.  His fault has been forgiven, and he is now free.”

The woman sat silent for a time.  Then she asked: 

“You have done this, Mr. Forbes?”

“Why, Miss DeGraf and I assisted, perhaps.  The young man is not really bad, and—­”

“Tom’s a fine boy!” she cried, with eagerness.  “He’s honest and true, Mr. Forbes—­he is, indeed!”

“I think so,” said Kenneth.

“If he wasn’t my Lucy would never have loved him.  He had a bright future before him, sir, and that’s why my child went mad when he ruined his life for her sake.”

“Was she mad, do you think?” asked Beth, softly.

“She must have been,” said the mother, sadly.  “Lucy was a sensible girl, and until this thing happened she was as bright and cheerful as the day is long.  But she is very sensitive—­she inherited that from me, I think—­and Tom’s action drove her distracted.  At first she raved and rambled incoherently, and Will and I feared brain fever would set in.  Then she disappeared in the night, without leaving a word or message for us, which was unlike her—­and we’ve never heard a word of her since.  The—­the river has a strange fascination for people in that condition.  At times in my life it has almost drawn me into its depths—­and I am not mad.  I have never been mad.”

“Let us hope for the best, Mrs. Rogers,” said Beth.  “Somehow, I have an idea this trouble will all turn out well in the end.”

“Have you?” asked the woman, earnestly.

“Yes.  It all came about through such a little thing—­merely an unjust accusation.”

“The little things are the ones that ruin lives,” she said.  “Will you let me tell you something of myself?  You have been so kind to us, my dear, that I feel you ought to know.”