WITHOUT A HOME

E. P. ROE

ILLUSTRATED

PREFACE

Just ten years ago I took my first hesitating and dubious stepstoward authorship. My reception on the part of the public has beenso much kinder than I expected, and the audience that has listenedto my stories with each successive autumn has been so steadfast andloyal, that I can scarcely be blamed for entertaining a warm andgrowing regard for these unseen, unknown friends. Toward indifferentstrangers we maintain a natural reticence, but as acquaintanceripens into friendship there is a mutual impulse toward an exchangeof confidences. In the many kind letters received I have gratefullyrecognized this impulse in my readers, and am tempted by theirinterest to be a little garrulous concerning my literary life, thecauses which led to it, and the methods of my work. Those who areindifferent can easily skip these preliminary pages, and those whoare learning to care a little for the personality of him who hascome to them so often with the kindling of the autumn fires mayfind some satisfaction in learning why he comes, and the motive, the spirit with which, in a sense, he ventures to be present attheir hearths. 

One of the advantages of authorship is criticism; and I have neverhad reason to complain of its absence. My only regret is that Ihave not been able to make better use of it. I admit that both thepraise and blame have been rather bewildering, but this confusionis undoubtedly due to a lack of the critical faculty. With one acutegentleman, however, who remarked that it "was difficult to accountfor the popularity of Mr. Roe's books, " I am in hearty accord. Ifully share in his surprise and perplexity. It may be that we atlast have an instance of an effect without a cause. 

Ten years ago I had never written a line of a story, and hadscarcely entertained the thought of constructing one. The burningof Chicago impressed me powerfully, and obedient to an impulse Ispent several days among its smoking ruins. As a result, my firstnovel, "Barriers Burned Away, " gradually took possession of my mind. I did not manufacture the story at all, for it grew as naturallyas do the plants--weeds, some may suggest--on my farm. In theintervals of a busy and practical life, and also when I ought tohave been sleeping, my imagination, unspurred, and almost undirected, spun the warp and woof of the tale, and wove them together. At firstI supposed it would be but a brief story, which might speedily findits way into my own waste-basket, and I was on the point of burningit more than once. One wintry afternoon I read the few chapters thenwritten to a friend in whose literary taste I had much confidence, and had her verdict been adverse they probably would have perishedas surely as a callow germ exposed to the bitter storm then ragingwithout. I am not sure, however, but that the impulse to write wouldhave carried me forward, and that I would have found ample returnfor all the labor in the free play of my fancy, even though editorsand publishers scoffed at the result. 

On a subsequent winter afternoon the incipient story passed throughanother peril. In the office of "The New York Evangelist" I readthe first eight chapters of my blotted manuscript to Dr. Fieldand his associate editor, Mr. J. H. Dey. This fragment was all thatthen existed, and as I stumbled through my rather blind chirographyI often looked askance at the glowing grate, fearing lest my friendsin kindness would suggest that I should drop the crude productionon the coals, where it could do neither me nor any one else furtherharm, and then go out into the world once more clothed in my rightmind. A heavy responsibility rests on the gentlemen named, for theyasked me to leave the manuscript for serial issue. From that hourI suppose I should date the beginning of my life of authorship. The story grew from eight into fifty-two chapters, and ran justone year in the paper, my manuscript often being ready but a fewpages in advance of publication. I wrote no outline for my guidance;I merely let the characters do as they pleased, and work out theirown destiny. I had no preparation for my work beyond a carefulstudy of the topography of Chicago and the incidents of the fire. For nearly a year my chief recreation was to dwell apart among theshadows created by my fancy, and I wrote when and where I could--onsteamboats and railroad cars, as well as in my study. In spite ofmy fears the serial found readers, and at last I obtained a publisher. When the book appeared I suppose I looked upon it much as a youngfather looks upon his first child. His interest in it is intense, but he knows well that its future is very doubtful. 

It appears to me, however, that the true impulse toward authorshipdoes not arise from a desire to please any one, but rather from astrong consciousness of something definite to say, whether peoplewill listen or not. I can honestly assert that I have nevermanufactured a novel, and should I do so I am sure it would beso wooden and lifeless that no one would read it. My stories havecome with scarcely any volition on my part, and their characterscontrol me. If I should move them about like images they would bebut images. In every book they often acted in a manner just theopposite from that which I had planned. Moreover, there are unwrittenstories in my mind, the characters of which are becoming almostas real as the people I meet daily. While composing narratives Iforget everything and live in an ideal world, which neverthelessis real for the time. The fortunes of the characters affect medeeply, and I truly believe that only as I feel strongly will thereader be interested. A book, like a bullet, can go only as far asthe projecting force carries it. 

The final tests of all literary and art work are an intelligentpublic and time. We may hope, dream, and claim what we please, but these two tribunals will settle all values; therefore the onlything for an author or artist to do is to express his own individualityclearly and honestly, and submit patiently and deferentially tothese tests. In nature the lichen has its place as truly as theoak. 

I will say but a few words in regard to the story contained in thisvolume. It was announced two years ago, but I found that I couldnot complete it satisfactorily. In its present form it has beenalmost wholly recast, and much broadened in its scope. It touchesupon several modern and very difficult problems. I have not in theremotest degree attempted to solve them, but rather have soughtto direct attention to them. In our society public opinion isexceedingly powerful. It is the torrent that sweeps away obstructingevils. The cleansing tide is composed originally of many rills andstreamlets, and it is my hope that this volume may add a little tothat which at last is irresistible. 

I can say with sincerity that I have made my studies carefully andpatiently, and when dealing with practical phases of city life Ihave evolved very little from my own inner consciousness. I havevisited scores of typical tenements; I have sat day after day on thebench with the police judges, and have visited the station-housesrepeatedly. There are few large retail shops that I have notentered many times, and I have conversed with both the employersand employes. It is a shameful fact that, in the face of a plainstatute forbidding the barbarous regulation, saleswomen are stillcompelled to stand continuously in many of the stores. On theintensely hot day when our murdered President was brought fromWashington to the sea-side, I found many girls standing wearilyand uselessly because of this inhuman rule. There was no provisionfor their occasional rest. Not for a thousand dollars would I haveincurred the risk and torture of standing through that sultry day. There are plenty of shops in the city which are now managed onthe principles of humanity, and such patronage should be given tothese and withdrawn from the others as would teach the proprietorsthat women are entitled to a little of the consideration that is sojustly associated with the work of the Society for the Preventionof Cruelty to Animals. Mr. Bergh deserves praise for protectingeven a cat from cruelty; but all the cats in the city unitedlycould not suffer as much as the slight growing girl who must standduring a long hot day. I trust the reader will note carefully theAppendix at the close of this book. 

It will soon be discovered that the modern opium or morphia habithas a large place in this volume. While I have tried to avoid thestyle of a medical treatise, which would be in poor taste in a workof fiction, I have carefully consulted the best medical works andauthorities on the subject, and I have conversed with many opiumslaves in all stages of the habit. I am sure I am right in fearingthat in the morphia hunger and consumption one of the greatestevils of the future is looming darkly above the horizon of society. Warnings against this poison of body and soul cannot be too solemnor too strong. 

So many have aided me in the collection of my material that anymention of names may appear almost invidious; but as the readerwill naturally think that the varied phases of the opium habit areremote from my experience, I will say that I have been guided inmy words by trustworthy physicians like Drs. E. P. Fowler, of NewYork; Louis Seaman, chief of staff at the Charity Hospital; Wm. H. Vail, and many others. I have also read such parts of my MS. As touched on this subject to Dr. H. K. Kane, the author of twoworks on the morphia habit. 

This novel appeared as a serial in the "Congregationalist" of Boston, and my acknowledgments are due to the editors and publishers ofthis journal for their confidence in taking the story before itwas written and for their uniform courtesy. 

I can truly say that I have bestowed more labor on this book thanupon any which have preceded it; for the favor accorded me by thepublic imposes the strongest obligation to be conscientious in mywork. 

CONTENTS

I. ONE GIRL'S IDEAL OF LIFE

II. WEAKNESS

III. CONFIDENTIAL

IV. "PITILESS WAVES"

V. THE RUDIMENTS OF A MAN

VI. ROGER DISCOVERS A NEW TYPE

VII. COMPARISONS

VIII. CHANGES

IX. NEITHER BOY NOR MAN

X. A COUNCIL

XI. A SHADOW

XII. VIEWLESS FETTERS

XIII. A SCENE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS

XIV. THE OLD MANSION

XV. "WELCOME HOME"

XVI. BELLE AND MILDRED

XVII. BELLE LAUNCHES HERSELF

XVIII. "I BELIEVE IN YOU"

XIX. BELLE JARS THE "SYSTEM"

XX. SEVERAL QUIET FORCES AT WORK

XXI. "HE'S A MAN"

XXII. SKILLED LABOR

XXIII. THE OLD ASTRONOMER

XXIV. ROGER REAPPEARS

XXV. THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS

XXVI. WAXING AND WANING MANHOOD

XXVII. A SLAVE

XXVIII. NEW YORK'S HUMANITY

XXIX. THE BEATITUDES OF OPIUM

XXX. THE SECRET VICE REVEALED

XXXI. AN OPIUM MANIAC'S CHRISTMAS

XXXII. A BLACK CONSPIRACY

XXXIII. MILDRED IN A PRISON CELL

XXXIV. "A WISE JUDGE"

XXXV. "I AM SO PERPLEXED"

XXXVI. A WOMAN'S HEART

XXXVII. STRONG TEMPTATION

XXXVIII. NO "DARK CORNERS"

XXXIX. "HOME, SWEET HOME"

XL. NEIGHBORS

XLI. GLINTS OF SUNSHINE

XLII. HOPES GIVEN AND SLAIN

XLIII. WAS BELLE MURDERED

XLIV. THE FINAL CONSOLATIONS OF OPIUM

XLV. MOTHER AND SON

XLVI. A FATAL ERROR

XLVII. LIGHT AT EVENTIDE

XLVIII. "GOOD ANGEL OF GOD"

XLIX. HOME

APPENDIX

WITHOUT A HOME

CHAPTER I

ONE GIRL'S IDEAL OF LIFE

It was an attractive picture that Martin Jocelyn looked uponthrough the open doorway of his parlor. His lively daughter Bellehad invited half a score of her schoolmates to spend the evening, and a few privileged brothers had been permitted to come also. Theyoung people were naturally selecting those dances which had someof the characteristics of a romp, for they were at an age whenmotion means enjoyment. 

Miss Belle, eager and mettlesome, stood waiting for music thatcould scarcely be lighter or more devoid of moral quality than herown immature heart. Life, at that time, had for her but one greatdesideratum--fun; and with her especial favorites about her, witha careful selection of "nice brothers, " canvassed with many prosand cons over neglected French exercises, she had the promiseof plenty of it for a long evening, and her dark eyes glowed andcheeks flamed at the prospect. Impatiently tapping the floor withher foot, she looked toward her sister, who was seated at the piano. 

Mildred Jocelyn knew that all were waiting for her; she instinctivelyfelt the impatience she did not see, and yet could not resistlistening to some honeyed nonsense that her "friend" was saying. Ostensibly, Vinton Arnold was at her side to turn the leaves ofthe music, but in reality to feast his eyes on beauty which dailybound him in stronger chains of fascination. Her head drooped underhis words, but only as the flowers bend under the dew and rain thatgive them life. His passing compliment was a trifle, but it seemedlike the delicate touch to which the subtle electric currentresponds. From a credulous, joyous heart a crimson tide welled upinto her face and neck; she could not repress a smile, though shebowed her head in girlish shame to hide it. Then, as if the light, gay music before her had become the natural expression of her mood, she struck into it with a brilliancy and life that gave even Bellecontent. 

Arnold saw the pleasure his remark had given, and surmised thereason why the effect was so much greater than the apparent cause. For a moment an answering glow lighted up his pale face, and then, as if remembering something, he sighed deeply; but in the merrylife which now filled the apartments a sigh stood little chance ofrecognition. 

The sigh of the master of the house, however, was so deep and hisface so clouded with care and anxiety as he turned from it all, that his wife, who at that moment met him, was compelled to notethat something was amiss. 

"Martin, what is it?" she asked. 

He looked for a moment into her troubled blue eyes, and noted howfair, delicate, and girlish she still appeared in her evening dress. He knew also that the delicacy and refinement of feature were butthe reflex of her nature, and, for the first time in his life, hewished that she were a strong, coarse woman. 

"No matter, Fanny, to-night. See that the youngsters have a goodtime, " and he passed hastily out. 

"He's worrying about those stupid business matters again, " shesaid, and the thought seemed to give much relief. 

Business matters were masculine, and she was essentially feminine. Her world was as far removed from finance as her laces from theiron in which her husband dealt. 

A little boy of four years of age and a little girl of six, whosetiny form was draped in such gossamer-like fabrics that she seemedmore fairy-like than human, were pulling at her dress, eager to enterthe mirth-resounding parlors, but afraid to leave her shelteringwing. Mrs. Jocelyn watched the scene from the doorway, where herhusband had stood, without his sigh. Her motherly heart sympathizedwith Belle's abounding life and fun, and her maternal pridewas assured by the budding promise of a beauty which would shinepre-eminent when the school-girl should become a belle in verytruth. 

But her eyes rested on Mildred with wistful tenderness. Her ownexperience enabled her to interpret her daughter's manner, and tounderstand the ebb and flow of feeling whose cause, as yet, wasscarcely recognized by the young girl. 

The geniality of Mrs. Jocelyn's smile might well assure VintonArnold that she welcomed his presence at her daughter's side, andyet, for some reason, the frank, cordial greeting in the lady'seyes and manner made him sigh again. He evidently harbored a memoryor a thought that did not accord with the scene or the occasion. Whatever it was it did not prevent him from enjoying to the utmostthe pleasure he ever found in the presence of Mildred. In contrastwith Belle she had her mother's fairness and delicacy of feature, and her blue eyes were not designed to express the exultationand pride of one of society's flattered favorites. Indeed it wasalready evident that a glance from Arnold was worth more than theworld's homage. And yet it was comically pathetic--as it ever is--tosee how the girl tried to hide the "abundance of her heart. "

"Millie is myself right over again, " thought Mrs. Jocelyn; "hardlyin society before in a fair way to be out of it. Beaux in generalhave few attractions for her. Belle, however, will lead the youngmen a chase. If I'm any judge, Mr. Arnold's symptoms are becomingserious. He's just the one of all the world for Millie, and couldgive her the home which her style of beauty requires--a home inwhich not a common or coarse thing would be visible, but all asdainty as herself. How I would like to furnish her house! But Martinalways thinks he's so poor. "

Mrs. Jocelyn soon left the parlor to complete her arrangements foran elegant little supper, and she complacently felt that, whatevermight be the tribulations of the great iron firm down town, her smalldomain was serene with present happiness and bright with promise. 

While the vigorous appetites of the growing boys and girls weredisposing of the supper, Arnold and Mildred rather neglected theirplates, finding ambrosia in each other's eyes, words, and evenintonations. Now that they had the deserted parlor to themselves, Mildred seemed under less constraint. 

"It was very nice of you, " she said, "to come and help me entertainBelle's friends, especially when they are all so young. "

"Yes, " he replied. "I am a happy monument of self-sacrifice. "

"But not a brazen one, " she added quickly. 

"No, nor a bronze one, either, " he said, and a sudden gloom gatheredin his large dark eyes. 

She had always admired the pallor of his face. "It set off hissuperb brown eyes and heavy mustache so finely, " she was accustomedto say. But this evening for some reason she wished that there wasa little more bronze on his cheek and decision in his manner. Hisaristocratic pallor was a trifle too great, and he seemed a littlefrail to satisfy even her ideal of manhood. 

She said, in gentle solicitude, "You do not look well this spring. I fear you are not very strong. "

He glanced at her quickly, but in her kindly blue eyes and in everyline of her lovely face he saw only friendly regard--perhaps more, for her features were not designed for disguises. After a momenthe replied, with a quiet bitterness which both pained and mystifiedher:

"You are right. I am not strong. "

"But summer is near, " she resumed earnestly. "You will soon go tothe country, and will bring back this fall bronze in plenty, andthe strength of bronze. Mother says we shall go to Saratoga. Thatis one of your favorite haunts, I believe, so I shall have thepleasure, perhaps, of drinking 'your very good health' some brightmorning before breakfast. Which is your favorite spring?"

"I do not know. I will decide after I have learned your choice. "

"That's an amiable weakness. I think I shall like Saratoga. Thegreat hotels contain all one wishes for amusement. Then everythingabout town is so nice, pretty, and sociable. The shops, also, are fine. Too often we have spent our summers in places that werea trifle dreary. Mountains oppress me with a sense of littleness, and their wildness frightens me. The ocean is worse still. Themoment I am alone with it, such a lonely, desolate feeling creepsover me--oh, I can't tell you! I fear you think I am silly andfrivolous. You think I ought to be inspired by the shaggy mountainsand wild waves and all that. Well, you may think so--I won'ttell fibs. I don't think mother is frivolous, and she feels as Ido. We are from the South, and like things that are warm, bright, and sociable. The ocean always seemed to me so large and cold andpitiless--to care so little for those in its power. "

"In that respect it's like the world, or rather the people in it--"

"Oh, no, no!" she interrupted eagerly; "it is to the world ofpeople I am glad to escape from these solitudes of nature. As Isaid, the latter, with their vastness, power, and, worse than all, their indifference, oppress me, and make me shiver with a vaguedread. I once saw a ship beaten to pieces by the waves in a storm. It was on the coast near where we were spending the summer. Someof the people on the vessel were drowned, and their cries ring inmy ears to this day. Oh, it was piteous to see them reaching outtheir hands, but the great merciless waves would not stop a moment, even when a little time would have given the lifeboats a chance tosave the poor creatures. The breakers just struck and pounded theship until it broke into pieces, and then tossed the lifeless bodyand broken wood on the shore as if one were of no more value thanthe other. I can't think of it without shuddering, and I've hatedthe sea ever since, and never wish to go near it again. "

"You have unconsciously described this Christian city, " said Arnold, with a short laugh. 

"What a cynic you are to-night! You condemn all the world, andfind fault even with yourself--a rare thing in cynics, I imagine. As a rule they are right, and the universe wrong. "

"I have not found any fault with you, " he said, in a tone that causedher long eyelashes to veil the pleasure she could not wholly conceal. 

"I hope the self-constraint imposed by your courtesy is nottoo severe for comfort. I also understand the little fiction ofexcepting present company. But I cannot help remembering that I ama wee bit of the world and very worldly; that is, I am very fondof the world and all its pretty follies. I like nice people muchbetter than savage mountains and heartless waves. "

"And yet you are not what I should call a society girl, Miss Millie. "

"I'm glad you think so. I've no wish to win that character. Fashionable society seems to me like the sea, as restless andunreasoning, always on the go, and yet never going anywhere. I knowlots of girls who go here and there and do this and that with themonotony with which the waves roll in and out. Half the time theyact contrary to their wishes and feelings, but they imagine it thething to do, and they do it till they are tired and bored half todeath. "

"What, then, is your ideal of life?"

Her head drooped a little lower, and the tell-tale color would comeas she replied hesitatingly, and with a slight deprecatory laugh:

"Well, I can't say I've thought it out very definitely. Plenty ofreal friends seem to me better than the world's stare, even thoughthere's a trace of admiration in it Then, again, you men so monopolizethe world that there is not much left for us poor women to do; butI have imagined that to create a lovely home, and to gather in itall the beauty within one's reach, and just the people one best liked, would be a very congenial life-work for some women. That is whatmother is doing for us, and she seems very happy and contented--muchmore so than those ladies who seek their pleasures beyond theirhomes. You see I use my eyes, Mr. Arnold, even if I am not antiquatedenough to be wise. "

His look had grown so wistful and intent that she could not meetit, but averted her face as she spoke. Suddenly he sprang up, andtook her hand with a pressure all too strong for the "friend" shecalled him, as he said:

"Miss Millie, you are one of a thousand. Good-night. "

For a few moments she sat where he left her. What did he mean?Had she revealed her heart too plainly? His manner surely had beenunmistakable, and no woman could have doubted the language of hiseyes. 

"But some constraint, " she sighed, "ties his tongue. "

The more she thought it over, however--and what young girl doesnot live over such interviews a hundred times--the more convincedshe became that her favorite among the many who sought her favorgave as much to her as she to him; and she was shrewd enoughto understand that the nearer two people exchange evenly in thesematters the better it is for both. Her last thought that night was, "To make a home for him would be happiness indeed. How much lifepromises me!"

CHAPTER II

WEAKNESS

Vinton Arnold's walk down Fifth Avenue was so rapid as to indicatestrong perturbation. At last he entered a large house of square, heavy architecture, a creation evidently of solid wealth in theearlier days of the thoroughfare's history. There was somethingin his step as he crossed the marble hall to the hat-rack and thenwent up the stairway that caused his mother to pass quickly fromher sitting-room that she might intercept him. After a moment'sscrutiny she said, in a low, hard tone:

"You have spent the evening with Miss Jocelyn again. "

He made no reply. 

"Are you a man of honor?"

His pallid face crimsoned instantly, and his hands clenched withrepressed feeling, but he still remained silent. Neither did heappear to have the power to meet his mother's cold, penetratingglance. 

"It would seem, " she resumed, in the same quiet, incisive tone, "that my former suggestions have been unheeded. I fear that I mustspeak more plainly. You will please come with me for a few moments. "

With evident reluctance he followed her to a small apartment, furnishedrichly, but with the taste and elegance of a past generation. He hadbecome very pale again, but his face wore the impress of pain andirresolution rather than of sullen defiance or of manly independence. The hardness of the gold that had been accumulating in the familyfor generations had seemingly permeated the mother's heart, for theexpression of her son's face softened neither her tone nor manner. And yet not for a moment could she be made to think of herselfas cruel, or even stern. She was simply firm and sensible in theperformance of her duty. She was but maintaining the traditionalpolicy of the family, and was conscious that society would thoroughlyapprove of her course. Chief of all, she sincerely believed thatshe was promoting her son's welfare, but she had not Mrs. Jocelyn'sgentle ways of manifesting solicitude. 

After a moment of oppressive silence, she began:

"Perhaps I can best present this issue in its true light by againasking, Are you a man of honor?"

"Is it dishonorable, " answered her son irritably, "to love a pure, good girl?"

"No, " said his mother, in the same quiet, measured voice; "but itmay be very great folly and a useless waste. It is dishonorable, however, to inspire false hopes in a girl's heart, no matter whoshe is. It is weak and dishonorable to hover around a pretty facelike a poor moth that singes its wings. "

In sudden, passionate appeal, he exclaimed, "If I can win MissJocelyn, why cannot I marry her? She is as good as she is beautiful. If you knew her as I do you would be proud to call her your daughter. They live very prettily, even elegantly--"

By a simple, deprecatory gesture Mrs. Arnold made her son feel thatit was useless to add another word. 

"Vinton, " she said, "a little reason in these matters is betterthan an indefinite amount of sentimental nonsense. You are nowold enough to be swayed by reason, and not to fume and fret afterthe impossible like a child. Neither your father nor I have actedhastily in this matter. It was a great trial to discover thatyou had allowed your fancy to become entangled below the circlein which it is your privilege to move, and I am thankful that myother children have been more considerate. In a quiet, unobtrusiveway we have taken pains to learn all about the Jocelyns. They arecomparative strangers in the city. Mr. Jocelyn is merely a juniorpartner in a large iron firm, and from all your father says I fearhe has lived too elegantly for his means. That matter will soonbe tested, however, for his firm is in trouble and will probablyhave to suspend. With your health, and in the face of the fiercecompetition in this city, are you able to marry and support apenniless girl? If, on the contrary, you propose to support a wifeon the property that now belongs to your father and myself, ourwishes should have some weight. I tell you frankly that our means, though large, are not sufficient to make you all independent andmaintain the style to which you have been accustomed. With yourfrail health and need of exemption from care and toil, you mustmarry wealth. Your father is well satisfied that whoever allieshimself to this Jocelyn family may soon have them all on his handsto support. We decline the risk of burdening ourselves with theseunknown, uncongenial people. Is there anything unreasonable in that?Because you are fascinated by a pretty face, of which there arethousands in this city, must we be forced into intimate associationswith people that are wholly distasteful to us? This would be apoor return for having shielded you so carefully through years ofill health and feebleness. "

The young man's head drooped lower and lower as his mother spoke, and his whole air was one of utter despondency. She waited for hisreply, but for a few moments he did not speak. Suddenly he lookedup, with a reckless, characteristic laugh, and said:

"The Spartans were right in destroying the feeble children. SinceI am under such obligations, I cannot resist your logic, and Iadmit that it would be poor taste on my part to ask you to supportfor me a wife not of your choosing. "

"'Good taste' at least should have prevented such a remark. You canchoose for yourself from a score of fine girls of your own stationin rank and wealth. "

"Pardon me, but I would rather not inflict my weakness on any ofthe score. "

"But you would inflict it on one weak in social position and withoutany means of support. "

"She is the one girl that I have met with who seemed both gentleand strong, and whose tastes harmonize with my own. But you don'tknow her, and never will. You have only learned external facts aboutthe Jocelyns, and out of your prejudices have created a family ofunderbred people that does not exist. Their crime of comparativepoverty I cannot dispute. I have not made the prudential inquirieswhich you and father have gone into so carefully. But your logicis inexorable. As you suggest, I could not earn enough myself toprovide a wife with hairpins. The slight considerations of happiness, and the fact that Miss Jocelyn might aid me in becoming somethingmore than a shadow among men, are not to be urged against the solidreasons you have named. "

"Young people always give a tragic aspect to these crude passingfancies. I have known 'blighted happiness' to bud and blossom againso often that you must pardon me if I act rather on the ground ofexperience and good sense. An unsuitable alliance may bring briefgratification and pleasure, but never happiness, never lasting andsolid content. "

"Well, mother, I am not strong enough to argue with you, either inthe abstract or as to these 'wise saws' which so mangle my wretchedself, " and with the air of one exhausted and defeated he languidlywent to his room. 

Mrs. Arnold frowned as she muttered, "He makes no promise to ceasevisiting the girl. " After a moment she added, even more bitterly, "I doubt whether he could keep such a promise; therefore my willmust supply his lack of decision;" and she certainly appearedcapable of making good this deficiency in several human atoms. 

If she could have imparted some of her firmness and resolution toMartin Jocelyn, they would have been among the most useful giftsa man ever received. As the stanchness of a ship is tested by thestorm, so a crisis in his experience was approaching which wouldtest his courage, his fortitude, and the general soundness of hismanhood. Alas! the test would find him wanting. That night, for thefirst time in his life, he came home with a step a trifle unsteady. Innocent Mrs. Jocelyn did not note that anything was amiss. Shewas busy putting her home into its usual pretty order after thebreezy, gusty evening always occasioned by one of Belle's informalcompanies. She observed that her husband had recovered more thanhis wonted cheerfulness, and seemed indeed as gay as Belle herself. Lounging on a sofa, he laughed at his wife and petted her morethan usual, assuring her that her step was as light, and that shestill looked as young and pretty as any of the girls who had trippedthrough the parlors that evening. 

The trusting, happy wife grew so rosy with pleasure, and her treadwas so elastic from maternal pride and exultation at the prospectsof her daughters, that his compliments seemed scarcely exaggerated. 

"Never fear, Nan, " he said, in a gush of feeling; "I'll take careof you whatever happens, " and the glad smile she turned upon himproved that she doubted his words no more than her own existence. 

They were eminently proper words for a husband to address to hiswife, but the circumstances under which they were uttered madethem maudlin sentiment rather than a manly pledge. As spoken, theywere so ominous that the loving woman might well have trembled andlost her girlish flush. But even through the lurid hopes and vagueprospects created by dangerous stimulants, Mr. Jocelyn saw, dimly, the spectre of coming trouble, and he added:

"But, Nan, we must economize--we really must. "

"Foolish man!" laughed his wife; "always preaching economy, butnever practicing it. "

"Would to God I had millions to lavish on you!" he exclaimed, withtears of mawkish feeling and honest affection mingled as they nevershould in a true man's eyes. 

"Lavish your love, Martin, " replied the wife, "and I'll be content. "

That night she laid her head upon her pillow without misgiving. 

Mrs. Jocelyn was the daughter of a Southern planter, and in herearly home had been accustomed to a condition of chronic financialembarrassment and easy-going, careless abundance. The war had sweptaway her father and brothers with the last remnant of the mortgagedproperty. 

Young Jocelyn's antecedents had been somewhat similar, and theyhad married much as the birds pair, without knowing very definitelywhere or how the home nest would be constructed. He, however, had secured a good education, and was endowed with fair businesscapacities. He was thus enabled for a brief time before the warto provide a comfortable support in a Southern city for his wifeand little daughter Mildred, and the fact that he was a gentlemanby birth and breeding gave him better social advantages than merewealth could have obtained. At the beginning of the struggle he wasgiven a commission in the Confederate army, but with the exceptionof a few slight scratches and many hardships escaped unharmed. Afterthe conflict was over, the ex-officer came to the North, againstwhich he had so bravely and zealously fought, and was pleased tofind that there was no prejudice worth naming against him on thisaccount. His good record enabled him to obtain a position in a largeiron warehouse, and in consideration of his ability to control acertain amount of Southern trade he was eventually given an interestin the business. This apparent advancement induced him to believethat he might safely rent, in one of the many cross-streets up town, the pretty home in which we find him. The fact that their expenseshad always a little more than kept pace with their income did nottrouble Mrs. Jocelyn, for she had been accustomed to an annualdeficit from childhood. Some way had always been provided, andshe had a sort of blind faith that some way always would be. Mr. Jocelyn also had fallen into rather soldier-like ways, and afterbeing so free with Confederate scrip, with difficulty learned thevalue of paper money of a different color. 

Moreover, in addition to a certain lack of foresight and frugalprudence, bred by army life and Southern open-heartedness, hecherished a secret habit which rendered a wise, steadily maintainedpolicy of thrift wellnigh impossible. About two years before theopening of our story he had been the victim of a painful disease, the evil effects of which did not speedily pass away. For severalweeks of this period, to quiet the pain, he was given morphia powders;their effects were so agreeable that they were not discontinuedafter the physician ceased to prescribe them. The subtle stimulantnot only banished the lingering traces of suffering, but enabledhim to resume the routine of business with comparative ease muchsooner than he had expected. Thus he gradually drifted into thehabitual use of morphia, taking it as a panacea for every ill. Hadhe a toothache, a rheumatic or neuralgic twinge, the drug quietedthe pain. Was he despondent from any cause, or annoyed by someuntoward event, a small white powder soon brought hopefulnessand serenity. When emergencies occurred which promised to tax hismental and physical powers, opium appeared to give a clearness andelasticity of mind and a bodily vigor that was almost magical, andhe availed himself of the deceptive potency more and more often. 

The morbid craving which the drug inevitably engenders at lastdemanded a daily supply. For months he employed it in moderatequantities, using it as thousands do quinine, wine, or otherstimulants, without giving much thought to the matter, sincerelyintending, however, to shake off the habit as soon as he felt alittle stronger and was more free from business cares. Still, as theemployment of the stimulant grew into a habit, he became somewhatashamed of it, and maintained his indulgence with increasingsecrecy--a characteristic rarely absent from this vice. 

Thus it can be understood that his mind had ceased to possessthe natural poise which would enable him to manage his affairs inaccordance with some wisely matured system of expenditure. In timesof depression he would demand the most rigid economy, and again hewould seem careless and indifferent and preoccupied. This financialvacillation was precisely what his wife had been accustomed to inher early home, and she thoughtlessly took her way without muchregard to it. He also had little power of saying No to his gentlewife, and an appealing look from her blue eyes would settle everyquestion of economy the wrong way. Next year they would be moreprudent; at present, however, there were some things that it wouldbe very nice to have or to do. 

But, alas, Mrs. Jocelyn had decided that, for Mildred's sake, thecoming summer must be spent at Saratoga. In vain her husband hadtold her that he did not see how it was possible. She would reply, "Now, Martin, be reasonable. You know Mr. Arnold spends his summersthere. Would you spoil Millie's chances of making one of the bestmatches in the city?"

He would shrug his shoulders and wonder where the money was tocome from. Meanwhile he knew that his partners were anxious. Theyhad been strong, and had endured the evil times for years withoutwavering, but now were compelled to obtain a credit more and moreextended, in the hope of tiding themselves over the long period ofdepression. 

This increasing business stagnation occasioned a deepening anxietyto her husband and a larger resort to his sustaining stimulant. While he had no sense of danger worth naming, he grew somewhatworried by his dependence on the drug, and it was his honest purposeto gradually abandon it as soon as the financial pressure liftedand he could breathe freely in the safety of renewed commercialprosperity. Thus the weeks and months slipped by, finding him morecompletely involved in the films of an evil web, and more intentthan ever upon hiding the fact from every one, especially his wifeand children. 

He had returned on the evening of Belle's company, with fears forthe worst. The scene in his pretty and happy home, in contrast withthe bitter experiences that might be near at hand, so oppressedhim with foreboding and trouble that he went out and weakly soughttemporary respite and courage in a larger amount of morphia thanhe had ever yet taken. 

While off his guard from the resulting exaltation, he met a businessacquaintance and was led by him to indulge in wine also, with theresults already narrated. 

CHAPTER III

CONFIDENTIAL

Martin Jocelyn awoke with a shiver. He did not remember that hehad been dreaming, but a dull pain in his head and a forebodingof heart had at last so asserted themselves as to banish theunconsciousness of sleep. His prospects had even a more sombre huethan the cold gray of the morning. All the false prismatic colorsof the previous evening had faded, and no serene, steady light hadtaken their place. The forced elation was followed--as is ever thecase--by a deeper despondency. The face of his sleeping wife was sopeaceful, so expressive of her utter unconsciousness of impendingdisaster, that he could not endure its sight. He felt himself tobe in no condition to meet her waking eyes and explain the causeof his fears. A sense of shame that he had been so weak the eveningbefore also oppressed him, and he yielded to the impulse to gaina day before meeting her trusting or questioning gaze. Somethingmight occur which would give a better aspect to his affairs, andat any rate, if the worst must come, he could explain with bettergrace in the evening than in his present wretched mood, that wouldprove too sharp a contrast with his recent gayety. 

He therefore dressed silently and hastily, and left a note sayingthat a business engagement required his early departure. "She willhave at least one more serene day before the storm, " he muttered. 

"Now wasn't that kind and thoughtful of papa to let us all sleeplate after the company!" said Mrs. Jocelyn to Mildred. "He wentaway, too, without his breakfast, " and in her gentle solicitudeshe scarcely ate any herself. 

But weakly hiding trouble for a day was not kindness. The wife anddaughter, who should have helped to take in sail in preparationfor the threatened storm, were left unconscious of its approach. They might have noticed that Mr. Jocelyn had been more than usuallyanxious throughout the spring, but they knew so little of businessand its risks, that they did not realize their danger. "Men alwaysworry about their affairs, " said Mrs. Jocelyn. "It's a way theyhave. "

Mr. Arnold's visits and manner were much more congenial topics, and as a result of the entire confidence existing between motherand daughter, they dwelt at length on these subjects. 

"Mamma, " said Mildred, "you must not breathe of it to a soul--noteven to papa yet. It would hurt me cruelly to have it known that Ithink so much of one who has not spoken plainly--that is, in words. I should be blind indeed if I did not understand the language ofhis eyes, his tones, and manner. And yet, and yet--mamma, it isn'twrong for me to love--to think so much of him before he speaks, isit? Dearly as I--well, not for the world would I seem or even bemore forward than a girl should. I fear his people are too proudand rich to recognize us; and--and--he says so little about them. I can never talk to him or any one without making many referencesto you and papa. I have thought that he even avoided speaking ofhis family. "

"We have not yet been made acquainted with Mr. And Mrs. Arnold, "said Mrs. Jocelyn meditatively. "It is true we attend the samechurch, and it was there that Vinton saw you, and was led to seekan introduction. I'm sure we have not angled for him in any indelicateway. You met him in the mission school and in other ways, as didthe other young ladies of the church. He seemed to single you out, and asked permission to call. He has been very gentlemanly, butyou equally have been the self-respecting lady. I do not think youhave once overstepped the line of a proper reserve. It isn't yournature to do such a thing, if I do say it. She is a silly girlwho ever does, for men don't like it, and I don't blame them. Yourfather was a great hunter in the South, Millie, and he has oftensaid since that I was the shyest game he ever followed. But, " sheadded, with a low, sweet laugh, "how I did want to be caught! I cansee now, " she continued, with a dreamy look back into the past, "that it was just the way to be caught, for if I had turned inpursuit of him he would have run away in good earnest. There aresome girls who have set their caps for your handsome Mr. Arnoldwho don't know this. I am glad to say, however, that you take thecourse you do, not because you know better, but because you AREbetter--because you have not lost in city life the shy, pure natureof the wild flowers that were your early playmates. Vinton Arnoldis the man to discover and appreciate this truth, and you havelost nothing by compelling him to seek you in your own home, or bybeing so reserved when abroad. "

While her mother's words greatly reassured Mildred, her fair facestill retained its look of anxious perplexity. 

"I have rarely met Mrs. Arnold and her daughters, " she said; "buteven in a passing moment, it seemed as if they tried to inform meby their manner that I did not belong to their world. Perhaps theywere only oblivious--I don't know. "

"I think that is all, " said Mrs. Jocelyn musingly. "We have attendedtheir church only since we came up town. They sit on the furtherside, in a very expensive pew, while papa thinks we can affordonly a side seat near the door. It is evident that they are proudpeople, but in the matter of birth and good breeding, my dear, I amsure we are their equals. Even when poorer than we are now we werewelcomed to the best society of the South. Have no fears, darling. When they come to know YOU they will be as proud of you as I am. "

"Oh, mother, what a sweet prophetess you are! The life you suggestis so beautiful, and I do not think I could live without beauty. He is so handsome and refined, and his taste is so perfect thatevery association he awakens is refined and high-toned. It seemsas if my--as if he might take out of my future all that is hardand coarse--all that I shrink from even in thought. But, mamma, Iwish he were a wee bit stronger. His hands are almost as white andsmall as mine; and then sometimes he is so very pale. "

"Well, Millie, we can't have everything. City life and luxury arehard on young men. It would be better for them if they tramped thewoods more with a gun, as your father did. There was a time whenpapa could walk his thirty miles a day and ride fifty. But manlyqualities may be those of the mind as well as of muscle. I gatherfrom what Mr. Arnold says that his health never has been very good;but you are the one of all the world to pet him. And take careof him. Most of the fashionable girls of his set would want togo here and there all the time, and would wear him out with theirrestlessness. You would be happier at home. "

"Indeed I would, mamma. Home, and heaven, are words that to me arenear akin. "

"I'm glad you are in such a fair way to win the home, but notheaven I trust for a long time yet. Let us think of the home first. While I would not for the world wish you to do a thing which thestrictest womanly delicacy did not permit, there are some thingswhich we can do that are very proper indeed. Mr. Arnold has an eyefor beauty as well as yourself, and he is accustomed to see ladieswell dressed. He noticed your toilet last night as well as yourface, and his big brown eyes informed me that he thought it verypretty. I intend that you shall appear as well as the best of themat Saratoga, and what we cannot afford in expensive fabrics we mustmake up in skill and taste. Luckily, men don't know much about thecost of material. They see the general effect only. A lady is tothem a finished picture, and they never think of inventorying theframe, canvas, and colors as a woman does. For quarter of the moneyI'll make you appear better than his sisters. So get your things, and we'll begin shopping at once, for such nice work requires time. "

They were soon in the temples of fashion on Broadway, bent uponcarrying out their guileless conspiracy. Nevertheless their seeminglyinnocent and harmless action was wretched folly. They did not knowthat it raised one more barrier between them and all they soughtand hoped, for they were spending the little money that might savethem from sudden and utter poverty. 

CHAPTER IV

"PITILESS WAVES"

A deeper shadow than that of the night fell upon Mildred Jocelyn'shome after the return of her father. Feeling that there should beno more blind drifting toward he knew not what, he had employedall the means within his power to inform himself of the firm'sprospects, and learned that there was almost a certainty of speedyfailure. He was so depressed and gloomy when he sat down to dinnerthat his wife had not the heart to tell him of her schemes to securehis daughter's happiness, or of the gossamer-like fabrics she hadbought, out of which she hoped to construct a web that would moresurely entangle Mr. Arnold. Even her sanguine spirit was chilledand filled with misgivings by her husband's manner. Mildred, too, was speedily made to feel that only a very serious cause couldbanish her father's wonted good-humor and render him so silent. Belle and the little ones maintained the light talk which usuallyenlivened the meal, but a sad constraint rested on the others. Atlast Mr. Jocelyn said, abruptly, "Fanny, I wish to see you alone, "and she followed him to their room with a face that grew pale witha vague dread. What could have happened?

"Fanny, " he said sadly, "our firm is in trouble. I have hoped andhave tried to believe that we should pull through, but now thatI have looked at the matter squarely I see no chance for us, andfrom the words and bearing of my partners I imagine they have aboutgiven up hope themselves. "

"Oh, come, Martin, look on the bright side. You always take suchgloomy views of things. They'll pull through, never fear; and ifthey don't, you will soon obtain a better position. A man of yourability should be at the head of a firm. YOU would make money, nomatter what the times were. "

"Unfortunately, Fanny, your sanguine hopes and absurd opinion ofmy abilities do not change in the least the hard facts in the case. If the firm fails, I am out of employment, and hundreds of asgood--yes, better men than I, are looking vainly for almost anykind of work. The thought that we have laid up nothing in all theseyears cuts me to the very quick. One thing is now certain. Not adollar must be spent, hereafter, except for food, and that of theleast costly kind, until I see our way more clearly. "

"Can't we go to Saratoga?" faltered Mrs. Jocelyn. 

"Certainly not. If all were well I should have had to borrow moneyand anticipate my income in order to spend even a few weeks there, unless you went to a cheap boarding-house. If things turn outas I fear, I could not borrow a dollar. I scarcely see how we areto live anywhere, much less at a Saratoga hotel. Fanny, can't youunderstand my situation? Suppose my income stops, how much aheadhave we to live upon?" Mrs. Jocelyn sank into a chair and sobbed, "Oh that I had known this before! See there!"

The bed was covered with dress goods and the airy nothings thatenhance a girl's beauty. The husband understood their meaning toowell, and he muttered something like an oath. At last he said, ina hard tone, "Well, after buying all this frippery, how much moneyhave you left?"

"Oh, Martin, " sobbed his wife, "don't speak to me in that tone. Indeed I did not know we were in real danger. You seemed in suchgood spirits last evening, and Mr. Arnold showed so much feelingfor Millie, that my heart has been as light as a feather all day. I wouldn't have bought these things if I had only known--if I hadrealized it all. "

Mr. Jocelyn now uttered an unmistakable anathema on his folly. 

"The money you had this morning is gone, then?"

"Yes. "

"How much has been charged?"

"Don't ask me. "

He was so angry--with himself more than his wife--and so cast downthat he could not trust himself to speak again. With a gesture, more expressive than any words, he turned on his heel and left theroom and the house. For hours he walked the streets in the wretchedturmoil of a sensitive, yet weak nature. He was not one who couldcalmly meet an emergency and manfully do his best, sufferingpatiently meanwhile the ills that could not be averted. He couldlead a cavalry charge into any kind of danger, but he could notstand still under fire. The temptation to repeat his folly of theprevious evening was very strong, but it had cost him so dearlythat he swore a great oath that at least he would not touch liquoragain; but he could not refrain from lifting himself in some degreeout of his deep dejection, by a recourse to the stimulant upon whichhe had so long been dependent. At last, jaded and sober indeed, he returned to a home whose very beauty and comfort now became thechief means of his torture. 

In the meantime Mildred and her mother sat by the pretty fabricsthat had the bright hues of their morning hopes, and they lookedat each other with tears and dismay. If the silk and lawn shouldturn into crape, it would seem so in accordance with their feelingsas scarcely to excite surprise. Each queried vainly, "What now willbe the future?" The golden prospect of the day had become dark andchaotic, and in strong reaction a vague sense of impending disasterso oppressed them that they scarcely spoke. Deep in Mildred's heart, however, born of woman's trust, was the sustaining hope that herfriend, Vinton Arnold, would be true to her whatever might happen. Poor Mrs. Jocelyn's best hope was, that the financial storm wouldblow over without fulfilling their fears. She had often known herfather to be half desperate, and then there was patched up somekind of arrangement which enabled them to go on again in their oldway. Still, even with her unbusiness-like habits of thought andmeagre knowledge of the world, she could not see how they couldmaintain themselves if her husband's income should suddenly cease, and he be unable to find a like position. 

She longed for his return, but when he came he gave her no comfort. 

"Don't speak to me, " he said; "I can tell you nothing that you donot already know. The events of the next few weeks will make allplain enough. "

The logic of events did convince even Mrs. Jocelyn that making noprovision for a "rainy day" is sad policy. The storm did not blowover, although it blew steadily and strongly. The firm soon failed, but Mr. Jocelyn received a small sum out of the assets, whichprevented immediate want. Mildred's course promised to justifyArnold's belief that she could be strong as well as gentle, forshe insisted that every article obtained on credit should be takenback to the shops. Her mother shrank from the task, so she wentherself and plainly stated their circumstances. It was a bitterexperience for the poor child--far more painful than she hadanticipated. She could not believe that the affable people who waitedon her so smilingly a few days before would appear so different;but even those who were most inclined to be harsh, and to feelaggrieved at their small loss in cutting the material returned, were softened as she said, gently and almost humbly:

"Since we could not pay for it we felt that it would be more honorableto bring it back in as good condition as when received. " In everyinstance, however, in which the goods had been paid for, she foundthat she could effect no exchange for the money, except at suchreduced rates that she might as well give them away. 

Even Mrs. Jocelyn saw the need of immediate changes. One of theirtwo servants was dismissed. Belle pouted over the rigid economy, now enforced all too late. Mildred cried over it in secret, butmade heroic efforts to be cheerful in the presence of her fatherand mother; but each day, with a deeper chill at heart, she askedherself a thousand times, "Why does not Mr. Arnold come to see me?"

Vinton Arnold was in even greater distress. He had to endure notonly the pain of a repressed affection, but also a galling andhumiliating sense of unmanly weakness. He, of course, learned of thefailure, and his father soon after took pains to say significantlythat one of the members of the iron firm had told him that Mr. Jocelyn had nothing to fall back upon. Therefore Arnold knew thatthe girl he loved must be in sore trouble. And yet, how could hego to her? What could he say or do that would not make him appearcontemptible in her eyes? But to remain away in her hour ofmisfortune seemed such a manifestation of heartless indifference, such a mean example of the world's tendency to pass by on the otherside, that he grew haggard and ghost-like in his self-reproach andself-contempt. At last his parents began to insist that his healthrequired a change of air, and suggested a mountain resort or a tripabroad, and he was conscious of no power to resist the quiet willwith which any plan decided upon would be carried out. He feltthat he must see Mildred once more, although what he would say toher he could not tell. While there had been no conscious and definitepurpose on the part of his parents, they nevertheless had trainedhim to helplessness in mind and body. His will was as relaxed ashis muscles. Instead of wise, patient effort to develop a feebleconstitution and to educate his mind by systematic courses of study, he had been treated as an exotic all his days. And yet it had beencare without tenderness, or much manifestation of affection. Hot athing had been done to develop self-respect or self-reliance. Evenmore than most girls, he was made to feel himself dependent onhis parents. He had studied but little; he had read much, but ina desultory way. Of business and of men's prompt, keen ways he waslamentably ignorant for one of his years, and the consciousness ofthis made him shrink from the companionship of his own sex, andbegat a reticence whose chief cause was timidity. His parents' wealthhad been nothing but a curse, and they would learn eventually thatwhile they could shield his person from the roughnesses of the worldthey could not protect his mind and heart from those experienceswhich ever demand manly strength and principle. As a result oftheir costly system, there were few more pitiable objects in thecity than Vinton Arnold as he stole under the cover of night tovisit the girl who was hoping--though more faintly after every dayof waiting--that she might find in him sustaining strength and lovein her misfortunes. 

But when she saw his white, haggard face and nervous, timid manner, she was almost shocked, and exclaimed, with impulsive sympathy, "Mr. Arnold, you have been ill. I have done you wrong. "

He did not quite understand her, and was indiscreet enough torepeat, "You have done me wrong, Miss Millie?"

"Pardon me. Perhaps you do not know that we are in deep trouble. My father's firm has failed, and we shall have to give up our home. Indeed, I hardly know what we shall do. When in trouble, one'sthoughts naturally turn to one's friends. I thought perhaps youwould come to see me, " and two tears that she could not repress inher eyes. 

"Oh, that I were a man!" groaned Arnold, mentally, and never hadhuman cruelty inflicted a keener pang than did Mildred's sorrowfulface and the gentle reproach implied in her words. 

"I--I have been ill, " he said hesitatingly. "Miss Millie, " he addedimpulsively, "you can never know how deeply I feel for you. "

She lifted her eyes questioningly to his face, and its expressionwas again unmistakable. For a moment she lost control of heroverburdened heart, and bowing her face in her hands gave way tothe strong tide of her feelings. "Oh!" she sobbed, "I have beenso anxious and fearful about the future. People have come here outof curiosity, and others have acted as if they did not care whatbecame of us, if they only obtained the money we owed them. I didnot think that those who were so smiling and friendly a short timesince could be so harsh and indifferent. A thousand times I havethought of that poor ship that I saw the waves beat to pieces, andit has seemed as if it might be our fate. I suppose I am morbid, and that some way will be provided, but SOME way is not A way. "

Instead of coming to her side and promising all that his heartprompted, the miserable constraint of his position led him to turnfrom grief that he was no longer able to witness. He went to thewindow, and, bowing his head against the sash, looked out into thedarkness. 

She regarded him with wonder as she slowly wiped her eyes. 

"Mr. Arnold, " she faltered, "I hope you will forgive me for myweakness, and also for inflicting our troubles on you. "

He turned and came slowly toward her. She saw that he trembled andalmost tottered as he walked, and that his face had become ashen. The hand he gave her seemed like ice to her warm, throbbingpalm. But never could she forget his expression--the blending ofself-contempt, pitiable weakness, and dejection. 

"Miss Mildred, " he said slowly, "there is no use in disguises. Wehad better both recognize the truth at once. At least it will bebetter for you, for then you may find a friend more worthy of thename. Can you not see what I am--a broken reed? The vine couldbetter sustain a falling tree than I the one I loved, even though, like the vine, my heart clung to that one as its sole support. You suffer; I am in torment. You are sad; I despair. You associatestrength and help with manhood, and you are right. You do not knowthat the weakest thing in the world is a weak, helpless man. I amonly strong to suffer. I can do nothing; I am nothing. It would beimpossible for me to explain how helpless and dependent I am--youcould not understand it. My whole heart went out to you, foryou seemed both gentle and strong. The hope would grow in my soulthat you might be merciful to me when you came to know me as I am. Good-by, Millie Jocelyn. You will find a friend strong and helpfulas well as kind. As for me, my best hope is to die. " He bowed hishead upon the hand he did not venture to kiss, and then almost fledfrom the house. 

Mildred was too much overcome by surprise and feeling to make anyattempt to detain him. He had virtually acknowledged his love forher, but never in her wildest fancy had she imagined so dreary andsad a revelation. 

Mrs. Jocelyn, perplexed by Mr. Arnold's abrupt departure, came inhastily, and Mildred told her, with many tears, all that had beensaid. Even her mother's gentle nature could not prevent harshcondemnation of the young man. 

"So he could do nothing better than get up this little melodrama, and then hasten back to his elegant home, " she said, with a darkeningfrown. 

Mildred shook her head and said, musingly, "I understand him betterthan you do, mamma, and I pity him from the depths of my heart. "

"I think it's all plain enough, " said Mrs. Jocelyn, in a tone thatwas hard and unnatural in her. "His rich parents tell him that hemust not think of marrying a poor girl, and he is the most dutifulof sons. "

"You did not hear his words, mamma--you did not see him. Oh, if heshould die! He looked like death itself, " and she gave way to suchan agony of grief that her mother was alarmed on her behalf, andwept, entreated, and soothed by turns until at last the poor childcrept away with throbbing temples to a long night of pain andsleeplessness. The wound was one that she must hide in her ownheart; her pallor and languor for several days proved how deep ithad been. 

But the truth that he loved her--the belief that he could never giveto another what he had given to her--had a secret and sustainingpower. Hope is a hardy plant in the hearts of the young. Though thefuture was dark, it still had its possibilities of good. Womanlike, she thought more of his trouble than of her own, and that which mostdepressed her was the fear that his health might give way utterly. "I can bear anything better than his death, " she said to herselfa thousand times. 

She made no tragic promises of constancy, nor did she indulge invery much sentimental dreaming. She simply recognized the truth thatshe loved him--that her whole woman's heart yearned in tendernessover him as one that was crippled and helpless. She saw that hewas unable to stand alone and act for himself, and with a sensitivepride all her own she shrank from even the thought of forcingherself on the proud, rich family that had forbidden the alliance. Moreover, she was a good-hearted, Christian girl, and perceivedclearly that it was no time for her to mope of droop. Even on themiserable day which followed the interview that so sorely woundedher, she made pathetic attempts to be cheerful and helpful, and astime passed she rallied slowly into strength and patience. 

The father's apparent efforts to keep up under his misfortune werealso a great incentive to earnest effort on her part. More thanonce she said in substance to her mother, "Papa is so often hopeful, serene, and even cheerful, that we ought to try and show a likespirit. Even when despondency does master him, and he becomes sadand irritable, he makes so brave an effort that he soon overcomeshis wretched mood and quietly looks on the brighter side. We oughtto follow his example. " It would have been infinitely better hadhe followed theirs, and found in prayer, faith, and manly couragethe serenity and fortitude that were but the brief, deceptive, anddangerous effects of a fatal poison. 

It was decided that the family should spend the summer at some quietfarmhouse where the board would be very inexpensive, and that Mr. Jocelyn, in the meantime, should remain in the city in order toavail himself of any opening that he might discover. 

After a day or two of search in the country, he found a place thathe thought would answer, and the family prepared as quickly aspossible for what seemed to them like a journey to Siberia. 

Mildred's farewell to her own private apartment was full of touchingpathos. This room was the outward expression not merely of a refinedtaste, but of some of the deepest feelings and characteristicsof her nature. In its furniture and adornment it was as dainty asher own delicate beauty. She had been allowed to fit it up as shewished, and had lavished upon it the greater part of her spendingmoney. She had also bestowed upon it much thought, and the skilfulwork of her own hands had eked out to a marvellous extent thelimited sums that her father had been able to give her. The resultwas a prettiness and light, airy grace which did not suggest theresting-place of an ordinary flesh-and-blood girl, but of one inwhom the spiritual and the love of the beautiful were the rulingforces of life. 

It is surprising how character impresses itself on one's surroundings. Mrs. Arnold's elegant home was a correct expression of herself. Stately, formal, slightly rigid, decidedly cold, it suggested tothe visitor that he would receive the courtesy to which his socialposition entitled him, and nothing more. It was the result ofan exact and logical mind, and could no more unbend into a littlecomfortable disorder than the lady herself. She bestowed uponits costly appointments the scrupulous care which she gave to herchildren, and her manner was much the same in each instance. Shewas justly called a strong character, but she made herself feltafter the fashion of an artist with his hammer and chisel. Carvedwork is cold and rigid at best. 

Mildred had not as yet impressed people as a strong character. Onthe contrary, she had seemed peculiarly gentle and yielding. VintonArnold, however, in his deep need had instinctively half guessedthe truth, for her influence was like that of a warm day in spring, undemonstrative, not self-asserting, but most powerful. Thetongue-tied could speak in her presence; the diffident found inher a kindly sympathy which gave confidence; men were peculiarlydrawn toward her because she was so essentially womanly withoutbeing silly. Although as sprightly and fond of fun as most younggirls of her age, they recognized that she was perfectly truthfuland loyal to all that men--even bad men--most honor in a woman. They always had a good time in her society, and yet felt the betterand purer for it. Life blossomed and grew bright about her fromsome innate influence that she exerted unconsciously. After allthere was no mystery about it. She had her faults like others, butat heart she was genuinely good and unselfish. The gentle motherhad taught her woman's best graces of speech and manner; naturehad endowed her with beauty, and to that the world always rendershomage. 

There are thousands of very pretty girls who have no love for beautysave their own, which they do their best to spoil by self-homage. To Mildred, on the contrary, the beautiful was as essential asher daily food, and she excelled in all the dainty handicrafts bywhich women can make a home attractive. Therefore her own littlesanctum had developed like an exquisite flower, and had become, aswe have said, an expression of herself. An auctioneer, in dismantlingher apartment, would not have found much more to sell than if he hadpulled a rose to pieces, but left intact it was as full of beautyand fragrance as the flower itself. And yet her own hands must destroyit, and in a brief time she must exchange its airy loveliness fora bare room in a farmhouse. After that the future was as vagueas it was clouded. The pretty trifles were taken down and packedaway, with tears, as if she were laying them in graves. 

CHAPTER V

THE RUDIMENTS OF A MAN

"Mother, I hain't no unison with it at all, " said Farmer Atwood, leaning on the breakfast table and holding aloft a knife andfork--formidable implements in his hands, but now unemployed throughperturbation of mind. "I hain't no unison with it--this havin'fine city folk right in the family. 'Twill be pretty nigh as badas visiting one's rich relations. I had a week of that once, but, thank the Lord, I hain't been so afflicted since. I've seen 'emup at the hotel and riding by too often not to know 'em. They arehalf conceit and half fine feathers, and that doesn't leave manyqualities as are suited to a farmhouse. Roger and me will have tobe--what was it that lecturin' professor called it--'deodorized'every mornin' after feedin' and cleanin' the critters. We'llhave to put on our go-to-meetin's, instead of sittin' down in ourshirt-sleeves comfortable like. I hain't no unison with it, andit's been a-growing on me ever since that city chap persuaded youinto being cook and chambermaid for his family. " And Farmer Atwood'sknife and fork came down into the dish of ham with an onslaughtthat would have appalled a Jew. 

"The governor is right, mother, " said the young man referred to asRoger. "We shall all be in strait-jackets for the summer. "

The speaker could not have been much more than twenty years old, although in form he appeared a full-grown man. As he stood wipinghis hands on a towel that hung in a corner of the large kitchen, which, except on state occasions, also served as dining andsitting-room, it might be noted that he was above medium height, broad-shouldered, and strongly built. When he crossed the room hiscoarse working dress could not disguise the fact that he had a finefigure and an easy bearing of the rustic, rough-and-ready style. He had been out in the tall, dew-drenched grass, and therefore hadtucked the lower part of his trousers in his boot tops, and, likehis father, dispensed with his coat in the warm June morning. As hedrew a chair noisily across the floor and sat down at the table, itwas evident that he had a good though undeveloped face. His upperlip was deeply shadowed by a coming event, to which he lookedforward with no little pride, and his well-tanned cheeks could nothide a faint glow of youthful color. One felt at a glance thathis varying expressions could scarcely fail to reveal all thatthe young man was now or could ever become, for his face suggesteda nature peculiarly frank and rather matter-of-fact, or at leastunawakened. The traits of careless good-nature and self-confidencewere now most apparent. He had always been regarded as a cleverboy at home, and his rustic gallantry was well received by thefarmers' daughters in the neighborhood. What better proofs thathe was about right could a young fellow ask? He was on such goodterms with himself and the world that even the event which hisfather so deprecated did not much disturb his easy-going assurance. He doubted, in his thoughts, whether the city girls would "turn uptheir noses" at him, and if they did, they might, for all that hecared, for there were plenty of rural beauties with whom he couldconsole himself. But, like his father, he felt that the carelessundress and freedom of their farm life would be criticised by thenew-comers. He proposed, however, to make as little change aspossible in his habits and dress, and to teach the Jocelyns thatcountry people had "as good a right to their ways as city peopleto theirs. " Therefore the threatened invasion did not in the leastprevent him from making havoc in the substantial breakfast thatMrs. Atwood and her daughter Susan put on the table in a haphazardmanner, taking it from the adjacent stove as fast as it was ready. A stolid-looking hired man sat opposite to Roger, and shovelled inhis food with his knife, with a monotonous assiduity that suggesteda laborer filling a coal-bin. He seemed oblivious to everythingsave the breakfast, and with the exception of heaping his platefrom time to time he was ignored by the family. 

The men-folk were quite well along with their meal before Mrs. Atwood and Susan, flushed with their labors about the stove, wereready to sit down. They were accustomed to hear the farmer grumble, and, having carried their point, were in no haste to reply or tofight over a battle that had been won already. Roger led to a slightresumption of hostilities, however, by a disposition--well-nighuniversal in brothers--to tease. 

"Sue, " he said, "will soon be wanting to get some feathers like thoseof the fine birds that will light in our door-yard this evening. "

"That's it, " snarled the farmer; "what little you make will soonbe on your backs or streamin' away in ribbons. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Atwood, a little sharply, "it's quite proper thatwe should have something on our backs, and if we earn the moneyto put it there ourselves, I don't see why you should complain; asfor ribbons, Sue has as good right to 'em as Roger to a span-newbuggy that ain't good for anything but taking girls out in. "

"What made you have the seat so narrow, Roger?" asked Sue; "youcouldn't squeeze three people in to save your life. "

"I'm content with one girl at a time, " replied Roger, with acomplacent shrug. 

"And the same girl only one time, too, from what I hear. You'vetaken out all there are in Forestville haven't you?"

"Haven't got quite around yet. And then some prudent mothers dothink the seat a trifle narrow, and the ones I'd like to take outmost can't go. But there's plenty that can. "

"And one is as good as another, " added his sister, maliciously, "If she will only talk nonsense, and let you hold her from fallingout when you whisk over the thank-e-ma'ams. "

"I didn't have to go from home to learn that most girls talknonsense, " laughed Roger. "By the way, how did you learn about thethank-e-ma'ams? I didn't teach you. "

"No, indeed! Sisters may fall out for all that brothers care. "

"That depends on whose sisters they are, " said Roger, rising. "Inow perceive that mine has been well taken care of. "

"You think other young men have your pert ways, " retorted Sue, reddening. "My friends have manners. "

"Oh, I see. They let you fall out, and then politely pick you up. "

"Come, you are both in danger of falling out now, " said the motherreprovingly. 

Roger went off whistling to his work, and the hired man lumberedafter him. 

"Father, " said Mrs. Atwood, "who'll go down to the river for thetrunks?"

"Well, I s'pose I'll have to, " grumbled Mr. Atwood. "Roger don'twant to, and Jotham can do more work in the cornfield than me. "

"I'm glad you're so sensible. Riding down to the river and backwill be a good bit easier than hoeing corn all day. The stage willbe along about five, I guess, and I'll get supper for 'em in thesittin'-room, so you can eat in your shirt-sleeves, if that'llquiet your mind. "

With the aspect of a November day Mr. Atwood got out the greatfarm-wagon and jogged down to the landing on the Hudson, which wasso distant as to insure his absence for several hours. 

It was a busy day for Mrs. Atwood and Susan. Fresh bread and cakewere to be baked, and the rooms "tidied up" once more. A pitcherthat had lost its handle was filled with old-fashioned roses thatpersisted in blooming in a grass-choked flower-bed. This was placedin the room designed for Mrs. Jocelyn and the children, while theone flower vase, left unbroken from the days of Roger's boyishcarelessness, adorned the smaller apartment that Mildred and Bellewere to occupy, and this was about the only element of elegance orbeauty that Susan was able to impart part to the bare little room. Even to the country girl, to whom the term "decorative art" was buta vague phrase, the place seemed meagre and hard in its outlines, and she instinctively felt that it would appear far more so to itsoccupants. 

"But it's the best we can afford, " she sighed; "and at the pricesthey'll pay us they shouldn't complain. "

Still the day was full of pleasurable excitement and anticipationto the young girl. She was aware that her mother's tasks and herown would be greatly increased, but on the other hand the monotonyof the farm-house life would be broken, and in the more distantfuture she saw a vista of new gowns, a jaunty winter hat with afeather, and other like conditions of unalloyed happiness. Susanhad dwelt thus far in one of life's secluded valleys, and if shelost much because her horizon was narrow she was shielded fromfar more. Her fresh, full face had a certain pleasant, wholesomeaspect, like the fields about her home in June, as she bustledabout, preparing for the "city folks" whom her father so dreaded. 

Roger's buggy was not yet paid for. It was the one great extravagancethat Mr. Atwood had permitted for many a year. As usual, his wifehad led him into it, he growling and protesting, but unable to resisther peculiar persistency. Roger was approaching man's estate, andsomething must be done to signalize so momentous an event. A lightbuggy was the goal of ambition to the young men in the vicinity, and Roger felt that he could never be a man without one. He alsorecognized it as the best means of securing a wife to his mind, for courting on a moonlit, shadowy road was far more satisfactorythan in the bosom of the young woman's family. Not that he was benton matrimony, but rather on several years of agreeable preparationfor it, proposing to make tentative acquaintances, both numerousand miscellaneous. 

In his impatience to secure this four-wheeled compendium of happinesshe had mortgaged his future, and had promised his father to plantand cultivate larger areas. The shrewd farmer therefore had noprospect of being out of pocket, for the young man was keeping hisword. The acres of the cornfield were nearly double those of theprevious year, and on them Roger spent the long hot day in vigorouslabor in preference to the easy task of going to the river for theluggage. Dusty and weary, but in excellent spirits over the largespace that he and the hired man had "hilled up, " he went whistlinghome through the long shadows of the June evening. The farm wagonstood in the door-yard piled with trunks. The front entrance ofthe house--rarely used by the family--was open, and as he came upthe lane a young girl emerged from it, and leaned for a few momentsagainst the outer pillar of the little porch, unconscious of thepicture she made. A climbing rose was in bloom just over her head, and her cheeks, flushed with heat and fatigue, vied with themin color. She had exchanged her travelling-dress for one of lightmuslin, and entwined in her hair a few buds from the bush thatcovered the porch. If Roger was not gifted with a vivid imaginationhe nevertheless saw things very accurately, and before he reachedthe head of the lane admitted to himself that the old "front steps"had never been so graced before. He had seen many a rustic beautystanding there when his sister had company, but the city girlimpressed him with a difference which he then could not understand. He was inclined to resent this undefined superiority, and he muttered, "Father's right. They are birds of too fine a feather for our nest. "

He had to pass near her in order to reach the kitchen door, or elsemake a detour which his pride would not permit. Indeed, the youthplodded leisurely along with his hoe on his shoulder, and scruplednot to scrutinize the vision on the porch with the most matter-of-factminuteness. 

"What makes her so 'down in the mouth'?" he queried. "She doesn'tfancy us barbarians, I suppose, and Forestville to her is a howlingwilderness. Like enough she'll take me for an Indian. "

Mildred's eyes were fixed on a great shaggy mountain in the west, that was all the more dark and forbidding in its own deep shadow. She did not see it, however, for her mind was dwelling on gloomiershadows than the mountain cast. 

As he passed he caught her attention, and stepping toward him alittle impatiently, she said, "I suppose you belong to the premises?"

He made an awkward attempt at a bow, and said stiffly, "I'm one ofthe Atwood chattels. "

The answer was not such as she expected, and she gave him ascrutinizing glance. "Surely, if I have ever seen a laborer, he'sone, " she thought, as with woman's quickness she inventoried hiscoarse, weather-stained straw hat, blue cotton shirt crossed bysuspenders mended with strings, shapeless trousers, once black, but now of the color of the dusty cornfield, and shoes such as shehad never seen on the avenue. Even if Roger's face had not beendiscolored by perspiration and browned by exposure, its contrastwith the visage that memory kept before her but too constantlywould not have been pleasing. Nothing in his appearance deterredher from saying briefly, "I wish you would bring those trunks toour rooms. We have already waited for them some little time, andMr. Atwood said that his man would attend to them when he came homefrom his work. "

"That's all right, but I'm not his man, and with another stiff bowhe passed on. 

"Roger, " called Mrs. Atwood from the kitchen door, "where's Jotham?"

"Bringing home the cows. "

"The ladies want their trunks, " continued his mother, in a sharp, worried tone. "I wish you men-folks would see to 'em right away. Why couldn't you quit work a little earlier to-night?"

Roger made no reply, but proceeded deliberately to help himself toa wash-basin and water. 

"Look here, Roger, " said his mother, in a tone she seldom used, "if those trunks are not where they belong in ten minutes, Susanand I'll take 'em up ourselves. "

"That would be a pretty story to go out, " added his sister. "Littleuse your buggy would be to you then, for no nice girl would ridewith you. "

"Come, come, what's the use of such a bother!" said the young manirritably. "Mother knows that I'd carry the trunks up on Bald-Topbefore I'd let her touch them. That's the way it will always bewith these city people, I suppose. Everybody must jump and run themoment they speak. Father's right, and we'll have to give up ourold free-and-easy life and become porters and waiting-maids. "

"I've heard enough of that talk, " said Mrs. Atwood emphatically. "Your father's been like a drizzling northeaster all day. Now Igive you men-folks fair warning. If you want any supper you mustwake up and give me something better than grumbling. I'm too hotand tired now to argue over something that's been settled once forall. "

The "warning" had the desired effect, for Mrs. Atwood was therecognized head of the commissary department, and, as such, couldtouch the secret springs of motives that are rarely resisted. 

The open kitchen windows were so near that Mildred could not helpoverhearing this family jar, and it added greatly to her depression. She felt that they had not only lost their own home, but were alsobanishing the home feeling from another family. She did but scantjustice to Mrs. Atwood's abundant supper, and went to her room atlast with that most disagreeable of all impressions--the sense ofbeing an intruder. 

The tired children were soon at rest, for their time of sleeplesstrouble was far distant. Belle's pretty head drooped also with theroses over the porch as the late twilight deepened. To her and thelittle people the day had been rich in novelty, and the country wasa wonderland of many and varied delights. In the eyes of childrenthe Garden of Eden survives from age to age. Alas! the tendency toleave it survives also, and to those who remain, regions of beautyand mystery too often become angular farms and acres. 

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred still more clearly illustrated the truththat the same world wears a different aspect as the conditions oflife vary. They were going out into the wilderness. The river wasa shining pathway, whose beauty was a mockery, for it led away fromall that they loved best. The farmhouse was a place of exile, andits occupants a strange, uncouth people with whom they felt thatthey would have nothing in common. Mrs. Jocelyn merely looked forwardto weeks of weary waiting until she could again join her husband, to whom in his despondency her heart clung with a remorsefultenderness. She now almost wished that they had lived on bread andwater, and so had provided against this evil day of long separationand dreary uncertainty. Now that she could no longer rest in herold belief that there would be "some way" of tiding over everyfinancial crisis, she became a prey to forebodings equally vaguethat there might be no way. That HER HUSBAND could spend day afterday seeking employment, offering, too, to take positions far inferiorto the one he had lost, was a truth that at first bewildered andthen disheartened her beyond measure. She felt that they must, indeed, have fallen on evil times when his services went a-begging. 

To Mildred the present was dark, and the future most unpromising;but deep in her heart nestled the sustaining thought that she wasnot unloved, not forgotten. The will of others, not his own, kepther lover from her side. His weaknesses were of a nature thatawakened her pity rather than contempt. If he had been a Herculesphysically and a Bacon intellectually, but conceited, domineering, untruthful, and of the male flirt genus--from such weaknesses shewould have shrunk with intense repugnance. Her friends thoughther peculiarly gentle in disposition. They did not know--and sheherself might rarely recognize the truth--that she was also verystrong; her strength on its human side consisted in a simple, unswerving fidelity to her womanly nature and sense of right; onthe Divine side, God's word was to her a verity. She daily said "OurFather" as a little child. Has the world yet discovered a purer orloftier philosophy?

CHAPTER VI

ROGER DISCOVERS A NEW TYPE

Young Atwood rose with a very definite purpose on the followingmorning. For his mother's sake he would be civil to their boarders, but nothing more. He would learn just what they had a right toexpect in view of their business relations, and having performedall that was "nominated in the bond, " would treat them with suchan off-hand independence that they would soon become aware that he, Roger Atwood, was an entity that could exist without their admiringapproval. He meant that they should learn that the country wasquite as large as the city, and that the rural peculiarities ofForestville were as legitimate as those which he associated withthem, and especially with the young lady who had mistaken him forthe hired man. Therefore after his morning work in the barnyardhe stalked to the house with the same manner and toilet as on theprevious day. 

But there were no haughty citizens to be toned down. They were allsleeping late from the fatigues of their journey, and Mrs. Atwoodsaid she would give the "men-folks their breakfast at the usualhour, because a hungry man and a cross bear were nigh of kin. "

The meal at first was a comparatively silent one, but Roger notedwith a contemptuous glance that his sister's hair was arranged moreneatly than he had seen it since the previous Sunday, and that hercalico dress, collar, and cuffs were scrupulously clean. 

"Expecting company?" he asked maliciously. 

She understood him and flushed resentfully. "If you wish to goaround looking like a scarecrow, that's no reason why I should, "she said. "The corn is too large for the crows to pull now, so ifI were you I would touch myself up a little. I don't wonder thatMiss Jocelyn mistook you for Jotham. "

"It's well, " retorted Roger, with some irritation, "that yourMiss Jocelyn has no grown brothers here, or you would come downto breakfast in kid gloves. I suppose, however, that they haveinsisted on a tidy and respectful waitress. Will you please informme, mother, what my regulation costume must be when my servicesare required? Jotham and I should have a suit of livery, with twomore brass buttons on my coat to show that I belong to the family. "

"I think that a little more of the manner and appearance of agentleman would show your relationship better than any amount ofbrass, " remarked his mother quietly. 

Roger was almost through his breakfast, and so, at no great loss, could assume the injured part. Therefore with a dignity that wassomewhat in marked contrast with his rather unkempt appearance herose and stalked off to the cornfield again. 

"Umph, " remarked Mr. Atwood sententiously, as he rose and followedhis son. This apparently vague utterance had for his wife a definiteand extended meaning. She looked annoyed and flurried, and was inno mood for the labors of preparing a second breakfast. 

"The men-folks had better not roil me up too much, " she said toher daughter. "If your father had said No! out and out, I wouldn'thave brought strangers into his home. But he kinder wanted meto have their money without the bother of having them around. Nowone thing is settled--he must either help me make it pleasant forthese people, or else tell them to leave this very day. "

"And how about Roger?" asked Susan, still under the influence ofpique. 

"Oh, Roger is young and foolish. He's a-growing yet, " and themother's severe aspect relaxed. He was her only boy. 

Mr. Atwood, brought face to face with the alternative presentedby his practical wife, succumbed with tolerable grace. In truth, having had his grumble out, he was not so very averse to thearrangement. He was much like old Gruff, their watch-dog, that wasa redoubtable growler, but had never been known to bite any one. He therefore installed himself as his wife's out-of-door ally andassistant commissary, proposing also to take the boarders out todrive if they would pay enough to make it worth the while. As forRoger, he resolved to remain a farmer and revolve in his old orbit. 

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were listless and depressed, and time hungheavily on their hands. They were in that condition of waiting anduncertainty which renders cheerful or systematic occupation wellnighimpossible. They daily hoped that a letter would come assuring themthat Mr. Jocelyn had secured a position that would change all theirfuture for the better, but the letters received recorded futileefforts only, and often despondency; but occasionally there wouldcome a letter full of vague, sanguine hopes that first producedelation and then perplexity that nothing came of them. His wifefound his dejection contagious. If she had been with him she wouldhave made strenuous efforts to cheer and inspirit, but withoutan unselfish woman's strongest motive for action she brooded anddrooped. Belle's irrepressible vivacity and the children's wilddelight over the wonders of the fields and farmyard jarred uponher sore heart painfully. She patiently tried to take care of them, but in thought and feeling she could not enter into their life ashad been her custom. Belle was too young and giddy for responsibility, and Mildred had many a weary chase after the little explorers. Inspite of his clearly defined policy of indifference, Roger foundhimself watching her on such occasions with a growing interest. Itwas evident to him that she did not in the slightest degree resenthis daily declaration of independence; indeed, he saw that shescarcely gave him any thoughts whatever--that he was to her no morethan heavy-footed Jotham. 

"She does not even consider me worth snubbing, " he thought, withmuch dissatisfaction, about a week subsequent to their arrival. 

In vain, after the labors of the day, he dressed in his bestsuit and sported a flaming necktie; in vain he dashed away in hisbuggy, and, a little later, dashed by again with a rural belle athis side. He found himself unable to impress the city girl as hedesired, or to awaken in her a sense of his importance. And yet healready began to feel, in a vague way, that she was not so distantTO him, as distant FROM him. 

Belle soon formed his acquaintance, asking innumerable questionsand not a few favors, and she found him more good-natured than shehad been led to expect. At last, to her great delight, he took herwith him in his wagon to the post-office. The lively girl interestedand amused him, but he felt himself immeasurably older than she. With a tendency common to very young men, he was more interestedin the elder sister, who in character and the maturity that comesfrom experience was certainly far beyond him. Belle he understood, but Mildred was a mystery, and she had also the advantage of beinga very beautiful one. 

As time passed and no definite assurances came from her father, the young girl was conscious of a growing dissatisfaction with theidle, weary waiting to which she and her mother were condemned. Shefelt that it might have been better for them all to have remainedin the city, in spite of the summer heat, than thus to be separated. She believed that she might have found something to do which wouldhave aided in their support, and she understood more clearly thanher mother that their slender means were diminishing fast. Thatshe could do anything at a country farmhouse to assist her fatherseemed very doubtful, but she felt the necessity of employmentmore strongly each day, not only for the sake of the money it mightbring, but also as an antidote to a growing tendency to brood overher deep disappointment. She soon began to recognize that suchself-indulgence would unfit her for a struggle that might be extendedand severe, and was not long in coming to the conclusion that shemust make the best of her life as it was and would be. Days andweeks had slipped by and had seen her looking regretfully back atthe past, which was receding like the shores of a loved country toan exile. Since the prospect of returning to it was so slight, itwould be best to turn her thoughts and such faint hope as she couldcherish toward the vague and unpromising future. At any rate shemust so occupy herself as to have no time for morbid self-communings. 

Her first resource was the homely life and interests of thosewith whom she dwelt. Thus far she had regarded them as uncongenialstrangers, and had contented herself with mere politeness towardthem. In her sad preoccupation she had taken little note of theircharacters or domestic life, and her mother had kept herself evenmore secluded. Indeed the poor lady felt that it was hardly rightto smile in view of her husband's absence and misfortune, and sheoften chided Belle for her levity; but Belle's life was like anover-full fountain in spring-time, and could not be repressed. 

In her deep abstraction Mildred had seen, but had scarcely noted, certain changes in the farmhouse that would have interested andpleased her had her mind been at rest. Almost unconsciously she hadrevealed her love of that which is pretty and inviting; thereforeSusan, not content with being neat, was inclined to brightenher costume by an occasional ribbon, and to suggest comparisonsbetween her fresh and youthful bloom and an opening flower that shewould fasten in her hair as the summer day declined. So far fromresenting this imitation of her own habits and tastes, Mildred atlast recognized the young girl's awakening perceptions of womanlygrace with much satisfaction. Even poor Mrs. Atwood exhibited atendency to emerge from her chronic and rather forlorn conditionof household drudge. For years she had known and thought of littleelse save sordid work, early and late. The income from the smallfarm permitted no extra help except on rare occasions, and then wasobtained under protest from her husband, who parted with a dollaras he would with a refractory tooth. His strong and persistent willhad impressed itself on his family, and their home life had beenmeagre and uninviting; the freedom and ease that he and Rogerwere so loath to lose, consisting chiefly in careless dress and adisregard of the little refinements and courtesies of life. 

It was with some self-reproach that Mildred admitted that fornearly a month she had practically ignored these people, and thatshe was becoming selfish in her trouble; and yet, not so much froma sense of duty, as from a kindling zest in life, she began to takean interest in them and their ways. She was still far too youngfor her spirit to lose its spring, even under a continuous weightof misfortune. Her nature was not morbid, but sunny and wholesome, and when with the children and Belle unexpected smiles would brightenher face like glints of sunshine here and there on a cloudy day. Deep as had been her wounds, she found that there were moments whenshe half forgot their pain, and an instinct of self-preservationtaught her that it would be best to forget them as far as possible. 

When the thought of trying to refine the somewhat rude householdin which she dwelt occurred to her, she discovered that the workwas already well begun, for the chief condition of success waspresent--the disposition to do as she would like. The Atwoods soonsurmised that the family was in trouble of some kind, and were ableto distinguish between pride of caste and a sorrowful preoccupation. It was scarcely in Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred's nature to speak otherwisethan gently and kindly, and so without trying they disarmed theirhosts and won their sympathy. Notwithstanding their dejection andlassitude, they maintained the habits of their lives, and unwittinglygave Mrs. Atwood and her daughter a vague impression that neatness, attractiveness, and order were as essential as good morals. 

At first Roger had dressed more roughly than ever, in order toassert his right to his old ways, but as Mildred did not protesteven by a glance, he next took pains to show her that he had "goodclothes" if he chose to wear them. This fact she also accepted withoutthe faintest interest, and so at last he was rather nonplussed. He was not accustomed to being politely ignored, and since he felta growing interest in this new type of girl, he had an increasingdesire to make her aware of his existence. "Hang it all, " he wouldmutter, "I'm no more to her than Jotham and the other farm animals. What can a fellow do to make her look at him as if she saw him?She's very kind and polite and all that; she'd as soon hurt thebrindle cow as me, but this fact is not very flattering. However, I'll find you out, my lady, and you too shall learn that the onewhom you now regard as an object merely has a will and a way ofhis own. "

Therefore it may be guessed that in Roger Mildred might discovermore docility and plastic readiness than she desired. Only old Mr. Atwood and Jotham seemed incorrigible material; but she did notdespair even of them, and resolved to set about reclaiming thisfamily from barbarism at once. 

CHAPTER VII

COMPARISONS

"Mrs. Atwood, " said Mildred one Saturday evening, "I'll go with youto church to-morrow if you'll let me. Belle has been once, and itwill be my turn to-morrow. "

"Oh, certainly, miss; you will go with Roger in the buggy, I s'pose, like Miss Belle. "

"If you please, I'd rather go with you. "

"Really, miss, the roads have been muddy of late, and the wagonisn't very nice. "

"I would rather go with you, " pleaded Mildred, with an appeal inher blue eyes that few resisted. 

"Father, " said Mrs. Atwood, as soon as her husband came in, "MissJocelyn wishes to go with us to meeting to-morrow. Can't you orRoger tidy up the wagon a bit? 'Tain't fit for her to ride in. "

"There'tis again--more time spent in fixing up and fussing thanin looking after the main chance. You are all gettin' too fine forplain farmin' people. "

"I don't see why plain farming people need enjoy mud more'n otherfolks. You ought to be ashamed to ask your wife and daughter toride in such a wagon. "

"I don't know why I should be more ashamed to-morrow than on anyother Sunday, and you was never ashamed before. Your boarders don'tseem inclined to take any rides and pay for them, so I don't seewhy I should fix up any more'n usual. Anyhow, it's too late now;Jotham's gone home, I'm too tired, and Roger's dressed to go out. Why can't she go with Roger?"

"She says she'd rather go with us, and if you men-folk let herride in that wagon I hope the minister will give you a scorchingsermon"--and she turned toward her son, who, dressed in his ruralfinery, was finishing an early supper, To her surprise he, fromwhom she expected no aid, gave her a significant nod and put hisfinger on his lips. He had already decided upon one bold stratagem, in the hope of opening Mildred's eyes, and if this failed hismother's words suggested another line of policy. 

"Sue, " he said, with affected carelessness, "I may bring AmeliaStone to spend part of the evening with you. "

"Amelia Stone isn't my style, if the young men do say she's theprettiest girl in town. "

"If you don't treat her well she'll think you're jealous, " saidRoger, and with this artful stroke he departed to carry out hisexperiment. "I'll teach my city lady that I'm not a clodhopper thatother girls won't look at, " he thought as he drove away. 

Everything went according to his mind, for Amelia broke an engagementin order to come with him, and was very friendly. The young fellowthought that Mildred must see that he was not a person to be politelyignored when so handsome a girl was flattering in her favors. Susan would not be thought jealous for the world, and so was rathereffusive over Miss Stone. She also imbibed the idea that it mightbe a good chance to make Mildred aware that they knew some nice, stylish people; therefore, as the rural beauty mounted the steps ofthe porch she introduced her to Mildred and Belle. Roger meanwhilestood near, and critically compared the two, girls. They certainlyrepresented two very different types, and he might have brought ascore of his acquaintances that would have been more to Mildred'staste than the florid beauty whose confidence was boldness, andwho had inventoried her own pronounced charms more often than hadany of her admirers. One girl was a lily, with a character likea delicate, elusive fragrance; the other, a tulip, very striking, especially at a distance. The one no more asserted herself than didthe summer evening; the manner of the other the same as button-holedall present, and demanded attention. Her restless black eyes openlysought admiration, and would speedily sparkle with anger and maliceshould their request be unrewarded. Roger was quick enough to feelMildred's superiority, although he could scarcely account for it, and he soon experienced so strong a revulsion of feeling towardhis unconscious ally that he would have taken her home again witha sense of relief. 

"If Miss Jocelyn thinks that's the style of girl that takes withme, I might as well have remained a scarecrow. Amelia Stone seemsloud as a brass band beside her, " and his gallantries perceptiblydiminished. 

True to her nature, Amelia assumed toward him what she imaginedwere very pretty airs of proprietorship. Eoger knew well that hermanner would have been the same toward the youth with whom, froma sudden caprice, she had broken her engagement for the evening. Her habitual coquetry nevertheless unwittingly carried out hisoriginal programme with a success that made him grind his teethwith rage, for he supposed that Mildred would gain the idea thatthey were congenial spirits drawn together by strong affinities. 

And she, half divining his vexation, shrewdly increased it bypretending to associate him with the transparent coquette, whileat the same time manifesting disapproval of her by a fine reserve. Amelia felt herself scanned quietly, coldly, and half curiously, as if she belonged to some strange and hitherto unknown type, andher vivacious egotism began to fail her. She was much relievedtherefore when Mildred excused herself and went to her room, for careless, light-hearted, and somewhat giddy Belle imposed norestraint. Roger, however, did not recover himself, for he saw thathe had made a false step in his effort to win recognition fromMildred, and he waited impatiently until his companion should suggestreturning. This she soon did, and they rode toward her home witha mutual sense of dissatisfaction. At last Amelia broke out, "Ithink she's absurdly proud!"

"Who?" Eoger asked demurely. 

"You know who well enough. I thank my stars we have no city folksputting on airs around our house. I suppose you think her perfection. You looked as if you did. "

"I'm not acquainted with her, " he said quietly. 

"Not acquainted! Darsn't you speak to her high mightiness then?"

"Oh, yes, I can speak to her when there is occasion, but that doesnot make one acquainted. I don't understand her. "

"I do, perfectly. She thinks herself a wonderful deal better thanyou or me. "

"Perhaps she is, " he admitted. 

"Well! that's a nice speech to make to ME! I was a fool to breakmy engagement and go with you. "

"All right, " responded Eoger, with satirical good-nature, as heassisted her to alight; "we'll both know better next time. "

She would not speak to Mm again, but he escorted her to her door, and bowed in parting with mocking politeness. Instead of invitinghim in, as was her custom, she closed the door with a sharpnessthat spoke volumes. 

"I don't believe Miss Jocelyn ever banged a door like that in herlife, " he muttered with a smile as he hastened homeward. 

Hearing unusual sounds in the farmyard before retiring, Mildredpeeped out from under her curtain. The moonlight revealed thatRoger was washing the wagon with a vigor that made her laugh, andshe thought, "After what I have seen this evening, I think I cancivilize him. "

CHAPTER VIII

CHANGES

Bent upon carrying out her project of introducing among the Atwoodsa more gracious and genial family life, and lured by the freshcoolness of the summer morning, Mildred left her room earlier thanusual. Mrs. Atwood, whose one indulgence was a longer sleep onthe day of rest, came down not very long after and began bustlingabout the kitchen. Hitherto their meals had been served to theJocelyns in the sitting-room, the farmer and his family eatingas before in the kitchen. Mildred felt that they had no right toimpose this extra labor on Mrs. Atwood, especially on the Sabbath, and she also thought it would do her mother good to be roused fromthe listless apathy into which she was sinking. These were herchief motives, but she knew that at no other place could people betaught the refinements of life more effectually than at the table, and it was her plan to bring about the changes she desired, withoutappearing to be the conscious cause. 

"Mrs. Atwood, " she said, "why can we not all take our breakfasttogether in the sitting-room this morning? I have noticed thatyour hired man is absent on Sundays"--her zeal for reform wouldnot induce her to sit down with Jotham--"and I can see no reasonwhy you should have the task to-day of preparing two meals. Ofcourse, if this is not agreeable to you let there be no change, but do not put yourself to the extra trouble on our account. "

"Well, now, miss, you are very kind, and to tell you the truth, Iwas thinking of this very thing, but we don't wish to intrude. "

"Intrude, Mrs. Atwood!" exclaimed Mildred, assuming surprise. "Idon't understand you, and shall now feel hurt if we do not takeour meals together to-day. "

"It's very good of you to think of us, and Susan and me will havea more restful day. "

Mildred gave her one of her rare smiles, which Mrs. Atwood said"lighted up the old kitchen like a ray of sunshine, " and then wentto prepare her mother and sister for the change. Belle was pleased, as she ever was with novelty. 

"Millie, " she cried, "you shall sit next to that great animal, Jotham, and if you don't take care he'll eat you unawares. "

"Jotham is not here to-day, and I'll have him fed in the kitchenhereafter. "

"Have you become mistress of the farmhouse? Has Roger made proposals?Won't it be fun to hear Mr. Atwood grumble! There is nothing I enjoymore than to hear him grumble and old Gruff growl. They must bechips off the same block. "

Mrs. Jocelyn shrank from seeing and speaking to any one, bat wasmuch too unselfish to impose extra tasks on Mrs. Atwood. 

Susan soon came down to assist her mother, and was delighted at theprospect of taking her meals in the sitting-room, feeling that itwas a decided social promotion. Moreover, like all young girls, she longed for companionship, and believed that Mildred would nowbe more approachable. 

By and by Roger came from the barnyard in his working-clothes, andseeing no preparations for breakfast in the kitchen, exclaimed:

"So we heathen must sit down to the second table to-day. "

"Yes, if you wish. Susan and me are going to take our breakfast inthe sitting-room with Mrs. Jocelyn and her family. "

"Am I not invited?" he asked a little anxiously. 

"There's no need of any invitation. You have as much right thereas I have, only I would not come in looking like that. "

"They won't like it--this new arrangement. "

"It seems to me that you have grown very considerate of what theylike, " put in Susan. 

"Miss Jocelyn proposed it herself, " Mrs. Atwood said, "and if youand father would fix up a little and come in quietly and naturallyit would save a deal of trouble. If I can't get a little rest onSunday I'll wear out. "

Roger waited to hear no more, and went hastily to his room. 

Mr. Atwood was more intractable. He distinguished the Sabbath fromthe rest of the week, by making the most of his larger leisure togrumble. 

"I'm in no state to sit down with those people, " he growled, afterthe change and the reasons for it had been explained to him. 

"I'm glad you feel so, " his wife replied; "but your old clotheshave not yet grown fast to you; you can soon fix yourself up, andyou might as well dress before breakfast as after it. "

He was perverse, however, and would make no greater concession tothe unwelcome innovation than to put on his coat. Mildred smiledmentally when she saw him lowering at the head of the table, but anicicle could no more continue freezing in the sun than he maintainhis surly mood before her genial, quiet greeting. It suggestedcourtesy so irresistibly, and yet so unobtrusively, that he alreadyrepented his lack of it. Still, not for the world would he havemade any one aware of his compunctions. Mrs. Atwood and Susan hadtheir doubts about Roger, fearing that he would rebel absolutelyand compel a return to their former habits. They were all scarcelyseated, however, before he appeared, a little flushed from hishasty toilet and the thought of meeting one who had been cold anddisapproving toward the belle of Forestville, but Mildred said"good-morning" so affably and naturally that he was made quite atease, and Mrs. Jocelyn, who had seemed unapproachable, smiled uponhim so kindly that he was inclined to believe her almost as prettyas her daughter. As for Belle and the children, he already feltwell acquainted with them. Mrs. Atwood and Susan looked at eachother significantly, for Roger was dressed in his best and disposedto do his best. Mildred saw the glance, and felt that the youngfellow deserved some reward, so she began talking to him in sucha matter-of-course way that before he was aware he was respondingwith a freedom that surprised all the family, and none more thanhimself. Mildred was compelled to admit that the "young barbarian, "as she had characterized him in her thoughts, possessed, in the itemof intelligence, much good raw material. He not only had ideas, but also the power of expressing them, with freshness and vivacity. She did not give herself sufficient credit for the effects thatpleased her, or understand that it was her good breeding and goodwill that banished his tongue-tied embarrassment. The most powerfulinfluences are usually the most subtle, and Roger found, as hadVinton Arnold and others, that for some cause Mildred evoked thebest there was in him. 

Poor Mrs. Jocelyn did not have very much to say. Her depressionwas too deep to be thrown off appreciably, but she replied to Mrs. Atwood's remarks with her wonted gentleness. Belle's spirits soonpassed all bounds, and one of her wild sallies provoked a grimsmile from even Mr. Atwood, and she exulted over the fact all day. In brief, the ice seemed quite broken between the family and the"boarders. "

The old farmer could scarcely believe his eyes when he went outto harness the horses to the three-seated wagon, for it was neatand clean, with buffalo robes spread over the seats. "Well, " heejaculated, "what's a-coming over this here family, anyway? I'mabout all that's left of the old rusty times, and rusty enough Ifeel, with everybody and everything so fixed up. I s'pose I'll haveto stand it Sundays, and the day'll be harder to git through thanever. To-morrow I'll be back in the kitchen again, and can eat myvictuals without Miss Jocelyn looking on and saying to herself, 'He ain't nice; he don't look pretty'; and then a-showin' me by themost delicate little ways how I ought to perform. She's got Rogerunder her thumb or he wouldn't have cleaned up this wagon in themiddle of the night, for all I know, but I'm too old and set to bemade over by a girl. "

Thus grumbling and mumbling to himself, Mr. Atwood prepared to takehis family to the white, tree-shadowed meeting-house, at which heseldom failed to appear, for the not very devotional reason thatit helped him to get through the day. Like the crab-apple tree inthe orchard, he was a child of the soil, and savored too much ofhis source. 

Roger was of finer metal, and while possessing his father's shrewdness, hard common-sense and disposition to hit the world between the eyesif it displeased him, his nature was ready at slight incentive, to throw off all coarseness and vulgarity. The greater number offorceful American citizens are recruited from the ranks of justsuch young men--strong, comparatively poor, somewhat rude in mindand person at the start, but of such good material that they arecapable of a fine finish. 

Roger had grown naturally, and healthily, thus far. He had surpassedthe average boy on the play-ground, and had fallen slightly belowhim in the school-house, but more from indifference and self-assurancethan lack of ability. Even his father's narrow thrift could notcomplain of his work when he would work, but while a little fellowhe was inclined to independence, and persisted in having a goodlyshare of his time for the boyish sports in their season, and forall the books of travel and adventure he could lay his hands upon. In spite of scoldings and whippings he had sturdily held his own, and at last his father had discovered that Roger could be led muchbetter than driven, and that by getting him interested, and bymaking little agreements, like that concerning the buggy, the bestof the bargain could always be obtained, for the youth would thenwork with a will and carry out his verbal contracts in a large, good-natured way. Therefore Mildred's belief that he was good rawmaterial for her humanizing little experiment had a better foundationthan she knew. Indeed, without in the least intending it, she mightawaken a spirit that would assert itself in ways as yet undreamedof by either of them. The causes which start men upon their careersare often seemingly the most slight and causal. Mildred meant nothingmore than to find a brief and kindly-natured pastime in softeningthe hard lives and in rounding the sharp angles of the Atwoodfamily, and Roger merely came in for his share of her attention. Flesh and spirit, however, are not wood and stone, and she mightlearn in deep surprise that her light aesthetic touches, whileproducing pleasing changes in externals, had also awakened someof the profoundest motives and forces that give shape and color tolife. 

In smiling ignorance of such possibilities, she said to him asshe came out on the porch dressed for church, "You have given yourmother and me also a pleasant surprise, and we shall enjoy our rideto church far more, not only because the wagon is nice and clean, but also because of your thoughtfulness of our pleasure. The wagonlooked so inviting from our windows that I have induced my motherto go, and to take the children. I think they will keep still. Wewill sit near the door, and I can take them out if they get tired. "

Her words were very simple, but she spoke them with a quiet graceall her own, while pulling her glove over a hand that seemed toosmall and white for any of the severer tasks of life. As she stoodthere in her pretty summer costume, a delicate bloom in her cheeksrelieving the transparent fairness of her complexion, she seemed tohim, as Amelia Stone had said, perfect indeed--and the young girlcould not suppress a smile at the almost boyish frankness of hisadmiration. 

"You gave me a pleasant surprise, also, " he said, flushing deeply. 

"I?" with a questioning glance. 

"Yes. You have brought about a pleasant change, and made breakfastsomething more than eating. You have made me feel that I might beless nigh of kin to Jotham than I feared. "

"I shall imitate your frankness, " she replied, laughing; "you arenot near so nigh of kin to him as I feared. "

"I have not forgotten that you thought me identical with him, " hecould not forbear saying. 

"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, " she answered, with deepeningcolor. 

"Oh, you were not to blame in the least, " he said good-naturedly. "I deserved it. "

"You must remember, too, " she continued, deprecatingly, "thatI am a city girl, and not acquainted with country ways, and sohave charity. " Then she added earnestly, "We do not want to put aconstraint on your family life, or make home seem less homelike toyou all. "

Mrs. Jocelyn with Belle and the children were descending the stairs. "I misunderstood you, Miss Jocelyn, " said Roger, with a penitentlook, and he hastily strode away. 

"I've disarmed him, " thought Mildred, with a half smile. She had, a little too completely. 

Belle claimed her old place with Roger, and their light wagon wassoon lost in the windings of the road. 

"Millie, " whispered Belle, as the former joined her at church, "whatcould you have said to Roger to make him effervesce so remarkably?I had to remind him that it was Sunday half a dozen times. "

"What a great boy he is!" answered Mildred. 

"The idea of my teaching him sobriety seemed to amuse him amazingly. "

"And no wonder. You are both giddy children. "

"Until to-day, when you have turned his head, he has been very agedin manner. Please let him alone hereafter; he is my property. "

"Keep him wholly, " and the amused look did not pass from Mildred'sface until service began. 

Dinner was even a greater success than breakfast. Mrs. Jocelyn hadbecome better acquainted with Mrs. Atwood during the drive, and theywere beginning to exchange housekeeping opinions with considerablefreedom, each feeling that she could learn from the other. Fearingjustly that a long period of poverty might be before them, Mrs. Jocelyn was awakening to the need of acquiring some of Mrs. Atwood'spower of making a little go a great way, and the thought of thusbecoming able to do something to assist her absent husband gaveher more animation than she had yet shown in her exile. Mildredventured to fill her vase with some hardy flowers that persistedin blooming under neglect, and to place it on the table, and shewas greatly amused to see its effect on Roger and Mr. Atwood. Thelatter stared at it and then at his wife. 

"Will any one take some of the flowers?" he asked at last, inponderous pleasantry. 

"I think we all had better take some, father, " said Roger. "I wouldnot have believed that so little a thing could have made so greata difference. "

"Well, what is the difference?"

"I don't know as I can express it, but it suggests that a greatdeal might be enjoyed that one could not put in his mouth or hispocket. "

"Mr. Roger, " cried Belle, "you are coming on famously. I didn'tknow that you were inclined, hitherto, to put everything you likedin your mouth or pocket. What escapes some people may have had. "

"I never said I liked you, " retorted the youth, with a touch of thebroad repartee with which he was accustomed to hold his own amongthe girls in the country. 

"No, but if I saw that you liked some one else I might be alarmed"--andshe looked mischievously toward Mildred. 

For reasons inexplicable to himself, he fell into a sudden confusionat this sally. 

With a warning glance at the incorrigible Belle, whose vitalelements were frolic and nonsense, Mildred began talking to Mr. Atwood about the great hotel a few miles distant. 

"Would you like to go there?" asked Roger after a little. 

"No, " she said; "I have not the slightest wish to go there. " Indeedthere was nothing that she shrank from more than the chance ofmeeting those who had known her in the city. 

Later in the day Susan said to her mother, with much satisfaction, "She's not stuck up at all, and we might have found it out before. I can't go back to the kitchen and live in our old haphazard way. I can see now that it wasn't nice at all. "

"We'll see, " said the politic Mrs. Atwood. "We mustn't drive fathertoo fast. "

Roger felt that at last he was getting acquainted, and he lookedforward to the long summer evening with much hope. But nothinghappened as he expected, for Mildred was silent and preoccupiedat supper, and Mrs. Jocelyn appeared to have relapsed into her olddepression. 

Instead of going out in his buggy to spend the evening with oneof his many favorites, as had been his custom, he took a book andsat down under a tree near the porch, so that he might join Mildredif she gave him any encouragement to do so. Belle found him taciturnand far removed from his gay mood of the morning, and so at lastleft him in peace. 

Sue was entertaining a rural admirer in the parlor, which was rarelyused except on such momentous occasions, and all was propitious fora quiet talk with the object of his kindling interest. His heartbeat quickly as he saw her appear on the porch with her hat andshawl, but instead of noticing him she went rapidly by with bowedhead and climbed an eminence near the house, from which there wasan extended view to the southward. He felt, as well as saw, thatshe wished to be alone, that he was not in her thoughts, that shewas still as distant from him as he had ever imagined her to be. Theshadows deepened, the evening grew dusky, the stars came out, andyet she did not return. For a long time he could see her outlineas she sat on the hill top, and then it faded. He knew she wasin trouble, and found a vague pleasure in watching with her, inremaining within call should she be frightened, knowing, however, that there was little danger of this in quiet Forestville. Still, the illusion that he was in some sense her protector pleased himin his sentimental mood, and in after years he often recalled thisfirst faint foreshadowing of his lot. 

Could he have seen the poor girl, when at last, conscious ofsolitude and darkness, she gave way to the passionate grief that, for her mother's sake, she had so long repressed, he would havefelt that she was distant indeed--far removed by experiences ofwhich he as yet knew nothing. She had been gazing southward, towardthe city in which her father was vainly seeking a foothold on thesteep incline up which the unfortunate must struggle, and in fancyshe saw him lonely, dejected, and deprived of the family life ofwhich he was so fond. Her sympathy for him was as deep as her strongaffection. But in spite of her will her thoughts would recur tothe beautiful dream which had been shattered in that distant city. Not a word had she heard from Arnold since leaving it, and herheart so misgave her concerning the future that she threw herselfon the sod, sobbing bitterly, and almost wishing that she werebeneath it and at rest. In the deep abstraction of her grief shehad scarcely noted the lapse of time, nor where she was, and themoon had risen when she again glided by Roger, her step and bearingsuggesting lassitude and dejection. 

Soon after he entered the sitting-room, where he found his motherwith a troubled look on her face. "Roger, " she said, "I feel sorryfor these people. When I went upstairs a while ago I heard Mrs. Jocelyn crying in her room, and coming down with the lamp I met theyoung lady on the stairs, and her eyes were very red. It's certainthey are in deep trouble. What can it be? It's queer Mr. Jocelyndoesn't come to see them. I hope they are all right. "

"Mother, " he burst out impetuously, "they are all right--she is, anyway, " and he went abruptly to his room. 

"Well, " remarked the bewildered woman sententiously, "there neverwere such goings on in the old house before. "

An event momentous to her had indeed taken place--Roger's boyishdays were over. 

CHAPTER IX

NEITHER BOY NOR MAN

The two following weeks passed uneventfully at the farmhouse, butsilent forces were at work that were as quiet and effective as thoseof Nature, who makes her vital changes without ever being observedin the act. In respect to the domestic arrangements Mrs. Atwoodeffected a sensible compromise. She gave the men-folk an earlybreakfast in the kitchen, so that they might go to their workas usual, and her boarders were thus not compelled to rise atan unaccustomed hour. She and Susan afterward sat down with them, and Mr. Atwood and Roger joined them at dinner and supper. On theMonday following the scenes described in the last chapter, Mildredand Mrs. Jocelyn were listless and unable to recover even thesemblance of cheerfulness, for a letter from Mr. Jocelyn informedthem that he was making very little headway, and that some agencieswhich he accepted yielded but a scanty income. Mildred chafed morebitterly than ever over her position of idle waiting, and even grewirritable under it. More than once Roger heard her speak to Belleand the children with a sharpness and impatience which provedher not angelic. This did not greatly disturb him, for he neither"wanted to be an angel" nor wished to have much to do withuncomfortable perfection. A human, spirited girl was quite to histaste, and he was quick-witted enough to see that unrest and anxietywere the causes of her temper. Poor Mrs. Jocelyn was too gentle forirritation, and only grew more despondent than ever at hope deferred. 

"Millie, " she said, "I have dreadful forebodings, and can neverforgive myself that I did not think night and day how to save insteadof how to spend. What should we do if we had no money at all?"

"Belle and I must go to work, " said Mildred, with a resolute face, "and it's a shame we are not at work now. "

"What can you do when your father can do so little?"

"Other poor people live; so can we. I can't stand this wretchedwaiting and separation much longer, " and she wrote as much to herfather. In the hope of obtaining a response favorable to her wishesshe became more cheerful. Every day increased her resolution toput an end to their suspense, and to accept their lot with suchfortitude as they could command. 

One morning she found Mr. And Mrs. Atwood preparing to go to thenearest market town with butter, eggs, and other farm produce. She readily obtained permission to accompany them, and made somemysterious purchases. From this time onward Roger observed thatshe was much in her room, and that she went out more for exercisethan from the motive of getting through with the weary, idle hours. For some reason she also gained such an influence over thoughtlessBelle that the latter took tolerably good care of little Fredand Minnie, as the children were familiarly called. While shemaintained toward him her polite and friendly manner, he saw thathe was forgotten, and that it had not entered her mind that hecould ever do anything for her or be anything more to her than atthe present time. But every hour she gained a stronger hold uponhis sympathy, and occasionally, when she thought herself unobserved, he saw a troubled and almost fearful look come into her eyes, as ifsomething were present to her imagination that inspired the strongestdread. At such times he was mastered by impulses of self-sacrificethat would have seemed very absurd if put into plain words. Hekept his thoughts, however, to himself, and with an instinctivereticence sought to disguise even from his mother the feelings thatwere so new, and so full of delicious pain. That he was becomingquite different from the careless, self-satisfied young fellow thathe had been hitherto was apparent to all, and after his outburston Sunday evening his mother half guessed the cause. But he misledher to some extent, and Susan altogether, by saying, "I've had afalling-out with Amelia Stone. "

"Well, she's the last girl in the world that I'd mope about if Iwere a man, " was his sister's emphatic reply. 

"You're not a man; besides I'm not moping. I'm only cutting mywisdom teeth. I want to do something in the world, and I'm thinkingabout it. "

"He's a-growing, " said his mother with a smile, and on this theoryshe usually explained all of her son's vagaries. 

He still further misled his unsophisticated sister by making nospecial effort to seek Mildred's society. After one or two ratherfutile attempts he saw that he would alienate the sad-heartedgirl by obtrusive advances, and he contented himself by tryingto understand her, in the hope that at some future time he mightlearn to approach her more acceptably. The thought that she wouldsoon leave the farmhouse depressed him greatly. She had suggestedto him a new and wholly different life from that which he had ledhitherto, and he felt within himself no power or inclination togo on with his old ways. These thoughts he also brooded over insilence, and let himself drift in a current which seemed irresistible. 

During this period he was under the influence of neither apathy nordejection. On the contrary, his mind was surging with half-formedplans, crude purposes, and ambitious dreams. His horizon liftedfrom the farm and Forestville until there seemed space for a notablecareer. His soul kindled at the thought of winning a position thatwould raise him to Mildred's side. So far from fearing to burn hisships, and strike out unsupported, the impulse grew strong to makethe attempt at any cost. He was sure that his father would notlisten to the project, and that he would be wholly unaided, butriot many days passed before the thought of such obstacles ceasedto influence him. "I'll take my way through the world, and cutmy own swath, " he muttered a hundred times as he swung the scytheunder the July sun. 

Moreover, he had a growing belief in his power to climb the heightsof success. His favorite books of travel and adventure that he haddevoured in boyhood made almost anything seem possible, and thevarious biographies that the village library furnished revealedgrand careers in the face of enormous obstacles. His mind was awakinglike a young giant eager for achievement. Even after the toil oflong, hot days he took up his old school-books in the solitude ofhis room, and found that he could review them with the ease withwhich he would read a story. "I've got some brains as well asmuscle, " he would mutter, exultantly. "The time shall come whenMildred Jocelyn won't mistake me for Jotham. "

Poor Mr. Atwood would have been in consternation had he knownwhat was passing in his son's mind; and Mildred even less pleased, for after all it was she who had inspired the thoughts which weretransforming him from a simple country youth into an ambitious, venturesome man. 

He knew of but one way to please her, but he made the most ofthat, and worked quietly but assiduously whenever he could withoutexciting his father's opposition. After the day's tasks were overthe time was his own. He began by cutting all the weeds and grassin the door-yard and around the house. Palings that had disappearedfrom the fence were replaced, and all were whitewashed. 

Mrs. Atwood and Susan were greatly pleased at the changes, but thoughtit politic not to say much about them; one evening, however, hisfather began to banter him, remarking that Roger must be intendingto "bring home a wife some fine morning. " The young fellow reddenedresentfully, and brusquely retorted that they "had lived in theirold slovenly way long enough. People might well think they weregoing to the bad. " This practical view somewhat reconciled hisfather to the new ideas, and suggested that Roger was not so daftas he feared. A little time after he was led to believe his son tobe shrewder than himself. Needing some money, he took a note to thebank with much misgiving, but was agreeably surprised when one ofthe officers said affably, "I think we can accommodate you, Mr. Atwood. I was by your place the other day, and it is so improvedthat I scarcely knew it. Thrift and credit go together. "

But Mildred doubted whether thrift and policy were the only motiveswhich had led to Roger's unwonted action, and believed rather thathe had awakened to a perception of the value and attractivenessof those things which hitherto he had not appreciated. This, in asense, was already true, but had she known to what extent she wasin his thoughts she would not have smiled so complacently when, on the Saturday morning after the completion of his other labors, she noted that the weed-choked flower-borders along the walk hadbeen cleaned and neatly rounded up, and the walk itself put inperfect order. "The flower-beds remind me of himself, " she thought, as from time to time she glanced at them through her open window. "They contain a good deal of vacant space, and suggest what mightbe there rather than what is. Would to heaven, though, that Mr. Arnold had more of his muscle and decision. If Vinton were onlydifferent, how different all the future might be! But I fear, I fear. We have not enough money to last all summer if we remainhere, and father writes so discouragingly. Thank God, I'm no longeridle, whether anything comes of my work or not, " and the delicatepiece of fancy work grew rapidly in her deft hands. 

Toward evening she started out for a walk, but uttered an exclamationof surprise as she saw the flower-borders were bright with verbenas, heliotrope, geraniums, and other bedding plants. Roger's buggystood near, containing two large empty boxes, and he was just rakingthe beds smooth once more in order to finish his task. 

"Why, Mr. Atwood!" she cried, "it has long seemed to me that a goodfairy was at work around the house, but this is a master-stroke. "

"If you are pleased I am well repaid, " he replied, the colordeepening on his sunburned cheeks. 

"If I am pleased?" she repeated in surprise, and with a faintanswering color. "Why, all will be pleased, especially your motherand Susan. "

"No doubt, but I thought these would look more like what you havebeen accustomed to. "

"Really, Mr. Atwood, I hope you have not put yourself to all thistrouble on my account. "

"I have not put myself to any trouble. But you are in trouble, MissJocelyn, and perhaps these flowers may enliven you a little. "

"I did not expect such kindness, such thoughtfulness. I do not seethat I am entitled to so much consideration, " she said hesitatingly, at the same time fixing on him a penetrating glance. 

Although he was much embarrassed, his clear black eyes met herswithout wavering, and he asked, after a moment: "Could you notaccept it if it were given freely?"

"I scarcely understand you, " she replied in some perplexity. 

"Nor do I understand you, Miss Jocelyn. I wish I did, for then Imight do more for you. "

"No, Mr. Atwood, " she answered gravely, "you do not understand me. Experience has made me immeasurably older than you are. "

"Very possibly, " he admitted, with a short, embarrassed laugh. "Myformer self-assurance and complacency are all gone. "

"Self-reliance and self-restraint are better than self-assurance, "she remarked with a smile. 

"Miss Jocelyn, " he began, with something like impetuosity, "I wouldgive all the world if I could become your friend. You could do somuch for me. "

"Mr. Atwood, " said Mildred, with a laugh that was mixed withannoyance, "you are imposed upon by your fancy, and are imaginingabsurd things, I fear. But you are good-hearted and I shall be alittle frank with you. We are in trouble. Business reverses haveovertaken my father, and we are poor, and may be much poorer. I maybe a working-woman the rest of my days; so, for Heaven's sake, donot make a heroine out of me. That would be too cruel a satire onmy prosaic lot. "

"You do not understand me at all, and perhaps I scarcely understandmyself. If you think my head is filled with sentimental nonsense, time will prove you mistaken. I have a will of my own, I can assureyou, and a way of seeing what is to be seen. I have seen a greatdeal since I've known you. A new and larger world has been revealedto me, and I mean to do something in it worthy of a man. I cannever go on with my old life, and I will not, " he continued, almostpassionately. "I was an animal. I was a conceited fool. I'm verycrude and unformed now, and may seem to you very ridiculous; butcrudity is not absurdity, undeveloped strength is not weakness. Anawakening mind may be very awkward, but give me time and you willnot be ashamed of my friendship. "

He had ceased leaning against a tree that grew near the roadway, and at some distance from the house. In his strong feeling he forgothis embarrassment, and assumed an attitude so full of unconsciouspower that he inspired a dawning of respect; for, while he seemeda little beside himself, there was a method in his madness whichsuggested that she, as well as the young man, might eventually discoverthat he was not of common clay and predestined to be commonplace. But she said, in all sincerity, "Mr. Atwood, I'm sure I wish youtwice the success you crave in life, and I've no reason to thinkyou overrate your power to achieve it; but you greatly overrate me. It would be no condescension on my part to give you my friendship;and no doubt if you attain much of the success you covet you willbe ready enough to forget my existence. What induces you to thinkthat a simple girl like me can help you? It seems to me that youare vague and visionary, which perhaps is natural, since you sayyou are just awaking, " she concluded, with a little smiling sarcasm. 

"You are unjust both to yourself and to me, " he replied firmly, "and I think I can prove it. If I shall ever have any power inthe world it will be in seeing clearly what is before me. I haveseldom been away from this country town, and yet as soon as I sawyou with a mind free from prejudice I recognized your superiority. I brought the belle of Forestville and placed her by your side, and I could think of nothing but brazen instruments until I lefther loudness at her father's door. I would not go near her again ifthere were not another woman in the world. I saw at a glance thatshe was earthenware beside you. "

Mildred now could not forbear laughing openly. "If you lose yourillusions so rapidly, " she said, "my turn will come soon, and Ishall be china beside some fine specimen of majolica. "

"You may laugh at me, but you will one day find I am sincere, andnot altogether a fool. "

"Oh, I'm ready to admit that, even now. But you are altogethermistaken in thinking I can help you. Indeed I scarcely see how Ican help myself. It is a very poor proof of your keen discernmentto associate me with your kindling ambition. "

"Then why had you the power to kindle it? Why do I think my bestthoughts in your presence? Why do I speak to you now as I neverdreamed I could speak? You are giving purpose and direction to mylife, whether you wish it or not, whether you care or not. You mayalways be indifferent to the fact, still it was your hand that wakenedme. I admit I'm rather dazed as yet. You may think I'm talking toyou with the frankness--perhaps the rashness--of a boy, since youare 'immeasurably older, ' but the time is not very distant when Ishall take my course with the strength and resolution of a man. "

"I should be sorry to be the very innocent cause of leading youinto thorny paths. I truly think you will find more happiness herein your quiet country life. "

His only answer was an impatient gesture. 

"Perhaps, " she resumed, "if you knew more of the world you wouldfear it more. I'm sure I fear it, and with good reason. "

"I do not fear the world at all, " he replied. "I would fear to loseyour esteem and respect far more, and, distant as you are from me, I shall yet win them both. "

"Mr. Atwood, I suppose I have as much vanity as most girls, butyou make me blush. You are indeed dazed, for you appear to take mefor a melodramatic heroine. "

"Pardon me, I do not. I've been to the theatre occasionally, butyou are not at all theatrical. You are not like the heroines ofthe novels I've read, and I suppose I've read too many of them. "

"I fear you have, " she remarked dryly. "Pray, then, What am I like?"

"And I may seem to you a hero of the dime style; but wait, don'tdecide yet. What are you like? You are gentle, like your mother. You are exceedingly fond of all that's pretty and refined, so muchso that you tried to introduce a little grace into our meagre, angular farmhouse life--"

"Thanks for your aid, " interrupted Mildred, laughing. "I must admitthat you have good eyes. "

"You shrink, " he resumed, "from all that's ugly, vulgar, or coarsein life. You are an unhappy exile in our plain home. "

"All which goes to prove what an ordinary and unheroic nature I have. You will soar far beyond me, Mr. Atwood, for you have portrayed avery weak character--one that is in love with the niceties of life, with mere prettiness. "

"You are still laughing at me, but I'm in earnest; and if you meanwhat, you say, you understand yourself less than you do me. Whywill you not go to the hotel occasionally? Because with all yourgentleness you are too proud to run the slightest risk of patronageand pity from those who knew you in your more fortunate days. Whydo you remain in your little hot room so much of the time? I don'tknow; but if you will permit a guess, you are working. Every dayyou grow less content to sit still in helpless weakness. You arefar braver than I, for I do not fear the world in the least; but, no matter how much you feared it, you would do your best to the last, and never yield to anything in it that was low, base, or mean. Oh, you are very gentle, very delicate, and you will be misunderstood;but you have the strongest strength there is--a kind of strengththat will carry you through everything, though it cost you dear. "

"And what may that be?" she asked, looking at him now in genuinewonder. 

"I can't explain exactly what I mean. It is something I've seenin mother, plain and simple as she is. It's a kind of enduringsteadfastness; it's a patient faithfulness. I should know just whereto find mother, and just what to expect from her, under all possiblecircumstances. I should never expect to see you very different fromwhat you are, no matter what happened. You often have the same lookor expression that she has; and it means to me that you would dothe best you could, although discouraged and almost hopeless. Veryfew soldiers will fight when they know the battle is going againstthem. You would, as long as you could move a finger. "

"Mr. Atwood, what has put all this into your head? This seems verystrange language from you. "

"It is not so strange as it seems. It comes from the gift on whichI base my hope of success in life. I see clearly and vividly whatis before me, and draw my conclusions. If I see the antlers of astag above some bushes, it is not necessary to see the whole animalto know he is there, and what kind of a creature he is. I'm not ascholar, Miss Jocelyn, but you must not think I do not know anythingbecause I work in the corn or the hayfield all day. We have longwinters up here, and I've studied some and read a great deal more. There are but few books in the village library that I have notread more or less thoroughly, and some of them many times. BecauseI was a careless, conceited fellow a few weeks since, it does notfollow that I'm an ignoramus. "

Mildred was decidedly puzzled. She could not account for the changein him; and she did not like to think of that to which his wordsand feelings pointed. He asked for friendship, but she stronglydoubted whether such a placid regard would long satisfy him. Herchief impulse was to escape, for the bare thought of words of lovefrom him or any one except Vinton Arnold was intensely repugnant. As she glanced around, seeking in what direction she might takeher flight, she saw a gentleman coming rapidly toward the house. After a second's hesitation she rushed toward him, crying, "Papa, papa, you are welcome!"

CHAPTER X

A COUNCIL

Roger saw Miss Jocelyn rush into the arms of a tall, florid gentleman, whose dark eyes grew moist at the almost passionate warmth of hisdaughter's greeting. To Mildred her father's unexpected coming wasthrice welcome, for in addition to her peculiarly strong affectionfor him, his presence ended an interview not at all agreeable, andpromised relief from further unwelcome attentions on the part ofRoger. Almost in the moment of meeting, she resolved to persuadehim that his family would be happier with him in the city. Thishad been her feeling from the first, but now she was wholly bent onleaving the farm-house; for with her larger experience and womanlyintuition she read in Roger's frank and still half-boyish face theforeshadowing of an unwelcome regard which she understood betterthan he did. 

While his manner for a few weeks past, and especially his wordsduring their recent interview, made it clear that he was not therough, awkward rustic she had first imagined him to be, he stillseemed very crude and angular. In spite of her love for Vinton Arnold, which had not abated in the least, he had ceased to be her idealman. Nevertheless, his refined elegance, his quiet self-restraint, his knowledge of the niceties and proprieties of the world to whichshe felt she belonged by right, did combine to produce an idealin her mind of which she was but half conscious, and beside whichRoger appeared in a repulsive light. She shrank with instinctivedistaste from his very strength and vehemence, and feared that shewould never be safe from interviews like the one just described, and from awkward, half-concealed gallantries. Even the flowershe had set out became odious, for they represented a sentiment thevery thought of which inspired aversion. 

A coquette can soon destroy the strong instinct of sacredness andexclusiveness with which an unperverted girl guards her heart fromall save the one who seems to have the divine right and unexplainedpower to pass all barriers. Even while fancy free, unwelcome advancesare resented almost as wrongs and intrusions by the natural woman;but after a real, or even an ideal image has taken possession ofthe heart and imagination, repugnance is often the sole reward ofother unfortunate suitors, and this dislike usually will be feltand manifested in a proportion corresponding with the obtrusivenessof the attentions, their sincerity, and the want of tact with whichthey are offered. 

To that degree, therefore, that Roger was in earnest, Mildredshrank from him, and she feared that he would not--indeed, fromhis antecedents could not--know how to hide his emotions. His wordshad so startled her that, in her surprise and annoyance, she imaginedhim in a condition of semi-ambitious and semi-amative ebullition, and she dreaded to think what strange irruptions might ensue. It would have been the impulse of many to make the immature youtha source of transient amusement, but with a sensitive delicacyshe shrank from him altogether, and wished to get away as soon aspossible. Pressing upon her was the sad, practical question of athwarted and impoverished life--impoverished to her in the dreariestsense--and it was intolerable that one who seemed so remote fromher sphere should come and ask that, from her bruised and emptyheart, she should give all sorts of melodramatic sentiment inresponse to his crude, ambitious impulses, which were yet as blindas the mythical god himself. 

Had she seen that Roger meant friendship only when he asked forfriendship, she would not have been so prejudiced against him;but the fact that this "great boy" was half consciously extendinghis hand for a gift which now she could not bestow on the bestand greatest, since it was gone from her beyond recall, appearedgrotesque, and such a disagreeable outcome of her changed fortunesthat she was almost tempted to hate him. There are some questionson which women scarcely reason--they only feel intensely. 

Mildred, therefore, was heartily glad that Roger did not wait tobe introduced to her father, and that he kept himself aloof fromthe reunited family during the evening. She also was pleased thatthey were not joined by the Atwoods at the supper-table. That thisconsiderate delicacy was due to the "young barbarian's" suggestionshe did not dream, but gave good-hearted but not very sensitiveMrs. Atwood all the credit. As for poor Roger, his quick insight, his power to guess something of people's thoughts and feelings fromthe expression of their faces, brought but little present comfortor promise for the future. 

"I made a bad impression at the start, " he muttered, "and it willbe long before she loses it, if she ever does. She shrinks from meas from something coarse and rough. She feels that I don't belongto her world at all. In fact, her father's fine bearing, his erect, elegant carriage make me feel as if I were but a country loutin very truth. " The reception given to Mr. Jocelyn satisfied Mrs. Atwood thoroughly that his prolonged absence did not result fromany alienation from his family. They overwhelmed him with caresses, and either Fred or Minnie could scarcely be kept out of his armsa moment. 

"Fanny, " he said to his wife, "I almost made a vow that I wouldnot come here until I had secured a position that would give youall the comforts of life, if not at once its luxuries; but suchpositions are occupied, and when one becomes vacant they are filledby relatives of the firm, or by those who have stronger claimsthan I can present. Still my friends are working for me, and I havethe prospect of employment where the compensation will be small atfirst, but if I can draw a considerable Southern trade it will beincreased rapidly. "

And yet he sighed while revealing this hopeful outlook, and Mildrednoticed that he sighed more than once during the evening, in spiteof the torrent of affectionate welcome which almost swept him away. 

After Belle and the younger children were sleeping, the husband andwife with Mildred talked late over their prospects. Mr. Jocelynsuggested that they should remain in the country, and even thatthey should rent a small cottage in Forestville or elsewhere, buthis gentle wife soon proved that on some occasions she could bedecided. 

"No, Martin, " she said, with the quiet emphasis which reveals apurpose not to be combated, "one thing is settled--there must beno more separation. I have suffered too much during these last fewweeks ever to listen again to such an arrangement. Now that youare with us once more, I learn that the ache in my heart was causednot so much by losses and the prospect of poverty as by lonelinessand the feeling that you were left to struggle by yourself. It'smy place to be with you, and I am willing to live anywhere and inany way. I can see that I might have aided you in providing againstthis evil time, but it seems now that I thought only of what wewanted for each day as it came, and the trouble was that we all gotjust what we wanted. Here is the result. Oh, I've thought it overthrough long sleepless nights till my heart ached with a pain thatI hope none of you will ever know. But to sit idly here and waitwhile you are trying to retrieve my folly is a greater punishmentthan I can endure. Give me something to do which will be of help toyou, and I will do it gladly, even though it be in two attic rooms. "

"Mamma's right, " added Mildred earnestly. "Papa, you must find aplace for us in New York--a place within our means. Let us beginlife right this time, and I believe God will bless and prosperus. It won't be many days before Belle and I will find somethingto do. "

Mr. Jocelyn sighed more deeply than ever, and, indeed, appearedso overcome for a few moments that he could not speak. At lasthe faltered, "I have all of a Southern man's pride, and it's morebitter than death to me that my wife and daughters must work fortheir bread. "

"Papa, " exclaimed Mildred, "would it not be infinitely more bitterto us all to eat the bread of charity? I shall pretend to no unnaturalheroism, nor say I like toil and poverty. On the contrary, I thinkI shrink from such things more than most girls do. But I don'tpropose to sit down and wring my hands. I can put them to a betteruse. We must just put away all talk of pride and sentiment, andremember only our poverty and self-respect. As Christian and sensiblepeople we are bound to accept of our life and make the best of it. You and mother both know how much this change has cost me, " sheconcluded, with a few half-stifled sobs, "and if I am willing toenter on a cheerful, patient effort to make the best of life as itis, I think all the rest might, too. If we give way to despondencywe are lost. Let us be together again, and pull together as one. "

"The idea of Nan and the children coming back to the city in August!"said Mr. Jocelyn dejectedly. "You don't either of you realize whatyou are talking about. We should have to go into a tenement-house. "

"Martin, I do realize it, " replied his wife earnestly. "The countryis doing me no good--indeed I'm failing in health. Nothing doesus good when we are unhappy and anxious. Find me two rooms in atenement-house if we cannot afford more, and let us be together assoon as possible. "

"Well, " said Mr. Jocelyn, after a long breath, "with such a wifeand such children to work for a man ought to be able to do greatthings; but it's much the same as it was in the army--if one losthis place in the ranks he was hustled about in everybody's way, and if weak and disabled he was left to his fate. The world goesright on and over you if you don't stand aside. I know you'vesuffered, Nan, and you know that if I had my wish you would neverhave a care or a pain; but God knows I suffered too. After you allwere gone and my duties to my former partners ceased, I began tolearn from experience how difficult it is in these cursed times toget a foothold, and I became almost sleepless from anxiety. Thenset in that villanous neuralgia, which always strikes a man whenhe's down, ' and for a week or more it seemed that I should almostlose my reason. 

"Oh, Martin, Martin!" his wife exclaimed reproachfully, "and youdid not let us know!"

"Why should I? It would only have added to your burden, and wouldnot have helped me. I was glad you knew nothing about it. "

"This is another proof that we must be together, " said his wife, her eyes filling with tears. "How did you come to get better?"

"Oh, the doctor gave me something that made me sleep, and I seldomhave neuralgia now. "

"Come, papa, " cried Mildred, as she put her arms around his neckand leaned her face against his, "there are thousands worse offthan we are, and thousands more have retrieved far worse disasters. Now take courage; we'll all stand by you, and we'll all help you. We will one day have a prettier home than ever, and it will beall our own, so that no one can drive us from it;" and with hopespringing up in her heart she tried to inspire hope and courage intheirs. 

"Oh, Millie, " he said, taking her on his lap, "when you coax andpet one you are irresistible. We WILL begin again, and win backall and more than we have lost. "

Then, partly to amuse her father and mother, but more for thepurpose of hastening their departure, Mildred told them of Roger'speculiar mood, and her conscience smote her a little as shecaricatured rather than characterized the youth. Mrs. Jocelyn, inher kindliness, took his part, and said, "Millie, you are satiricaland unjust I'm sure he's a well-meaning young man. "

"The dear little mother!" cried Mildred, laughing; "when she can'tthink of anything else good to say of a person, she assures usthat he is 'well-meaning. ' Life may bring me many misfortunes, butI shall never marry what mamma calls 'a well-meaning man. '"

"But, Millie, I'm sure he's been very good and kind to us all, andhe's kind to his mother and sister, and he seems steady--"

"Well, mamma, admitting it all, what follows?" asked Mildred. 

"It follows that we had better go away, " said Mrs. Jocelyn, withher low, sweet laugh, that had been rarely heard of late; "but Idon't like you to be unjust to the young fellow. After all, he'snot so very much to blame, Millie, " she added, with a little nod. "If I were he I fear I might be in the same fix. "

"Oh, papa, now we must go; for if mamma's sympathies are oncearoused in behalf of this 'steady, well-meaning young man'--there!I will talk no more nonsense to-night, although I often findnonsense a sort of life preserver that keeps me from sinking. Iadmit, mamma, that I have been unjust to Mr. Atwood. He's far moreclever than I ever imagined him to be, but he's so different"--shefinished the sentence with a little repellent gesture that hermother well understood. 

They were all comforted, and far more hopeful from their frankinterchange of thought and feeling, and both father and motherbreathed a fervent "God bless you, Millie, " as they separated, longpast midnight. 

"God will bless us, " said the young girl, "if we will just simplytry to do what is right and best every day. The blessing will comeon doing, not waiting. "

She had not been in her room very long before hearing the crunchingof gravel under the wheels of Roger's buggy. With a smile shethought, "He must have found a more sympathizing ear and heart thanmine to have remained out so late. "

CHAPTER XI

A SHADOW

"Mrs. Atwood, " said Mildred the next morning, "I want to thankyou for your kindness in giving us our supper alone with papa thefirst evening of his arrival; but you need not put yourself to anyextra trouble to-day. "

"Roger is the one to thank, " replied Mrs. Atwood. "He's grown sodifferent, so considerate like, that I scarcely know him any morethan I do the old place he's so fixed up. He says he's going topaint the house after the summer work slacks off. I don't see what'scome over him, but I like the change very much. "

Mildred flushed slightly, but said, with some constraint, "Pleasethank him then from papa and mamma, but do not let us make youfurther trouble. We shall all return to the city soon, and thenyou will have easier times every way. "

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Jocelyn, for we shall miss you allvery much. You've done us good in more ways than one. "

Roger did not appear at breakfast. "A young horse strayed from thepasture, and Roger is out looking for him, " his mother explainedwhen Mrs. Jocelyn asked after him. 

Although not a member of any church, Mr. Jocelyn had great respectfor his wife and daughter's faith, and accompanied them to servicethat morning very readily. Roger appeared in time to take Belle, as usual, but she found him so taciturn and preoccupied that shewhispered to Mildred, "You've spoiled him for me. He sits staringlike an owl in the sunlight, and seeing just about as much. Youought to be ashamed of yourself to make him so glum. I intend tohave a dozen beaux, and to keep them all jolly. "

Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that the young fellow wasvery undemonstrative at dinner, and that he did not exhibit therusticity that she half hoped to see. She gained the impressionthat he was observing her father very closely, and that no remark ofhis escaped him. "He has the eyes of a lynx, " she thought, with afrown. Still, apart from a certain annoyance at his deep interest inher and all relating to her, she was rather pleased at the impressionwhich such a man as her father must make on one so unsophisticated. Mr. Jocelyn was a finished man of the world, and his large experienceleft its impress on all that he said and did. Although a littlecourtly in manner, he was so kindly and frank in nature thathis superiority was not at all oppressive, and with true Southernbonhomie he made the farmer's family quite at ease, leading themto speak freely of their rural affairs. Susan soon lost all senseof restraint and began to banter her brother. 

"You must have had a very affecting time in making up with AmeliaStone to have stayed out so late, " she remarked sotto voce. 

"I've not seen Amelia Stone since the evening she was here, " heanswered dryly. 

"Indeed! what other charmer then tied you to her apron-strings sotightly? You are very fickle. "

"Now you've hit it, " he answered, with a slight flush. "I was soundecided that I drove by every door, and was not tied at all. "

Belle "made eyes" at Mildred, as much as to say, "It's you who aredistracting him. "

"Next time, " Sue continued, "I think it would be well to make upyour mind before Sunday morning. "

"My mind is made up, " replied Roger--Belle looked at Mildred withan expression of horror, to her intense annoyance--"I shall troubleno one, " he added, quietly. 

Belle now gave such a great sigh of relief that he turned upon hertoo swift a glance to leave time for disguise. He smiled a littlebitterly, and then began talking in an off-hand way to Mr. Jocelynabout the hotel a few miles distant, saying that it had filledup very rapidly of late. As they rose from the table he remarked, hesitatingly, "My horse and wagon are at your service this afternoonor evening if you would like to take a drive. "

Mr. Jocelyn was about to accept, but Mildred trod significantly onhis foot. Therefore he thanked Roger cordially, and said he wouldspend a quiet day with his family. 

"I don't wish to be under the slightest obligations to him, "explained Mildred when they were alone; "and Belle, " she warned, "you must stop your nonsense at once. I won't endure another traceof it. "

"Oh, indeed! I didn't know you were so touchy about him, " criedthe girl. "Is it for his sake or your own that you are so careful?You're stupid not to let him amuse you, since you've spoiled himfor me. "

Her sister made no reply, but gave the giddy child a glance thatquieted her at once. When Mildred was aroused her power over otherswas difficult to explain, for, gentle as she was, her will at timesseemed irresistible. 

Roger did not need to be told in so many words that his overturesof "friendship" had been practically declined. Her tones, herpolite but distant manner revealed the truth clearly. He was sorelywounded, but, so far from being disheartened, his purpose to winher recognition was only intensified. 

"I can at least compel her respect and prove myself her equal, " hethought, and instead of lounging or sleeping away the afternoon, ashad been his custom, he took a book and read steadily for severalhours. At last he left his room to aid his father in the eveninglabors of the farm-yard, and in doing so would have to pass nearMr. Jocelyn, who, with his family, was seated under a wide-spreadingtree. The gentleman evidently was in a very genial mood; he wascaressing his children, flattering his wife and Mildred, and rallyingBelle after her own frolicsome humor. Roger thought, as he lookedat them a few moments through the kitchen window, that he hadnever seen a happier family, and with a sigh wished that it was hisprivilege to join them without being thought an intruder. Mildred'sreserve, however, formed an impassable barrier, and he was hasteningby with downcast eyes, when, to his surprise and the young girl'sevident astonishment, Mr. Jocelyn arose and said, "Ah, Mr. Atwood, we're glad to see you. Won't you join our little party? I wantto thank you again for offering me your horse and carriage, butI assure you that a quiet hour like this with one's family afterlong separation is happiness enough. Still, as a Southern man, Iappreciate courtesy, and am always ready to respond to it in likespirit. Moreover, it gives me peculiar pleasure to see a Northernman developing traits which, if they were general, would make thetwo great sections of our land one in truth as well as in name. "

Roger gave Mildred a quick, questioning glance, and saw that shewas regarding her father with much perplexity. 

"Mr. Jocelyn, " he said quietly, "the little courtesy of which youspeak has cost me nothing, and if it had it would not be worth thewords you bestow upon it. "

"I do not think of the act itself so much as the spirit, thedisposition it indicates, " resumed Mr. Jocelyn in a manner that wascourtly and pronounced, but otherwise natural and quiet enough. "Ido not judge superficially, but look past apparent trifles to thecharacter they suggest. Moreover, my wife informs me that you havebeen very polite to her, and very kind to Belle and the children, whom you have often taken out to drive without any compensationwhatever. Since you will not make a business matter of suchthings, I wish to repay you in the coin which gentleman can alwaysreceive--that of friendly acknowledgments. "

"Then please consider me amply repaid, " and with a smile and a bowhe was about to retire. 

"Do not hasten away, sir, " Mr. Jocelyn began again. "On this, day ofrest your duties cannot be pressing. I want to assure you furtherof the pleasure I have in finding a young man who, so far from beingrendered callous and material by hard and rather homely work, isalive to all refining influences. The changes in this place forthe better since I was here, and those pretty flowers yonder, allprove that you have an eye for the beautiful as well as the practical. My daughter Mildred also informs me that you are cherishing hopesand ambitions that will eventually enlarge your sphere of life andtake you out into the great world. "

Hitherto Roger's eyes had been fixed keenly and unwaveringly onMr. Jocelyn's urbane countenance, as if he would detect the causeof such unlooked-for words, but at the mention of Mildred's namehis brow and even neck was suffused. "She must have spoken of mekindly, " he thought, "or her father would not be so friendly. " Butwhen a swift glance around revealed that Mrs. Jocelyn was lookingat her husband in perplexity, that Mildred was not even trying toconceal her vexation and amazement, and that Belle had stuffed herhandkerchief into her mouth to prevent laughter, a spark of angerglittered in his eyes. His first thought was that Mr. Jocelyn wasindulging in unexpected irony at his expense, and the ready youthwhose social habits had inured him to much chaffing was able toreply, although a little stiffly and awkwardly, "I suppose mostyoung men have ambitious hopes of doing something in the world, andyet that does not prevent mine from seeming absurd. At any rate, it's clear that I had better reveal them hereafter by deeds ratherthan words, " and with a very slight bow he strode away, but not soquickly that he failed to hear Mildred's voice in the exclamation, "Oh, papa! how could you?" and then followed a paroxysm of laughterfrom Belle. 

Roger was deeply incensed, for he believed that Mr. Jocelyn andBelle were deliberately ridiculing him. That Mildred had repeatedhis conversation was evident, but her manner showed that she didnot expect his words to be used against him so openly, and that shehad no part in the cruel sport. The worst he could charge againsther was exclusive pride; and he did Mrs. Jocelyn the justice tosee that she was pained by the whole affair. His face grew rigidas he finished his work and he muttered, "They shall see that mypride is equal to theirs: I won't go out of my way a hair-breadthfor them, " and he walked in to supper as if he were at home and hadan absolute right to be there. He had been at the table but a fewmoments, however, before the aspect of the Jocelyn family began topuzzle him exceedingly. Belle appeared as if she had been crying;Mrs. Jocelyn looked perplexed and worried, and in Mildred's eyesthere were anxiety and trouble. Mr. Jocelyn had not lost his serenityin the least, but his aspect now was grave, and his manner morecourtly than ever. He did not seem inclined to say very much, however, and had an abstracted, dreamy look as if his thoughtswere far away. When he did speak, Roger thought that Mildred lookedapprehensive, as if fearing that he might again say somethingembarrassing, but his words were quiet and measured, betraying noexcitement. The expression of his face, however, seemed unnaturalto Roger's close yet furtive scrutiny. An hour before his eyes hadbeen bright and dilated, and his countenance full of animation; nowall the light and cheerfulness were fading, and the man seemed togrow older and graver by moments. Was the dusky pallor stealingacross his features caused by the shadows of evening? Roger thoughtnot, but a resentful glance from Mildred warned him to curb hiscuriosity. 

He was curious, but not in a vulgar or prying way, and his anger wasall gone. He was sure that something was amiss with Mr. Jocelyn, and that his family also was disturbed and anxious. There had beennone of the incoherency and excitement of a man who had drank toomuch, but only a slight exaggeration of the genial traits manifestedat the dinner-table followed by a quietude and abstraction that werenot natural. Mental aberrations, even though slight and temporary, are instinctively felt by those who are sound and normal in mind. Still Roger would have charged Mr. Jocelyn's words and manner tothe peculiarities of a stranger, had not his family been perplexedand troubled also. "There's something wrong about him, " he saidto himself as he rose from the table; "he lacks balance, or he'snot well. I half believe that the time will come when that younggirl will be the stay and support of the whole family. You cannotprevent my friendliness, Miss Jocelyn, any more than you can stopthe sun from shining, and some day it will melt all your reserveand coldness. " He took his volume of history out on the sward nearthe porch, resolving to see the end of the domestic drama. Hismother had told him during the day that their "boarders" would soondepart. He had made no response whatever, but his sinking spiritsrevealed to him that in some way his life had become involved withthat of the girl now so distant and repellent. 

He did not turn many leaves, but he sat with the book in his lapuntil long after nightfall. The domestic drama apparently had a veryprosaic ending. Mr. Jocelyn and his family returned for a time totheir seats under the trees, but all except the little childrenwere apparently under some constraint. The latter soon grew sleepy, and Mrs. Jocelyn took them in to bed. Belle was not long in followingthem, darting an ireful glance at Roger in passing, to which heresponded by a rather mocking smile. "We were having a lovely timetill you came, you old marplot, " she muttered under her breath. 

Mr. Jocelyn grew more and more quiet until his head sank onhis breast, and it was with difficulty that Mildred aroused himsufficiently to urge his retiring. At last he took his daughter'sarm and entered the house as if in a dream. The young girl's facewas downcast and averted. As they passed between the youth and thestill glowing west they cast a faint shadow upon him. Though byno means imaginative, he noted the shadow and thought about it. Itseemed that it still rested on him after they were gone, and thatit might never pass away. His was not a dreamy, fanciful nature, that could create a score of improbable contingencies, but hisshrewd, strong sense was quick to recognize traces of weakness anduntrustworthiness in those he met, and the impression grew upon himthat Mr. Jocelyn was not a well-balanced man. "If he fails her, Iwill not, " he murmured. Then with a short laugh he continued, "Howis it that I am ready to admit such a far-reaching claim from onewho repels and dislikes me? I don't know, and I don't care. Shehas waked me up; she has the power of calling into action everyfaculty I have. Already, I scarcely know myself. I never livedbefore, and I feel that I can become a man--perhaps a great man--ifI follow this impulse, and I shall follow it. "

Soon all were sleeping, and mother and daughter were alone. 

"Mamma, " said Mildred, in a low, troubled tone, "it seemed to methat papa acted very strangely this afternoon and evening. Can hebe well?"

"Oh, Millie, " cried the loving, anxious wife, "I fear he is notwell at all; and no wonder, when we think of the long strain he hasbeen under. Haven't you noticed that his appetite is very poor?to-night he scarcely ate a mouthful. He has just been trying to keepup ever since he came, and this afternoon he made unusual effort;reaction of course followed, and at last he was so weary and troubledthat he could not hide his feelings from us. "

"I suppose you take the right view, " said Mildred hesitatingly, "but papa has not seemed the same this afternoon as at other timeswhen tired and worried. His gayety was a little extravagant, andso it might naturally be if it were forced. But I can't understandhis speaking to young Mr. Atwood as he did. Papa never showed sucha lack of tact or delicacy before. I would not dare tell him thingsif he spoke of them afterward so inopportunely. I felt as if Icould sink into the ground. And when Belle--who can't help seeingeverything in a ridiculous light--began to laugh he turned and spoketo her as he has never spoken to any of us before, And yet he didnot seem angry, but his gravity was more oppressive than any amountof natural anger. "

"Well, Millie, your father is very kind-hearted, and, like allSouthern men, very sensitive to kindness and courtesy. I suppose hethought that you and Belle had not treated Roger well, and that heought to make amends. The real explanation is that he is overstrainedand unhappy, and so cannot act like himself. "

"I do hope he is not going to be ill, " faltered Mildred. "Such astrange lethargy came over him after you left us. Oh, the day isending horribly, and it leaves a weight of foreboding on my mind. I wish we could get away tomorrow, for I feel that Roger Atwoodis watching us, and that nothing escapes him. I know that papa'smanner seemed strange to him as well as to us, and I almost hatehim for his obtrusive and prying interest. Why can't he see thathe's nothing to us, nor we to him, and let us alone?"

She often recalled these words in after years. 

The wife went to her room and found that her husband was sleepingquietly. Returning, she said, more cheerily, "I think papa will belike himself after a good night's sleep, and there's every promisenow that he'll get it; so don't look on the dark side, Millie, norworry about that young man. He don't mean to be obtrusive, and I mustsay that I think he behaves very well considering. With troubleslike ours, why think of such a transient annoyance? If I only knewjust how I could help your father I would not think about muchelse. "

It would have been well indeed if she could have known, for shewould have taken from his pocketbook a small syringe and a bottleof Magendie's solution of morphia; she would have entreated himupon her knees, she would have bound him by the strongest oaths todie rather than to use it again. The secret of all that was peculiarand unnatural in his conduct can be explained by the fact thatearly in the afternoon he went apart for a moment, and with a littleinnocent-looking instrument injected into his arm the amount ofthe fatal drug which he believed he could enjoy without betrayinghimself. 

CHAPTER XII

VIEWLESS FETTERS

Although Mr. Jocelyn had retired so early and slept heavily untilan hour that at the farmhouse was late, the reader knows thathis sleep was not the natural repose which brings freshness andelasticity. His wife and Mildred, however, did not know this, andhis languor, continued drowsiness, and depression, which even mucheffort could not disguise, confirmed their dread of an impendingillness. He saw their anxiety, and took advantage of their fearsto hide his weakness. 

"Yes, " he sighed, in response to their gentle solicitude as he pushedaway his almost untasted breakfast, "I suppose my health has beenimpaired by worry of mind and the heat in town. I'm better, though, than I have been. I don't see how you are going to endure the city. "

They both assured him, however, that they would not even considerany other arrangement except that already agreed upon, and urgedthat he should return to town that very day, his wife adding thatjust as soon as he had secured rooms within their means she wouldjoin him and prepare them for the family. 

"Oh, Nan, " he again said dejectedly, "it's a cruel fate whichcompels me to take you to a tenement-house in August. "

"It would be far more cruel to leave me here, " his wife answeredearnestly. "I could be happy anywhere if you were your old naturalself once more. Millie and I can both see that struggling aloneand brooding by yourself over your troubles is not good for you, "and her gentle but determined purpose carried the day. 

Mr. Jocelyn was then directed to a somewhat distant field, wherehe found Roger, who readily agreed to take him to the steamboatlanding in the afternoon. Lifting his eyes from his work a fewmoments afterward, the young man saw that his visitor, instead ofreturning to the house, had sat down under a clump of trees andhad buried his face in his hands. 

"There's a screw loose about that man, " he muttered. "He's too uneven. Yesterday at dinner he was the most perfect gentleman ever I saw;in the afternoon he had a fit of pompous hilarity and condescension;then came abstraction, as if his mind had stepped out for a time;and now, after twelve hours of sleep, instead of feeling likea lark, he looks as though he might attend his own funeral beforenight, and walks as if his feet were lead. He mopes there underthe trees when he has but a few more hours with his family. If Ihad such a wife and such a daughter as he has, I'd cut a swath forthem, no matter what stood in the way. "

But Roger's censure was slight compared with that which Mr. Jocelynvisited upon himself; and in order to understand his feelings andconduct, it will be necessary to relate some experiences whichoccurred after the departure of his family to the country. Throughoutthe entire winter he had been under a severe strain of businessanxiety, and then had come the culminating scenes of failure, loss of income, and enforced and unhappy separation. His naturaldepression had been so increased by the meagre prospect of findingemployment which would yield his family an adequate support, thateven his increased and more frequent indulgence in his morphiapowders failed to give sufficient hopefulness and courage, while atthe same time they began to produce some serious disorders in hissystem. There is a class of diseases which rarely fails to attackone whose system is reduced and enfeebled, and neuralgia beganto bind across his forehead a daily pressure of pain that at lastbecame intolerable. Ordinary remedies not giving speedy relief, his physician injected into his arm a few drops of the solutionof morphia. Thus far he had never used the drug in solutionhypodermically, and he was much surprised by the agreeable effectsof a very much smaller quantity than he had been accustomed touse on any one occasion, and his morphia hunger--already firmlyestablished--immediately suggested that the little syringe mightbecome a far more potent agent than the powders. Therefore heinduced the physician to give him an order for the instrument, andto explain more fully the methods of its use, saying that attacksof neuralgia were generally rather obstinate in his case, and thathe had neither the time nor the means to seek his services veryoften. 

The physician's few words of warning made but slight impressionupon the infatuated man at the time. Mr. Jocelyn remembered onlythat he had an intolerable pain in his head and a heavy weight uponhis heart. Many a time during the long civil war he had smilinglyled charges wherein the chances of death were greater than thoseof life, but neither then nor since had he ever displayed any greataptitude for quiet endurance and self-control. Now every day wasprecious, and he felt he could not give himself up to pain andpatient waiting until the disease could be conquered in a slow, legitimate way, when by a wound no more than a pin-prick he couldobtain courage, happiness, and prospects illimitable. 

Having obtained the syringe and a vial of the solution of morphia, he injected into his arm a much larger quantity than the physicianwould have dreamed of employing. Not only did the unendurableanguish pass away within a few brief moments, but the world wastransfigured; life's grim outlook became full of the richest promise, and discouragement and dread vanished utterly. So far from fearingthat he could not provide for his family, he was sure that hecould win for them abundance and luxury. A dozen avenues to fortuneopened before him, and he felt that his only task was to choose, believing that in some indefinite yet easily discerned way hewould achieve more than falls to the lot of most men to accomplish. Instead of a long, sleepless night like those which had preceded, his waking dreams ended in quiet and equally pleasant visions--thenoblivion, which did not pass away until the morning sun was shining. But with the new day came a new access of pain and gloom, and theaid of the magic little instrument was invoked once more. Againwithin a few moments the potent drug produced a tranquil elysiumand a transformed world of grand possibilities. With a vigor whichseemed boundless, and hopes which repeated disappointments couldnot dampen, he continued his quest for employment until in thedeclining day his spirits and energy ebbed as strangely as they hadrisen in the morning, and after another night of dreams and stuporhe awoke in torture. The powerful stimulant enabled him to repeatthe experiences of the previous day, and for two or three weekshe lived in the fatal but fascinating opium paradise, graduallyincreasing the amount of morphia that his system, dulled by habit, demanded. In the meantime, by the lavish use of quinine he graduallybanished his neuralgia with its attendant pain. 

It is well known to those familiar with the character of opium thatits effects are greatly enhanced at first by any decided change inthe method of its use; also that its most powerful and immediateinfluences can be produced solely by the hypodermic needle, sinceby means of it the stimulant is introduced at once into the system. When taken in powders, the glow, the serenity, and exaltation comeon more slowly, and more gradually pass away, causing alternationsof mood far less noticeable than those produced by immediateinjection of the poison. Therefore it was not at all strange thatMr. Jocelyn's family should remain in complete ignorance of thehabit which was enslaving him, or that his behavior failed to excitethe faintest suspicion of the threatening influences at work. Thereis no vice so secret as that of the opium slave's, none that is inits earlier stages more easily and generally concealed from thosewho are nearest and dearest. The changes produced in Mr. Jocelynwere very gradual, and seeing him daily even his loving wife didnot note them. 

During the period of unnatural exaltation that has been describedhe had accepted agencies which promised thousands if he could sellmillions of dollars' worth of goods, and after the subtle morphiahad infused itself through his system nothing seemed easier; butdreams are not realities, and after grand hopes unfulfilled, andfutile efforts, he would sink into a despondency from which nothingcould lift him save the little syringe that he carried hidden nextto his heart. As its magic never failed him, he went on for a time, blind to the consequences. At last he began to grow more alarmedthan ever before at the ascendency of the drug and his dependenceupon it, but when he tried to discontinue its use he found that hehad been living so long under the influence of a powerful stimulantthat without it he sank like a stone. Then came the usual compromiseof all weak souls--he would gradually decrease the amount and thenthe frequency of its use; but, as is generally the case, he put offthe beginning of sturdy self-denial until the morrow, and almostevery day he poisoned his system with that which also poisoned anddemoralized his soul. He dimly saw his danger, but did not realizeit. With the fatuity of all self-indulgent natures he thought theday would come when, with better prospects and health renewed, hewould throw away the spell which bound him and become a free man, but day after day passed and he did not; his appetite began toflag and his energy also; he would sit dreaming for hours when hemight have been at work. At best his agencies would give him but ascanty revenue, although pushed with extraordinary skill and vigor. As it was, they yielded him little more than personal support, andhe began to entertain the hope that if he could only obtain regularemployment he could then resume his old regular habits. Thereforehe had agreed to accept a position which was little more thana foothold, and yet if he would go to work with a determined andpatient industry he might, by means of it, win more than he hadlost. 

Could he do this? The Sunday he had just spent with his family hadawakened him as never before to a sense of his bondage. Even withthe society of those he loved to enliven and sustain he had feltthat he could not get through the day without the help of thestimulant upon which he had grown so dependent. While at churchit was not the clergyman's voice he heard, but a low yet imperiousand incessant cry for opium. As he rode home, smiling upon his wifeand children, and looking at the beautiful and diversified country, between them and the landscape he ever saw a little brass instrumentgauged at four or five times the amount that the physician hadat first inserted in his arm. At the dinner table he had spokencourteously and well on many subjects, and yet ever uppermost inhis mind was one constant thought--opium. The little diabolicalthing itself seemed alive in his pocket, and made its faint yetpotent solicitation against his heart. At last he had muttered, "Iwill just take a little of the cursed stuff, and then I must beginto break myself in dead earnest. "

The reader knows what followed. Moreover, he was led to fear thatthe alternations of mood caused by injections of morphia would beso great that they could not fail to excite remark. Although thenew day brought every motive which can influence a man, Mr. Jocelynfound the path to freedom so steep and difficult that the ascentseemed well-nigh impossible. His muscles were relaxed, his wholeframe so weary and limp that he even dreaded the effort requiredto return to the house where his family was waiting for him. Butthe physical oppression was nothing to that which weighed upon hismind. The sense of misery and discouragement was paralyzing, andhe was fairly appalled by his lack of energy. And yet he felt hisneed of power and resolution as keenly as he realized his feebleness. He knew that he had appeared unnatural to his wife and children, and that while they now ascribed his behavior to the long strainhe had been under, their loving and charitable blindness could notlast if he often exhibited before them such variable moods andconditions. Therefore he felt that he must overcome the habit beforethey were together permanently, for to permit them to discover hisvile weakness in this time of their great need would be a mortalwound to his pride. All his manhood revolted at the bare thought. Their trust, their love, their dependence and unrepining couragein meeting poverty and privation with him imposed the strongestand most sacred of obligations, and his high sense of honor--whichhitherto had been his religion--made failure to meet theseobligations the most awful disaster that could overwhelm him. Themeans of escaping from his wretchedness and dejection--from thehorrible lassitude of body and soul--could be grasped in a moment, and the temptation to use them and become within a few minutesa strong, sanguine, courageous man was almost irresistible; buthe knew well that such an abrupt change from the heavy, dull-eyedcondition in which they had seen him at the breakfast table couldnot fail to arouse suspicion; and should they once discern hiscrime--for crime he now regarded it--he feared his self-respectwould be so destroyed that he would never have the pride and strengthfor the struggle now clearly foreseen; therefore, with the instinctof self-preservation, and from the impulse of all his native andlong-fostered Southern pride, he resolved that they must never knowhis degradation. He must rally his shattered forces, spend the fewhours before his departure with his family in a way to lull allfears and surmises; then when away by himself he would tug at hischain until he broke it. Summoning the whole strength of his willhe returned to the house, and succeeded fairly well. 

Could he break his chain? The coming pages of this book will revealhis struggle and its termination. Alas! it is no fancy sketch, buta record of human experience that is becoming sadly frequent. Thehunger for opium had grown upon Mr. Jocelyn by its almost constantuse for nearly two years. During weeks of pain he had almostlived upon the drug, saturating his system with it. It had come tohim like an angel of light, lifting him on buoyant pinions out ofsuffering and despondency, but the light was fading from the wingsand brow of this strong spirit, and it was already seen to be anangel of darkness. 

At this time Mr. Jocelyn might have escaped from his thraldom, butwould he? The world is full of people who are proud and self-respectingin the extreme, who are honorable and virtuous, good and kindlyat heart, but whose wills are nerveless, though they may go safelythrough life without suspecting the truth; but if they fall underthe influence of an evil habit--if they pass under this mightiestand darkest of all spells, opium hunger--they may learn theirweakness in despair. 

Mr. Jocelyn, however, had no thought of despair; he was onlysurprised, humiliated, and somewhat alarmed; he was satisfied thathe must drift no longer, and in perfect sincerity resolved to makethe most of his brief separation from his family, hoping that witha physician's advice he could speedily overcome his morbid cravingand distressing need. He left the farmhouse with the resolution thathe would never touch the drug again, believing that before a weekexpired the horrible depression, both mental and physical, wouldso far pass away as to excite no further suspicion. 

For an hour he rode at Roger's side, rigid, taciturn, and pale; forexcept when heated by exercise his wonted ruddy color was passingaway from the effects of the poison. Roger drove around to thelarge hotel, which was not much out of their way, and said, "Mr. Jocelyn, will you please take the lines a few moments? I have anerrand here, but it won't keep me long. "

Having transacted his business he stood in the office door watchinga young man who sauntered toward him. The stranger was almost astall as himself, but much slighter. While his carriage was easyand graceful, it was marked by an air of lassitude and weariness, and his step lacked firmness. A heavy mustache relieved his facefrom effeminacy, but his large, dark eyes were dull and apathetic. Suddenly they lighted up with recognition; he hesitated, and thenhastily advanced toward Mr. Jocelyn, but his steps were speedilychecked, for the moment the gentleman recognized him he bowed verycoldly and turned haughtily away. The young man flushed deeply, stood still a moment in irresolution, and then with a swift glanceinto Roger's interested face turned and quickly disappeared. BeforeRoger could resume his place in the wagon the proprietor of thehotel came out and called him back; something had been forgotten. 

This interruption was fatal to Mr. Jocelyn's good resolutions. VintonArnold, who had won his daughter's affection, but who seemingly hadnot the manhood to be faithful in her adversity, was the one whomhe had repulsed, and the thought of his wealth and luxury, whilehe was on his way to seek a home in a tenement for his beautifulchild, so maddened him that he drove recklessly to an adjacentshed, which shielded him from observation, snatched out his fatalsyringe, and in a moment the poison was diffusing itself throughall his system. He had returned again before Roger, who had beendetained some moments, reappeared, but now his heavy eyes werebright and fiery, and his tongue unloosed. 

"Did you see that young man to whom I refused to speak?" he askedas they drove away. 

"Yes. "

"Well, he's a white-livered scoundrel. He's a type of yourNorthern gentlemen. A Southern man would starve rather than act sopusillanimously. Of course I'm not going to talk of family secrets, or say anything not befitting a high-toned gentleman, but I taughtthat snob how a man of honor regards his cowardice and cold-bloodedness. He was one of our fair-weather friends, who promptly disappearedwhen the sky clouded. Here he is, dawdling around a high-pricedhotel, while I'm on my way to seek rooms in a tenement for thoseto whom he is not worthy to speak; but the time shall come, andspeedily, too, when even on the base plane of money--the sole claimof his proud family for consideration--we shall meet him and scornhim as his superiors. I have plans, business prospects--"and helaunched forth into such a vague, wild statement of his projectsthat Eoger looked at him in silent amazement, half doubting hissanity. 

In his haste Mr. Jocelyn had not carefully gauged his syringe, andthe over-amount of morphia thrown into his system so stimulated himthat his words appeared exceedingly irrational to the young man, whose judgment was based on unusual shrewdness and common-sense. Hewas greatly puzzled by the sudden change in his companion. It wasevident that he had not been drinking, for his breath was untaintedand his utterance was natural. But his face was flushed, and heseemed possessed by a strange, unbalanced mental exaltation whichled him to speak as no sensible man ought in any circumstances, and certainly not to a stranger. Roger therefore interrupted himsaying, "I shall respect your confidence, Mr. Jocelyn, and willnever repeat what you have said. Please let me suggest, however, that it would be wise not to speak so frankly to others, since theymight take advantage of you. "

"Please let me assure YOU, " resumed Mr. Jocelyn, with the mostimpressive dignity, "that I am a man of the world, and that I haveseen a great deal of the world. I can read men as you would reada book. If you were not trustworthy I should know it at a glance. Did you not see how I treated that young jackanapes? His wealth andelegance did not impose upon me in the least. You are trustworthy. You have a large, aspiring mind, and yet you know your station; youwould not dream of presuming. What does it signify that we are poorfor the moment? True Southern blood is in our veins, and I have adozen plans for securing large wealth. When that day comes I shallremember those who basely turned their backs on us in our briefobscurity;" and thus he rambled on, while Roger listened coldlyand in silence. 

"There is method is his madness, " he said to himself; "he is notso daft but that he hints broadly I must keep my station and not be'presuming. ' His proud daughter hints as much still more plainly. Well, we'll see whose dreams find the larger fulfilment--his ormine. "

By the time they reached the landing the sun was low in the west, and his companion had become comparatively silent, dreamy, andabstracted. Half an hour later Roger went on board of the boat withsome solicitude to see how he was faring. Mr. Jocelyn started outof what appeared a deep reverie as Roger addressed him, and said, after a moment's thought, "Please say to my family that you leftme well, and safely on my way, " and with a quiet and rather distantbow he resumed his absorbing thoughts. 

The steamer moved away, but instead of returning directly home Rogerwent back to the hotel. Even amid the hallucinations of opium thefather had too much instinctive delicacy to mention Mildred's nameor to make any reference to Arnold's intentions; but the quick-wittedfellow gained the impression that the elegant young stranger hadbeen a welcome and favored suitor in the past better days, and hehad a consuming wish to see and study the kind of man that he surmisedhad been pleasing to Mildred. As he rode along, pity for the girltook the place of resentment. "Not our plain little farmhouse, butthe fashionable hotel, is the place where she would feel the mostat home, " he thought. "And yet she is going to a tenement-house!There, too, she'll stay, I fear, for all that her father will everdo for her. If he's not off his balance, I never saw a man thatwas. "

CHAPTER XIII

A SCENE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS

Roger sat out on the dusky piazza of the hotel, looking into thelarge parlor through open windows which came to the floor, bent onmaking the most of such glimpses as he could obtain of the world towhich he felt that Mildred belonged by right. He saw clearly thatshe would appear well and at home amid such surroundings. A youngand elegantly dressed woman crossed the wide apartment, and hemuttered, "Your carriage is very fine and fashionable, no doubt, butMiss Jocelyn would have added grace and nature to your regulationgait. " He watched the groups at the card-tables with a curiousinterest, and the bobbing heads of gossiping dowagers and matrons;he compared the remarkable "make up, " as he phrased it, of someof them with the unredeemed plainness of his mother's Sunday gown. "Neither the one nor the other is in good taste, " he thought. "Mrs. Jocelyn dresses as I intend my mother shall some day. " He coollycriticised a score or more of young men and women who were chatting, promenading, flitting through the open windows out upon the piazzaand back again into the light, as a small stringed orchestrastruck into a lively galop or the latest waltz. He saw a generalmustering of the younger guests, even down to the boys and girls, for the lancers, and followed one and another that caught his eyethrough the mazy intricacies, making little gestures of disgust atthose who seemed outre and peculiar in manner and appearance, andregarding with the closest observation such as exhibited a happymean between a certain rusticity and awkwardness with which he waswell acquainted, and a conventional artificiality which was to himall the more unnatural and absurd because his perception was notdulled by familiarity with society's passing whims. 

The young stranger whom Mr. Jocelyn had repulsed, and who was thereal object of his quest, did not appear among the pleasure-seekers, nor could he discover him on the piazza, in the billiard-room, or inother places of resort. At last in much disappointment he returnedto his seat, from which he commanded a view of the parlor; andscarcely had he done so before the one he sought mounted the stepsnear him as if returning from a stroll in the hotel grounds, threwaway his cigar, and entered an open window with the same graceful, listless saunter witnessed in the afternoon. He crossed the wideapartment with as much ease and nonchalance as if it had beenempty, and sat down on a sofa by a somewhat stout and very elegantlyapparelled gentlewoman. 

Roger never thought of accounting for the intensity of his interestin this stranger--the young rarely analyze their feelings--but, obedient to an impulse to learn this man's power to win the favorof one so unapproachable by himself, he scanned with keenest scrutinyeverything in his appearance and manner, and sought eagerly togauge his character. 

He felt instinctively that the "cold-blooded snob, " as Mr. Jocelynhad characterized him, was of the very opposite type to his own. His graceful saunter, which, nevertheless, possessed a certainquiet dignity, suggested a burdensome leisure and an utter lackof purpose to go anywhere or do anything. He dropped on the sofarather than sat down. The lady at his side spoke rather decidedlyto him, and he answered briefly without even looking at her. Byand by she spoke again, more energetically; he then slowly arose, approached a young woman sitting near, who in response to somethinghe said sprang up with alacrity, and they glided away in the waltzwith an ease and grace scarcely equalled by the others upon thefloor. After a few moments they circled around very near Roger'spost of observation, and he was able to scan both the features andexpression of the man whom he felt inclined to hate. But he wasdisarmed and perplexed, for the stranger showed no more pleasure oranimation than would a fallen leaf that was swept here and thereby varying eddies of wind. He kept time and step with perfectaccuracy, but evidently from such complete familiarity with theform that he gave it not a thought. He danced as easily as a birdflies, avoiding the others without appearing to notice them. Nocolor came from the exercise, no light kindled in his face. Hisexpression was not blase or cynical, but weary and dejected; themelancholy in his large brown eyes was all the more striking fromcontrast with the music, the lighted room, and an amusement suggestinggayety. Pale, utterly unresponsive to the brilliant and mirthfulscenes, he glided ghost-like here and there, and before very longseated his companion by the elderly woman whose urgency had led tohis automaton-like performance. Then with a slight bow he passedthrough a window near and disappeared. The two lades spoke togetherfor a few moments and seemed annoyed, and Roger now noted such aresemblance between them as to suggest that they were mother anddaughter. 

He had seen sufficient to satisfy him, and he went away muttering, "There isn't enough of him to hate; he's but the shadow of a man. She fancy him! I couldn't have believed it; I can't account for it, unless he's very gifted in mind or very different when with her. This must be true, and he would be a mummy indeed if she couldn'twake him up. "

Roger rode home, however, ill at ease. "He hasn't forgotten herif he has given her up on account of her poverty, " he thought. "He could see as well as I that there was no one there who couldcompare with her; but he mopes instead of trying to win her. If hecan dance, why can't he work? I've no reason to complain, however, and I thank my stars that I have muscle and a will. In the meantimeI shall come up here and study your tricks of manner, my elegantnonentity. I believe in force. Force moves the world and carriesa man through it; but I now see that it should be well-managed andwell-mannered force. Miss Jocelyn compares me with you, and I seemto her uncouth, unfinished, and crude in the extreme. Litheness andgrace need not take an atom from my strength, and the time shallcome when I will not fear comparisons. I'll win her yet with yourown weapons. "

Roger's dreams proved that his sympathies with the melancholystranger were not very deep, and that his idea of the survival ofthe fittest was the survival of the strongest. His human nature atthat time was of the old Saxon type, that went directly for whatit wanted, without much thought or sentiment for those weak enoughto lose. 

Although it was rather late before he reached home, he found hismother, Mrs. Jocelyn, and Mildred waiting for him in the sitting-room. 

"What kept you so?" Mrs. Atwood exclaimed. 

"I stopped a while at the hotel on my return, " he replied. 

"Did my husband send any message?" Mrs. Jocelyn asked, with asolicitude she could not disguise. 

"He told me to say that I had left him well, and safely on his wayto the city. "

"Did--did he seem well when you left him?" the anxious wife persisted. 

"Quite as well as he did yesterday, I think, " was the reply. 

"Mr. Atwood, " said Mildred, in a tone that startled him a little, and he saw she was looking at him as if she would read his thoughts, "did my father truly appear well when you parted from him?"

Roger's eyes fell before hers, but he replied firmly, "I left himsitting quietly on the steamboat's deck, and when I asked him ifhe had any message for his family, he said the words I have justrepeated. He seemed naturally depressed at leaving you all. If hewere not well he did not say anything about it;" and with a bow hepassed up to his room. 

"Mother, " said Mildred, when they were alone, "was it merediffidence, or why was it, that he could not look me in the eyes?I wonder if he is concealing anything. It was in the afternoon andevening that papa was unlike himself yesterday. I wish I reallyknew whether or not that young man is hiding anything, for I havean impression that he is. "

"Oh, it was diffidence, Millie. He would have no motive in hidingthe truth from us. I can see that he is both fascinated by you andafraid of you--poor fellow!"

"A few weeks in the cornfield and a few smiles from the girlshereabouts will banish all his nonsense concerning me. I don't givehim a thought except that his absurd feelings annoy me. Oh, mamma, you understand me. What he would like to offer is such a grotesqueparody on that which I hoped for, on what I imagined I possessed, that it makes me sick. Oh, oh!" she sobbed, "I must give it allup. Mr. Arnold acts as if I were dead: and practically I am to him, although he may sigh and mope a little, perhaps. There, I'm wronginghim; I know I wrong him. How can I forget his white, deathlike faceand look of mortal pain. Oh that he had this young fellow's muscleand courage! I do not care for his money; I would be content withhim in one bare room. But as it is I fear, I fear;" and the poorchild buried her face in her mother's lap, and cried away some ofher weight of foreboding. 

"Millie, darling, " faltered her mother, "God knows I'd shield yourheart with my own if I could, but I don't know how to help you. You are too much like me. Your love is your life, and you can'tstop loving just because it would be wise and thrifty to do so. I think of you almost as much as I do of Martin, and I daily praythe merciful Saviour, who was 'tempted in all points like as weare, ' to sustain and comfort you. I don't see how I can help youin any other way, for my own heart shows me just how you suffer. "

"There, little mother, " said Mildred, raising her head and wipingher eyes, "I've had my cry, and feel the better for it. I'm goingto help you and papa and be brave. I'm glad I'm like you. I'm gladI'm a true Southern girl, and that I can love as you loved; andI would despise myself if I could invest my heart and reinvest itlike so much stock. Such a woman is cold-blooded and unnatural, and you are the dearest little mother and wife that ever breathed. "

"Oh, Millie, Millie, if I had only foreseen and guarded againstthis evil day!"

"Come, dear mamma, don't always be blaming yourself for what youdid not foresee. You are eager to do your best now, and that is allGod or man can ask of us. These clouds will pass away some time, and then the sunshine will be all the brighter. "

The next few days of waiting and uncertainty were a severer ordealto Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred than ever. Mr. Jocelyn, bent on gainingtime, kept putting them off. His new duties upon which he had entered, he wrote, left him only the evening hours for his quest of rooms, and he had not succeeded in finding any that were suitable. Thusthey expected something definite by every mail, but each day broughtrenewed disappointment. At last Mildred wrote that she would comedown herself if he did not decide upon something at once. 

The morning after this letter was despatched the young girl tookher work out under some wide-boughed hemlocks that stood besidethe quiet country road, along which a farmer occasionally joggedto the village beyond, but which at that hour was usually quitedeserted. Fred and Minnie were with her, and amused themselvesby building little log huts with the dry sticks thickly scatteredaround. 

To Roger, who was cradling oats in an adjacent field, they made apicture which would always repeat itself whenever he passed thatclump of hemlocks; and, as he cut his way down the long slope towardthem, under the midsummer sun, he paused a second after each stroketo look with wistful gaze at one now rarely absent from his mentalvision. She was too sad and preoccupied to give him a thought, oreven to note who the reaper was. From her shady retreat she couldsee him and other men at work here and there, and she only enviedtheir definite and fairly rewarded toil, and their simple yetassured home-life, while she was working so blindly, and facing, in the meantime, a world of uncertainty. Roger had been veryunobtrusive since her father's departure, and she half consciouslygave him credit for this when she thought about him at all, whichwas but seldom. He had imagined that she had grown less distant andreserved, and once or twice, when he had shown some little kindnessto the children, she had smiled upon him. He was a hunter of no meanrepute in that region, and was famous for his skill in followingshy and scarce game. He had resolved to bring the principles of hiswoodcraft to bear upon Mildred, and to make his future approaches socautiously as not to alarm her in the least; therefore he won thechildren's favor more thoroughly than ever, but not in an officiousway. He found Belle moping the evening after her father's departure, and he gave her a swift drive in his buggy, which little attentioncompletely disarmed the warm-hearted girl and became the basis ofa fast-ripening friendship. 

"You need not put on such distant airs, " she had said to Mildred;"he never mentions your name any more. " But when he asked Mrs. Jocelyn to take a drive with him she had declined very kindly, forshe feared that he might speak to her of her daughter in an embarrassingway. Over Belle, Mildred had little control in such matters, butas far as she and her mother were concerned she determined that heshould have no encouragement whatever; for, although he made nofurther efforts either to shun or obtain her society, and had becomequite as reserved as herself, he unconsciously, yet very clearly, revealed his state of mind to her womanly intuition. 

"There is one thing queer about Roger Atwood, " said Belle, joiningher sister under the hemlocks; "he now scarcely ever speaks ofhimself. I suppose he thinks I'd be silly enough to go and telleverything as you did. "

"What do you talk about then?" asked Mildred, with a half smile. 

"Oh, you are a little curious, are you? perhaps a little jealous, too, that he was so very easily cured of his admiration for you. If it were any secret, I wouldn't tell you. We talk about what wesee, and it seems to me he sees everything. If a bird flies acrossthe road he will point out its peculiarities, and he knows so muchabout the trees and bushes and wild flowers and the little creaturesin the woods, how they live, and all that. He says a man's afool that doesn't see all that's going on around him. Sometimeshe makes me ache from laughing over his funny descriptions of thequeer characters that live about here. Bat what interests me mostis his accounts of the people at the hotel. Ob, I do wish motherwould let me go there with him some evening! He is there nearlyevery night, and it's as good as a play to hear him take off theaffected, snobbish ones. He has caught the English drawl and the'yeh know' of some young fellows to perfection. "

"He IS a queer fellow, " mused Mildred. "I wonder what he goes therefor?"

"Oh, Roger Atwood is no fool, I can tell you. He knows countrysociety in perfection, and he would not be long in understandingFifth Avenue noodledom just as well. He detects sham people and shamways as quickly as you could, and delights in ridiculing them. Hesays there's a ghost of a man up there which interests him exceedingly, but that it is such an extremely well-behaved, good-mannered ghostthat it is tolerated without remark, and that is all he will sayabout it, although I have often questioned him. I can't think whoor what he means. "

Mildred looked up with a sudden access of interest, and then becamesilent and abstracted. 

"Since the children are quiet here, " continued Belle, "I'll go backto the house and finish a story in which the hero and heroine aresentimental geese and blind as bats. They misunderstand each otherso foolishly that I'd like to bob their empty heads together, " andaway she went, humming a gay song, with as little thought for themorrow as the birds in the fields around her. 

While Roger paused a moment to wipe the perspiration from his brow, the rustling of the grain ceased, and he heard the footfalls of ahorse in the adjacent road. With a start he saw riding by the strangerwho had been the object of his continued scrutiny at the hotel. Theyoung men restrained to a walk the rather restless horse he bestrode, and seemed musing deeply under the shadow of a broad-brimmed Panamahat. He took no notice of Roger, and passing slowly on entered theshadow of the hemlocks, when an exclamation caused him to raise hishead. A second later he sprang from his horse, threw the bridleover the limb of a tree, and seized Mildred's hand with an eagernesswhich proved that she had indeed the power to "wake him up. "

Roger was too distant to see just how she greeted her unlooked-forfriend of other days, but thought she appeared so startled thatshe leaned against a tree for support. He saw, however, that the"ghost of a man" was now flesh and blood in his earnestness, andthat he retained her hand in both of his own while speaking rapidly. Before very long, however, the horse became so impatient that hesuddenly jerked his bridle loose, wheeled, and came galloping upthe road toward Roger, who, after a moment's hesitation, clearedthe low stone wall at a bound and stood in the road awaiting him. Mildred's companion made a gesture of annoyance, and then said, with a shrug, "Let the beast go. I'm well content to remain here. "When they saw Roger's purpose, however, they stood watching forthe outcome of his effort. 

As Arnold--for he it was--saw the horse, with broken and flyingreins, thundering apparently right upon the motionless form of aman, he exclaimed, "By Jove! but that's a brave fellow. "

The vicious brute soon seemed so nearly upon the rash youth thatMildred gave a slight scream of terror, but a second later she sawhim spring lightly aside, catch one of the flying reins, hold onfor a few yards, half dragged, half running, and then the animalyielded to a master. A cloud of dust obscured them momentarily;then the country-bred athlete vaulted lightly into the saddle andcame trotting sharply toward them, riding like a centaur. She wasenraged at herself that her face should grow scarlet under hisbrief glance from one to the other, but without a word he spranglightly down and began to fasten the horse securely to a tree--anact scarcely necessary, for the animal appeared completely subdued. 

"By Jove! my man, that was neatly done, " said Arnold. "Here's abank-note for your trouble. "

"The fact that I've caught your horse does not prove me a hostler, "Roger replied brusquely, without looking at the speaker. 

Arnold now recognized the young man whom he had seen with Mr. Jocelyn, and also at the hotel several times subsequently. He hadlearned his name, and therefore began, "Oh, I beg pardon; this isMr. Atwood;" but before he could say more a covered barouche camerapidly down the hill from the opposite direction, turned withthe angle of the road, and passed into the shade of the hemlocks. Arnold had become very pale the moment he saw it, and in its occupantRoger recognized the woman whom he had seen at the hotel, and whomhe had learned to be the mother of the listless dancer. A briefglance showed him that Mildred knew her also. The lady sharplyordered her coachman to stop, and after a brief but freezing lookinto Mildred's hot face she said, in a meaning tone, "Vinton, Iwill esteem it a favor if you will accompany me on my drive. "

"I will join you presently, " he said irresolutely. 

"I will wait politely then until you have concluded your interview, "the gentlewoman remarked coldly, leaning back in her carriage. 

Her look, tone, and action stung Mildred to the very quick. Gentleand retiring usually, she was capable of a very decided and even anaggressive course under great provocation. For a moment her warmSouthern blood boiled at Mrs. Arnold's implication that she wasso eager to capture her wealthy son that it was not prudent toleave them alone together a moment. With decision and the dignityof conscious innocence she said, "Good-morning, Mr. Arnold"; thentaking little Minnie's hand and calling Fred she led the way towardthe house. It happened that the only path of egress led her by thecarriage, and the manner in which its occupant ignored her presencewas so intolerable in its injustice that she paused, and, fixingher clear, indignant eyes on the flushed, proud face before her, asked, in tones never forgotten by those who heard them, "Mrs. Arnold, wherein have I wronged you or yours?"

The lady was silent and a little embarrassed. 

"I know, and you might know, " Mildred continued, "if you chose, that you cannot charge me with one unwomanly act, but your lookand manner toward me are both unwomanly and unchristian. You insultme in my poverty and misfortune. Without the shadow of right orreason, you cruelly wound one who was wounded already;" and shewas about to pass on. 

"Mother, as you are a woman, do not let her go without a word ofrespect and kindness, " cried her son, in a hoarse, stifled voice. 

"Miss Jocelyn, " began Mrs. Arnold in a constrained tone, "I meanyou no disrespect. Nevertheless--"

"Nevertheless!" exclaimed Arnold, wrought to frenzy. "Great God!are you going to qualify that grudging sentence?" He struck hishand to his forehead, reeled, and fell prone upon the earth. In amoment Mildred knelt beside him, and Roger saw that she loved himwith her whole strong, womanly soul. 

"Bring water, bring brandy; mother will give it to you, " she saidto him in a low voice, and he dashed off to obey. 

Mrs. Arnold hastily descended from the carriage and felt her son'spulse with much solicitude. "He has only fainted, " she said. "Heis apt to have such attacks when overwrought. It's a part of hisdisease. Miss Jocelyn, you see he is a reed that must be supported, not leaned upon, " she added, looking straight into the young girl'stroubled eyes. "I mean you kindness as truly as I mean kindness tohim. He will soon be better. He has often been in this conditionever since he was a child. With this knowledge you will understandme better. Thomas"--to the coach-man--"lift him into the carriage. He will soon revive, " she continued to Mildred, "and at the hotelhe shall have the best of care. Believe me, I feel for you both, but I know what is right and best. "

The coachman did as he was directed, and they drove rapidly away. 

Mildred put her hand to her side, and then, with pale and downcastface, led the wondering children toward the house. She soon met. Roger returning, and running like a deer. 

"They have taken him away, " she said briefly, without looking up. "Please care for his horse and accept my thanks, " and then shehastened to her room and did not appear again that day. 

He complied with her request, then went back to his work, and thegrain fell as if the reaper were Death himself. 

Mrs. Arnold's course was not so harsh and rude as it seemed, andcan readily be explained on the theory by which she governed herfeelings and actions toward her son. An obscure weakness in thefunctions of his heart had rendered him subject to fainting turnsfrom early childhood. Physicians had always cautioned againstover-exertion and over-excitement of any kind; therefore he hadnot been sent to school like the other children, or permitted toindulge in the sports natural to his age. Having been constantlycautioned, curbed, and repressed, he grew into a timid, self-distrustful, irresolute man, and yet was keenly sensible of the defects thatseparated him from other men. No one ever longed for independencemore earnestly than he; few were less able to achieve it. Hismother, having shielded him so many years from himself as wellas from adverse influences from without, had formed the habit ofsurveillance. Exaggerating his weakness and dependence, his unfitnessto compete with other men in active pursuits, she had almost ignoredhis manhood. The rest of the family naturally took their tone fromher, regarding him as an invalid, and treating him as one. Chafingwith secret and increasing bitterness over his misfortune andanomalous position, he grew more and more silent and reserved, dwelling apart in a world created from a literature that was notof the best or most wholesome character. As long as he lived aquiet, monotonous life that accorded with the caution enjoined byphysicians, he gave his mother little solicitude, for the womanof the world, versed in all the proprieties of her station, hadno comprehension of the sensitive spirit that had been repressedequally with his physical nature. That he should become cold towardher, and cynical toward her world of wealth and fashion, was to herbut a proof that his character was defective also, and led to thefear that his "absurd notions" might occasion trouble. His intimacywith the Jocelyns threatened to justify her forebodings, and, whileknowing nothing of Mildred personally, she was naturally inclinedto the belief that she, like many others, would be glad to escapepoverty by allying herself to an old and wealthy family, and sheregarded her son as weak enough to become a ready victim. Neverthelesshe was of age, and if he should enter into a formal engagement itmight be no easy matter to break it or escape the consequences. Therefore she determined at all hazards to prevent such a consummation, and thus far had succeeded. She was greatly angered that, in spiteof her precautions and injunctions, he had again met Mildred, andshe resolved to end the interview at once, even at the cost of beingthought rude and harsh, for if left to themselves that summer daythey might realize all her fears. At the same time she proposedto manifest her disapproval so decidedly that if the young womanstill sought to enter her family, it would be by a sort of violence;and she also was not unmindful of the fact that, with the exceptionof an apparent laborer and her coachman, only the parties interestedwere the witnesses of her tactics. Therefore she had looked atMildred as coldly and haughtily as only a proud woman can, withthe result already narrated. Although compelled to admit that thegirl was not what she had imagined her to be, she was none the lessbent on preventing further complications, and resolved to take herson elsewhere as soon as he had sufficiently recovered. 

The next morning Mildred left her seclusion, and her aspect was paleand resolute, but no reference was made to the events uppermost inthe minds of those aware of them. Even the children and Belle hadbeen so cautioned that they were reticent. In the evening, however, as Roger was raking the flower-beds over to prevent the weeds fromstarting, Mildred came out, and joining him said, a little bitterly, "Well, what did your microscopic vision reveal to you yesterdaymorning?"

"A brave, proud girl, for whom I have the deepest respect, " hereplied, looking directly into her eyes. 

"Was that all?"

"No, indeed. "

"Well, what else?" she persisted, in a tone quite unlike her usualaccent. 

"I saw the merest shadow of a man and the ghost of a woman who mustweigh nearly two hundred. "

She flushed hotly as she said, "You pride yourself on your keenperceptions, but the truth is you are blind, " and she was turningangrily away when he answered, "Time will show how blind I am, "and then he went on quietly with his work. 

"Oh, how I detest that man!" she muttered, as she went up to herfavorite haunt on the hilltop looking toward the south. "Why didhe, of all others, have to be present with his prying eyes at theodious scene? He must know now how I feel toward Vinton Arnold, andyet he has so little sense and delicacy that he expresses contemptfor him to my face. Brute strength may be his ideal of manhood, but it's not mine; and he knows so little of women that he thinksI ought to despise one who is simply unfortunate, and throughno fault of his own. Poor, poor Vinton! Brief as were the momentsbefore we were interrupted, he had time to assure me that life hadbecome a burden because of our separation, and yet he said thathe had no right to see me, no right to send me a line, no right toadd his weakness to my other misfortunes. Time shall at least showone thing--that I can be patient and true. That proud, cold womanhas no control over me, and as long as he is faithful I shall be. "

CHAPTER XIV

THE OLD MANSION

Mildred's letter to her father brought a request that she shouldjoin him at once and choose between two sets of rooms, of whichhe had the refusal. She insisted upon going, for she was eager toleave a place that had become hateful to her. She greatly wished tohear of Arnold's welfare before her departure, but would not makeany effort to do so. 

To her surprise, however, Roger handed her a note the followingmorning. She knew the handwriting well, and asked, "How do youhappen to have this, Mr. Atwood?"

"I supposed you would wish to hear from your friend, and so wentup to the hotel. As soon as Mr. Arnold saw me he asked me to giveyou that letter. "

Mildred bit her lip. Was it an officious or a friendly act? Shewas beginning to doubt whether she had fully gauged the characterof this young farmer, but of one thing she was instinctivelycertain--his motive was personal, and sprung from an interest inher which was now more repugnant than ever. Whether this instancewas an obtrusive meddling in her affairs, or an act well meant, but unwarranted by their relations, she could not tell. However itmight be, she wished the letter had come by any other hands thanhis. 

She gravely thanked him, and added, "Mr. Atwood, please do not feelcalled upon to do anything further for me unless requested. "

He grew pale and his lips tightened, for her words and manner hurthim. His act had been in truth very generous and self-effacing, but he merely bowed in seeming acquiescence, and turned away. 

Arnold's letter ran as follows:

"The memory of that scene yesterday will oppress me forever. Nothingcould have happened that would more clearly convince you that I amunworthy of your thought. And yet it will be a life-long agony toknow that I am unworthy. When I tell you that I love and honor youabove all other women it is but a poor compensation, I fear, forall that I have made you suffer. My mother has KINDLY (?) informedme that she told you how feeble I am, and I proved her words true. I feel that the best service I can render you is to say, Forgetme wholly; and yet you can never know what such words cost me. _I_ shall never forget, unless death is forgetting. If I had thestrength to be of any help to you at all, I would break away atonce and take the consequences; but I have been an invalid all mylife, and why I still continue to live I scarcely know. If, however, there should ever be a time when one so weak as I am can aid you, give me this one shadowy hope that you will come to me. VINTONARNOLD. "

This was Mildred's reply:

"It is not in my nature to forget, therefore I cannot. It is notmy wish to forget, therefore I will not. You will find me ever thesame. MILDRED JOCELYN. "

Roger would have taken her reply to the hotel that very night, sogreat was her power over him, but for his sake, as well as her own, she wished to teach him once for all that their ways were apart. She dreaded from what he had said that he would follow her to thecity and renew the unwelcome association of his life with hers. Therefore she engaged heavy, blundering Jotham to deliver the note, giving him a dollar from her slender purse as a reward. He lostthe note where it was never found, and stolidly concealed the factlest he should lose the dollar. The little characteristic missivefell to the earth somewhere like a seed that drops into an unkindlysoil and perishes. Roger only knew that stupid Jotham had beenpreferred as her messenger. She made no secret of the fact, butgave the note to the laborer when he came in to his nooning thefollowing day. She knew Roger was watching her from the front porch, and as she turned toward him she saw she had wounded him so deeplythat she had some compunctions; but he avoided meeting her, nordid she find a chance to speak to him again. When, an hour later, she was ready to depart with Mr. Atwood for the distant landing, Roger was not to be found. Her conscience smote her a little, butshe felt that it would be the best for him in the future, and wouldprobably end his nonsense about leaving home and winning fame outin the world. She had a warm, genuine good-will for Mrs. Atwood andSusan, and even for poor, grumbling Mr. Atwood, at whose meagre, shrivelled life she often wondered; and it would be a source ofmuch pain to her if she became even the blameless cause of Roger'sleaving home in the absurd hope of eventually becoming great andrich, and then appearing to her in her poverty, like a prince infairy lore. "Nothing but the most vigorous snubbing will bring himto his senses, " she thought, and she now believed that he would soonsubside into his old life, and be none the worse for the summer'sepisode. Therefore, after embracing her mother again and againin her room, she bade Mrs. Atwood and Susan good-by very kindly, and they saw her depart with genuine regret. For Roger there wasnothing more than the quiet remark to Mrs. Atwood, "Please saygood-by for me to your son. "

Belle and the children accompanied her to the landing, and werein great glee over the long drive. Mildred's spirits rose also. She had learned most emphatically that she was not dead to herlover, and she thought her words, brief as they were, would cheerand sustain him and suggest hope for the future. Although she wasa little sorry for Roger, she was glad to think that his dark, searching eyes would no longer follow her, nor she be compelledfrom day to day to recognize a curbed but ever-present and unwelcomeregard. His feeling toward her seemed like something pent up, yetgrowing, and she was always fearing it might burst forth. In hismastery of the horse he had shown himself so strong and fearlessthat, not sure of his self-restraint, she dreaded lest in someunguarded moment he might vehemently plead for her love. The verythought of this made her shudder and shrink, and the belief thatshe would probably never see him again gave decided relief. 

Chief of all, she was glad that her weary waiting and uncertaintywere over. She was now on her way to seek independence and a home. However humble the latter, it would be a place from which couldbe excluded all strange and prying looks. When together and aloneagain, their sorrows and weaknesses could be hidden or seen onlywith the eyes of love. 

The ten days or more that had elapsed since Mr. Jocelyn's departurehad made him doubtful whether he could hide his weakness or overcomeit very readily. He believed he was gaining ground since he wasable to reduce the amount of morphia taken, but in order to keepup he had to employ the stimulant more frequently. By this methodhe hoped never so to lose self-control as to excite suspicion, andalso gradually to wean himself from the drug altogether. Of thetwo he would rather meet Mildred than his wife; the latter must bekept in ignorance, since to destroy her absolute trust was to bedestroyed. Mildred would more quickly suspect his fault than wouldher mother, and if he could hide his failing from her he surelycould from his wife, until complete mastery left nothing to beconcealed. That day of liberty always seemed but a little in advance. He surely had the will and the strength to give up a mere drug. Hewho had led charges amid the smoke and thunder of a hundred cannon, and had warded off sabre-thrusts from muscular, resolute hands, was not going to be pricked to death by a little syringe in hisown hand. His very thraldom to the habit seemed an improbable, grotesque dream, which some morning would dissipate, but as amatter of experience each morning brought such a profound sinkingand "goneness" that his will-power shrivelled like a paper barricadebefore the scorching intensity of his desire. After the stimulantbegan its work, however, all things seemed possible, and nothingmore so than his power to abandon the drug when he should fullydecide upon the act. 

On the morning of Mildred's arrival, having lifted himself out ofhis chronic dejection by the lever of opium, he went to meet herwith the genuine gladness of a proud, loving father asserting itselflike a ray of June light struggling through noxious vapors. Shewas delighted to find him apparently so well. His walk and the heathad brought color to his face, the drug had bestowed animation andconfidence, while his heart gave an honest, loving welcome withoutthe aid of any stimulant. They rode uptown together as happily andhopefully as if the nearly empty car were their own carriage, andthey were seeking a home in Fifth Avenue instead of a tenement-house;but the hope and happiness of one was based on youth, love, faith, courage, and inexperience, and of the other on a lurid cloud thatwould darken steadily except as renewed gleams were shot through itby a light that was infernal. Any kindly man or woman would havesmiled appreciatively to see the handsome father and beautifuldaughter apparently as absorbed in each other's plans and interestsas a young couple seeking the home in which their future lifewould centre. Who would dream that on this sunny morning, and in aprosaic street-car, the actors of a sad, sad tragedy were on theirway to its unsuspected scenes? Who would dream that Mildred andher father, of all others, were the actors?

"Millie, " said Mr. Jocelyn, "I fear the place to which I shall atfirst take you may shock you a little. It's an old Revolutionarymansion, gray and rather dilapidated, but it reminded me of some ofour residences in the South; and, although perhaps no better--perhapsnot so good--it is still quite unlike the stereotyped tenement-houseabomination prevailing in this city. This ancient abode of colonialwealth took my fancy. It suggested our own changed fortunes byits fall to its present uses. And yet the carving around and abovethe doors and windows, much of which still remains, and the loftyceilings all remind one of past better days that can never returnto the poor house, but which we must bring back as soon as possible. I shall never be content or happy, Millie, until I have placed mydear ones in the sphere to which they really belong; but for thepresent I do not see how we can pay rent for anything much betterthan rooms in the old mansion. As far as I can learn, the peoplewho live in it are poor, but quiet and respectable. "

Her father's opium-tinged description caught Mildred's fancy also, but when she saw the building her heart sank at the prospect. Toher a tenement-house was as yet a vague, untested reality, and theone before her was indeed old and dilapidated, gray and haggardwith more than a century's age. 

The mansion having been built to face the river, its front was notupon the street, but toward the west. Around its base the mortar wascrumbling away, revealing its mingled brick and stone foundation. The hip-roof of weather-beaten shingles still remained, and wassurmounted by a wide-railed and wooden platform used by the occupantsof the dwelling for the drying of clothes, etc. 

"It makes me think of an old, dying, moss-draped white oak standingin the midst of trees of younger and different growth, " said Mr. Jocelyn, as he and Mildred scanned the gable-end of the house. 

Then they entered by two or three stone steps a narrow passage, ascended a forlorn wooden stairway, covered overhead by a few boardsnailed lengthwise, and so reached a small landing, where once hadbeen a stately porch or wide veranda, looking no doubt over a broadsweep of lawn and the shining river. The high-arched doorway wasstill intact, with elaborately carved but now defaced woodwork, which, rising from the sill on either side, was continued in variousold-fashioned designs until it culminated over a large square windowin the second story. Generations had watched the sunsets from thatwindow, but now high brick walls threw it in shadow much of theday. 

A quaint brass knocker which gentlemen--long since dust--hadapproached wearing laced three-cornered hats, velvet short-clothes, and silver buckles, and upon which they had rapped announcementof their social claims, still hung on the rest from which they hadlifted it. It was not often used at present, for people enteredwithout knocking, and the wide hall within was in a sense buta continuation of the street; also the winding stairway, with itsancient rail, which started out on one side and wound up to anothersquare hallway. To each of these open spaces the several familieshad equal rights. 

The lower hall had originally extended through the whole depthof the building to a rear doorway, equally old-fashioned but lesselaborately ornamented, but now a partition crossed the raised circleon the ceiling from which had once hung an ancient candelabrum. Upon each hallway opened four suites of two rooms each, and thusthe old mansion usually sheltered twelve families instead of one. The doors were high, and surmounted by quaint and worm-eaten carvedwork. 

These halls seemed very dark and close to Mildred, who had justcome out of the sunlight and from the country, but they were cooland spacious. They were shown by the janitor to a room over twentyfeet square on the second story, whose former occupants had leftthe souvenir of unlimited dirt. "They was dissipated, and we don'tlet sich stay in the buildin', " said the man. "That's one thingin favor of the place, papa, " poor Mildred remarked, and at themoment it seemed to her about the only thing, for the old housewas evidently going down hill so fast that it seemed to her as ifit might carry its occupants with it. Still, on further inspection, the room was found to be so large and airy and the ceiling so highthat it might be made the abode of health and comfort. Openinginto the large apartment was another about eight feet by twelve, and this was all. 

Mildred drew a long breath. Could the whole domestic life of thefamily be carried on in those two rooms? "I never realized howthousands of people live, " she sighed. 

"It will only be for a little while, Millie, " whispered her father. 

The young girl shrank and shivered even in the summer morning atthe ordeal of crowded life, with only intervening doorways and thinpartitions between them and all sorts of unknown neighbors. 

"Suppose, papa, we look at the other rooms of which you have therefusal, " she faltered. 

Even in his false buoyancy he could not suppress a sigh as he sawthat Mildred, in spite of her determination to make the best ofeverything, had not imagined what a tenement-house was. "We willbe back in an hour or more, " he whispered to the janitor, for hebelieved the other rooms would appear still more repulsive. 

And so they did, for when Mildred had climbed up three stairwaysin a five-story, narrow house, which even at that hour was filledwith a babel of sounds, the old mansion seemed a refuge, andwhen she had glanced around the narrow room and two dark closetsof bedrooms, she shuddered and said, "Papa, can we really affordnothing better?"

"Honestly, Millie, we cannot for the present. My income is exceedinglysmall, although it will soon be increased, no doubt. But if wepay too much for rooms we shall have nothing to live upon whilewaiting for better times. These rooms are fourteen dollars a month. Those in the old mansion are only eight, and the two rooms theregive more chance for comfort than do these three. "

"Oh, yes, yes, " cried Mildred, "I could not live here at all. Letus go back. "

While returning, her father showed her apartments in other tenementsfor which rents of ten to sixteen dollars were charged, and shesaw that she would not obtain any more in space and light than forhalf the money in the old house, which had been built when thatpart of the island was open country. 

"Forgive me, papa, " she said, smiling, "that I shivered a littleat the first plunge. We will go to the old house and stay thereuntil we can do better. It was once evidently a beautiful home, and I believe that within it we can make a happy home, if we will. These other tenements were never homes, and I don't see how theyever could be. They are angular, patent, human packing-boxes, which mock at the very idea of home coziness and privacy. They werenever built for homes, they were built to rent. In the old houseI noticed that a blank wall near will prevent people staring intoour windows, and the space has not been so cut up but that we cankeep ourselves somewhat secluded. "

Next to a quiet way of earning money, Mildred coveted seclusionbeyond everything else. There was one deep hope that fed her life. Her father would work his way up into affluence, and she again couldwelcome Vinton Arnold to her own parlor. Happiness would bring himbetter health, and the time would come when he could choose and actas his heart dictated. With woman's pathetic fortitude and patienceshe would hope and wait for that day. But not for the world musthis proud mother know to what straits they were driven, and shemeant that the old house should become a hiding-place as well asa home. 

Therefore the rooms in the old mansion were taken. A stout, cheeryEnglishwoman, who with her plump, red arms was fighting life'sbattle for herself and a brood of little ones, was engaged to cleanup and prepare for the furniture. Mildred was eager to get settled, and her father, having ordered such household goods as they requiredto be sent from their place of storage the following day, repairedto his place of business. 

"Now, miss, " said sensible Mrs. Wheaton, "I don't vant to do hanymore than yer vants done, but hif I was you I'd give hall these'ere vails a coat hof lime. Vitevash is 'olesome, yer know, andsweetens heverything; hit'll kind o' take haway the nasty tastethose drunken people left. "

"Please whitewash, then, and use plenty of lime. If you can sweetenthese rooms, do so by all means, but I fear that result is beyondyour brush or any other. "

"You've seen better days, miss, and I 'ave meself; but yer mustn'tbe down'arted, yer know. See 'ow the sunshine comes in, and venhit falls hon a carpet, a little furniture, and yer hown people, these 'ere rooms vill soon grow 'omelike, and yer'll come back to'em hafteryer day's vork's hover gladly henough. I s'pose yer'llvork, since you've come hamong people who must vork hearly andlate. "

"Yes, indeed, we'll work--that is all we ask for. "

"And hit's time I vas ha bout mine hinstead hof gossiping 'ere. Yer'll soon see 'ow spick and span I'll make heverything. "

With a despatch, deftness, and strength that to Mildred seemedwonderful, she bought the lime, made the wash, and soon dark stainsand smoky patches of wall and ceiling grew white under her strong, sweeping strokes. It was not in the girl's nature, nor in accordancewith her present scheme of life, to be an idle spectator, and fromher travelling-bag she soon transformed herself into as charming ahouse-cleaner as ever waged war against that chief enemy of life andhealth--dirt. Her round, white arms, bared almost to the shoulder, seemed designed as a sculptor's model rather than to wield the brushwith which she scoured the paint and woodwork; but she thought notof sculpture except in the remote and figurative way of querying, with mind far absent from her work, how best she could carve theirhumble fortunes out of the unpromising material of the present andthe near future. 

CHAPTER XV

"WELCOME HOME"

Mildred felt that she had become a working-woman in very truth asshe cleaned the dingy closets, vindictively prying into cornersand crevices that had been unmolested by generations of tenants, and the rich color produced by summer heat and unwonted exertiondeepened at the thought, "What would Vinton Arnold, what wouldhis mother think if they saw me now? The latter would undoubtedlyremark, " she murmured, in bitterness of spirit, "that I had atlast found my true sphere, and was engaged in befitting tasks; butshould I lose in his eyes?"

Indeed she would not, either in his eyes or in those of any otherman capable of appreciating womanly grace. Genuine beauty is arare and wonderful gift, and, like genius, triumphs over adversecircumstances, and is often enhanced by them. Even prosaic Mrs. Wheaton was compelled to pause from time to time to admire theslender, supple form whose perfect outlines were revealed by thestooping, twisting, and reaching required by the nature of thelabor. But the varying expressions of her face, revealing a mindas active as the busy hands, were a richer study. The impact ofher brush was vigorous, and with looks of aversion and disgust shewould cleanse away the grimy stains as if they were an essentialpart of the moral as well as gross material life of the formeroccupants. To a refined nature association forms no slight elementin the constitution of a home; and horrible conjectures concerningrepulsive indications of the vulgar people who once kennelledwhere others would live decently and purely are among the manifoldmiseries of tenement life. In spite of all her will-power, Mildredshuddered, and shrank from even this remote contact with a phaseof humanity peculiarly revolting to her, and the protest of herinnate delicacy would often appear strongly upon her face. 

"The worst of it is, " she muttered, "that soap and water cannotblot out thoughts of the people who were here before us. "

But thoughts of other people, some of whom were very dear to her, brought varying expressions, and once she smiled and said to herself, "Roger Atwood now thinks, no doubt, that in me he has seen another'ghost of a woman, ' weighing a little less than 'two hundred. ' Ofall my little affairs of that nature, his was the most preposterousand absurd. That one human being should expect and seek from anotherwhat is so impossible to give produces a certain half-humorousirritation that is indescribable. "

Stout Mrs. Wheaton's mind and fancy were not so busy as her hands, and when twelve o'clock came she knew the hour, although carryingno watch. She had interrupted Mildred's musings from time to time, but had received rather absent replies, for the actual inceptionof a life of toil occasioned many thoughts. 

When, however, the practical woman remarked, "I've a hinside 'intthat hit's time we took a bite together, " Mildred awakened to anhonest and hungry approval of the suggestion. 

"I don't like to intrude upon you, Mrs. Wheaton, " she said. "Isn'tthere some place near where I can go?"

"Hindeed there his--right down to my room, hif ye're not habovemy company. I can brew yer has good a cup o' tea has hany cook inthe land, and we'll find somethin' nourishin' to go vith hit. "

"Mrs. Wheaton, you are a genuine friend. I'm so glad you werehere and willing to help me, for you make me feel safer and morehopeful. You seem brave and not afraid of being poor, and I wantto learn your courage. So far from being above your company, I amvery grateful for it, and I shall try to repay your kindness withlike neighborly return when I can; but when it comes to actualexpense you must let me pay my way. How is it you are so brave andcheery when, as you say, you are alone with several children tosupport?"

"I'll tell yer vhile we heat hour dinner; so lock the door and comevith me. "

Mrs. Wheaton's room was plain, indeed, but neat and homelike. Avariegated and much-patched carpet covered part of the floor, whichwas bare around the ample cooking-stove, whereon a wholesome dinnersoon smoked with appetizing odors. Her daughter, a young girl abouttwelve years of age, assisted in the preparations, and then wentto call the other children, who were playing on the sidewalk. 

'"Ow is it I'm so brave and cheery?" Mrs. Wheaton at last answeredwith a sunshiny smile. "I've a stout pair hof harms, I've a stoutbody, and I've a downright belief that the Lord means veil byme and mine. I'm try in' to do my best, and hit's 'is biziness totake care hof the rest. Hand 'E 'as so far. I've been a bit 'ungrymeself now and then, but the children halways 'ad enough. So I vorkand trust and lose no time and strength ha-vorrying. Things'll allcome hout right some day; and I've no time to be doin' the Lord'svork bin carryin' the burden hon my shoulders, hif they are broad. 'Ere's the children; now sit right down wth hus, and velcome. Sincewe're neighbors we'll be neighborly and friendly like; and beforeyer know hit, yer'll be snug and comfortable hin your hown rooms, and yer can be jist as 'appy bin 'em has hever yer vas him yerlife. Bein' poor and 'aving to vork hain't the vorst troubles inthe vorld. "

The good woman's stout, cheery spirit and homely faith were justthe tonics that Mildred needed, and they were all the more effectivebecause combined with the exhilarating tea and wholesome food. Therefore instead of a weary and depressing day, in which body andspirit acted and reacted on each other until the evening broughtshadows deeper than the night, her courage and cheerfulness grewwith the hours of sustained and healthful toil, and when her fatherappeared at six o'clock her smile warmed his heart. At the costof no slight effort he had so reduced his doses of morphia thatneither she nor any one could have detected anything unnatural inhis manner. He praised their work unstintedly, and thanked Mrs. Wheaton for her kindness with such warm Southern frankness thather eyes grew moist with gratification. Indeed the rooms had grownso clean and wholesome that Mr. Jocelyn said that they lookedhomelike already. Mrs. Wheaton assured Mildred that if she wouldbe content, she could be made quite comfortable on a lounge in herlarge living-room, and the young girl won her heart completely bysaying that she would rather stay with her than go to the FifthAvenue Hotel. Her words were sincere, for in accordance with hernature her heart was already drawn toward the place which gave evenpromise of a home, and the hearty kindness received there made hershrink from the strange, indifferent world without. 

Her father asked her to resume her travelling dress, and then by astreet-car they soon reached a quiet restaurant near Central Park, from which the outlook was upon trees and shrubbery. The peopleof New York are singularly fortunate in their ability to reach, atslight expense of money and time, many places where the air is pure, and the sense of beauty can find abundant gratification. Mildredfelt that only extreme poverty could rob them in summer of manysimple yet genuine pleasures. When, after their frugal supper, sheand her father strolled through a path winding around a miniaturelake on which swans were floating, she believed that one of her chieffears might be unfounded. Her love of beauty need not be stifled, since there was so much, even in the crowded town, which could beseen without cost. 

"Papa, " she said, "our lives will not be meagre and colorless unlesswe make them so. Every tree and shrub--indeed every leaf upon themand every ripple on the water--seems beautiful to me this evening. I do not fear working hard if we can often have these inexpensivepleasures. The thing in poverty that has most troubled me was thefear that one's nature might become blunted, callous, and unresponsive. A starved soul and heart seem to me infinitely worse than a starvedbody. Thank God, this beautiful place is as free to us now as ever, and I think we enjoy it more than many of those people in yondercarriages. Then at the cost of a few pennies we can get many a breezyoutlook, and fill our lungs with fresh air on the ferryboats. Sodon't let us be downhearted, papa, and mope while we are waitingfor better days. Each day may bring us something that we can enjoywith honest zest. "

"God bless you, Millie, " replied her father. "We'll try to do justas you suggest. " Nevertheless he sighed deeply. She was free; hewas a slave. In the depths of the placid lake the graceful swans, the pretty wooded shores, were faithfully reflected. In Mildred'sclear blue eyes the truth of her words, the goodness and sincerityof her heart, were revealed with equal certainty. His eyes weredowncast and fixed on an abyss which no soul has ever fathomed. 

"Great God!" he murmured, "I must escape; I shall--I WILL escape;"but while Mildred stepped into a florist's shop to purchase ablooming plant for Mrs. Wheaton, he furtively took from his pocketa small paper of white-looking powder--just the amount whichexperience had taught him he could take and not betray himself. As a result she was delighted to find him genial and wakeful untilthey parted rather late in the old mansion wherein, she jestinglysaid, she proposed to build their nest, like a barn-swallow, thefollowing day. 

After a brief consultation with Mrs. Wheaton the next morningMildred told her father to send for the rest of the family at once, and that she would be ready for them. The household goods arrivedpromptly from their place of storage, and she was positively happywhile transforming the bare rooms into a home that every hour grewmore inviting. They had retained, when giving up their house in thespring, more furniture than was sufficient for the limited spacethey would now occupy, and Mildred had enough material and taste tobanish the impression of poverty almost wholly from their two rooms. She had the good sense, also, to make the question of appearancesalways secondary to that of comfort, and rigorously excluded whatwas bulky and unnecessary. "I don't like crowded rooms, " shesaid, "and mamma must have just as little to care for and tax herstrength as possible. " One side of the large room was partitionedoff as a sleeping apartment for her father, mother, and the twochildren, and was made private by curtains of dark, inexpensivematerial. The remainder and larger part facing the east was to bekitchen, dining and living room. Mrs. Wheaton did the heavy work, and looked on in delighted wonder as the young girl, with a giftpeculiarly her own, gave an air of grace and homelike coziness toevery part. Hers was a true woman's touch in woman's undisputedrealm, and her father, with strange alternations of sighs andsmiles, assisted her after his return from business. Gas had neverbeen introduced in the old house, and so two pretty shaded lampswere bought. One stood on the lofty, old-fashioned mantel, whichwas so high that Mildred could pass under it without stooping, andthe other on the table that was to serve for many uses. 

"If we should put a crane in the fireplace, " Mr. Jocelyn dreamilymused, "I could imagine that we were at my old home in the South;"but she had said they could not afford that amount of sentiment, and therefore a stove was obtained of the same model that shrewdMrs. Wheaton had found so well adapted to varied uses. 

After two busy days their task was wellnigh completed, and Mildredslept in her own little room, which she was to share with Belle, and her weariness, and the sense that the resting-place was hersby honest right, brought dreamless and refreshing sleep. For thesake of "auld lang syne, " her father kindled a fire on the hearth, and sat brooding over it, looking regretfully back into the past, and with distrustful eyes toward the future. The dark commercialoutlook filled that future with many uncertain elements; and yet, alas! he felt that he himself was becoming the chief element ofuncertainty in the problem of their coming life. There were timeswhen he could distinguish between his real prospects and his vagueopium dreams, but this power of correct judgment was passing fromhim. When not under the influence of the drug everything looked dull, leaden, and hopeless. Thus he alternated between utter dejection, for which there would have been no cause were he in his normalcondition, and sanguine hopes and expectations that were still morebaseless. He had not gone to a physician and made known his condition, as he had intended while on his brief visit to the country; hispride had revolted at such a confession of weakness, and he feltthat surely he would have sufficient strength of mind to break thespell unaided. But, so far from breaking it, every day had increasedits power. 

The effects of opium and the strength of the habit, as is the casewith other stimulants, vary with the temperament and constitutionof the victims. A few can use it with comparative moderation andwith no great detriment for a long time, especially if they allowconsiderable intervals to elapse between the periods of indulgence, but they eventually sink into as horrible a thraldom as that whichdegrades the least cautious. Upon far more the drug promptly fastensits deathly grip, and too often when they awaken to their dangerthey find themselves almost powerless. Still if they would thenseek a physician's advice and resolutely cease using the poison inany form, they would regain their physical and mental tone withina comparatively brief time. I am glad to believe that some dostop at this period and escape. Their sufferings for a time mustbe severe, and yet they are nothing compared with the torturesawaiting them if they do not abstain. The majority, however, temporize and attempt a gradual reformation. There is not a ray ofhope or the faintest prospect of cure for those who at this stageadopt half-way measures. They soon learn that they cannot maintainthe moderation which they have resolved upon. A healthful man ofgood habits may be said to be at par. One indulgence in opium liftshim far above par, but in the inevitable reaction he sinks belowit, and wronged nature will not rally at once; therefore she ishastened and spurred by the stimulant, and the man rises above paragain, yet not quite so high as before, and he sinks lower in thereaction. With this process often repeated the system soon beginsto lose its elasticity; the man sinks lower and more heavilyevery time; the amount of the drug that once produced a delightfulexhilaration soon scarcely brings him up to par, and he muststeadily strengthen the fatal leverage until at last even a deadlydose cannot lift him into any condition like his old exhilarationor serenity. 

There are a vast number of men and women who ought never to takestimulants at all. They had better die than to begin to use themhabitually, and even to touch them is hazardous. There is slumberingin their natures a predisposition toward their excessive use whicha slight indulgence may kindle into a consuming, clamorous desire. Opium had apparently found something peculiarly congenial in Mr. Jocelyn's temperament and constitution, and at first it had rewardedhim with experiences more delightful than most of its votariesenjoy. But it is not very long content to remain a servant, and inmany instances very speedily becomes the most terrible of masters. He had already reached such an advanced stage of dependence upon itthat its withdrawal would now leave him weak, helpless, and almostdistracted for a time. It would probably cost him his situation;his weakness would be revealed to his family and to the world, andthe knowledge of it might prevent his obtaining employment elsewhere;therefore he felt that he must hide the vice and fight it to itsdeath in absolute secrecy. Under the terrible necromancy of his sinthe wife from whom he had scarcely concealed a thought in precedingyears was the one whom he most feared. As yet the habit was a sin, because he had the power to overcome it if he would simply resolveto do right regardless of the consequences; and these would beslight indeed compared with the results of further indulgence. Hehad better lose his situation a hundred times; he had better seehis family faint from hunger for weeks together, should such anordeal be an essential part of his struggle for freedom, for onlyby such an unfaltering effort could he regain the solid ground onwhich enduring happiness and prosperity could be built. As it was, he was rapidly approaching a point where his habit would become aterrible and uncontrollable disease, for which he would still bemorally responsible--a responsibility, however, in which, beforethe bar of true justice, the physician who first gave the drugwithout adequate caution would deeply share. He felt his danger ashe sat cowering over the dying fire; even with its warmth added tothat of the summer night he shivered at his peril, but he did notappreciate it in any proper sense. He resolved again, as he oftenhad before, that each day should witness increasing progress, thenfeeling that he MUST sleep he bared his arm and sent enough ofMagendie's solution into his system to produce such rest as opiumbestows. 

To her surprise Mildred found the awakening of her father a difficulttask the following morning. The boat on which his wife and childrenwere to arrive was probably already at the wharf, and she had thoughthe would be up with the sun to meet them, but he seemed oppressedwith an untimely stupor. When at last he appeared he explained thatthe fire on the hearth had induced a fit of brooding over the pastand future, and that he had sat up late. 

"Here's a cup of coffee, papa, " she said briskly, "and it will wakeyou up. I'll have breakfast ready for you all by the time you canreturn, and I'm so eager to see mamma that I could fly to her. "

Mortified that he should even appear dilatory at such a time, he hastened away, but he was far beyond such a mild stimulant ascoffee. Even now, when events were occurring which would naturallysustain from their deep personal interest, he found himself reducedto an almost complete dependence on an unnatural support. Beforesleeping he had appealed to his dread master, and his first wakingmoments brought a renewed act of homage. Opium was becoming hisgod, his religion. Already it stood between him and his wife andchildren. It was steadily undermining his character, and if notabandoned would soon leave but the hollow semblance of a man. 

As the steamboat arrived in the night, Mrs. Jocelyn had no sense ofdisappointment at not being met, and through Mildred's persistencyit was still early when her husband appeared. His greeting was soaffectionate, and he appeared so well after his hasty walk, thatthe old glad, hopeful look came into her eyes. To Belle and thechildren, coming back to the city was like coming home as in formeryears, only a little earlier. The farm had grown to be somewhat ofan old story, and Belle had long since voted it dull. 

"Well, Nan, we've come down to two rooms in very truth, and in anold, old house, too, that will remind you of some of the oldest inthe South, " and he drew such a humorous and forlorn picture of theirfuture abode that his wife felt that he had indeed taken her ather word, and that they would scarcely have a place to lay theirheads, much less to live in any proper sense; and when she stoppedbefore the quaint and decrepit house without any front door; whenshe followed her husband up the forlorn stairway to what seemed aside entrance with its most dismal outlook, she believed that thetime for fortitude had come, in bitter truth. The hall was darkto her sun-blinded eyes, as it had been to Mildred's, yet not sodark but that she saw doors open and felt herself scanned with anunblushing curiosity by slattern-looking women, her near neighbors, and the thought that they were so very near made her shiver. As forBelle, she did not take pains to hide her disgust. With a sinkingheart and faltering courage the poor gentlewoman mounted the windingstairs, but before she reached the top there was a rush from anopen doorway, and Mildred clasped her in close embrace. 

"Welcome home!" she cried, in her clear, sweet, girlish voice. 

"Home, Millie! what a mockery that word is in this strange, strangeplace!" she half whispered, half sobbed in her daughter's ear. 

"Courage, mamma. We promised papa we'd ask nothing better than hecould afford, " Mildred murmured. "Don't let him see tears--he hasalready put Fred down and is turning to welcome you to the besthome he can offer. "

Had the rooms been cells only, with but a pallet of straw upon thefloors, Mrs. Jocelyn would have responded to that appeal, and shestepped forward resolved to smile and appear pleased with everything, no matter how stifled she might feel for want of space, air, andlight. 

But when she crossed the threshold into the spacious, sun-lightedroom, and looked up at the high ceiling and across its wide area;when she had glanced around and seen on every side the results ofthe strong spells laid upon stout Mrs. Wheaton by Mildred's domesticmagic, and the dainty touches with which the solid work had beensupplemented, her face lighted up with a sweet surprise. 

"Oh, OH, how much better this is than you led me to expect! Is allthis really ours? Can we afford so large a room? Here are the dearold things, too, with which I first went to housekeeping. " Thenstepping to her husband's aide she put her arm around his neck asshe looked into his eyes and said, "Martin, this is home. ThankGod, it is home-like after all. With you and the children aroundme I can be more than content--I can be very happy in this place. I feared that we might be too crowded, and that the children mightsuffer. "

"Of course you didn't think of yourself, Nan. Millie's the goodfairy to thank for all this. The way she and another female divinityhave conjured in these rooms the last three days is a matter whollybeyond the masculine mind. "

"Father did a great deal, too, and did it much better than you couldexpect from a man. But, come, I'm mistress of this small fractionof the venerable mansion till after breakfast, and then, mamma, I'll put the baton of rule in your hands. I've burned my fingersand spoiled my complexion over the stove, and I don't intend thata cold breakfast shall be the result. "

"Millie, " cried Belle, rushing out of the second room, which shehad inspected in her lightning-like way before greeting her sister, "our room is lovely. You are a gem, an onyx, a fickle wild rose. It's all splendid--a perpetual picnic place, to which we'll bringour own provisions and cook 'em our own way. No boss biddies inthis establishment. It's ever so much better than I expected afteryou once get here; but as the hymn goes, 'How dark and dismal isthe way!'"

It was with difficulty that the children, wild over the novelty ofit all, could be settled quietly at the table. It was the family'sfirst meal in a tenement-house. The father's eye grew moist as helooked around his board and said, deep in his heart, "Never did asweeter, fairer group grace a table in this house, although it hasstood more than a century. If for their sakes I cannot be a man--"

"Martin, " began his wife, her delicate features flushing a little, "before we partake of this our first meal I want you all to joinme in your hearts while I say from the depths of mine, God blessour home. "

An hour later, as he went down-town, Mr. Jocelyn finished hissentence. "If for the sake of such a wife and such children I cannotstop, I'm damned. "

CHAPTER XVI

BELLE AND MILDRED

The cosmopolitan bachelor living in apartments knows far more ofSanscrit than of a domestic woman's feelings as she explores theplace she must call her home. It may be a palace or it may be buttwo rooms in a decaying tenement, but the same wistful, intentlook will reveal one of the deepest needs of her nature. Eve weptnot so much for the loss of Eden as for the loss of home--the familiarplace whose homeliest objects had become dear from association. Therestless woman who has no home-hunger, no strong instinct to makea place which shall be a refuge for herself and those she loves, is not the woman God created. She is the product of a sinisterevolution; she is akin to the birds that will not build nests, buttake possession of those already constructed, ousting the rightfuloccupants. 

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were unperverted; they were womanly inevery fibre, and the interest with which they planned, consulted, and dwelt upon each detail of their small household economy isbeyond my power to interpret. They could have made the stateliestmansion in the city homelike; they did impart to their two poorrooms the essential elements of a home. It was a place which no onecould enter without involuntary respect for the occupants, althoughaware of nothing concerning them except their poverty. 

"Mrs. Atwood and Susan actually cried when we came to go, " Mrs. Jocelyn remarked as they were all busy together, "and even old Mr. Atwood was wonderfully good for him. He and Roger put a great manyharvest apples and vegetables in a large box, and Mrs. Atwood addeda jar of her nice butter, some eggs, and a pair of chickens. Itold them that we must begin life again in a very humble way, andthey just overflowed with sympathy and kindness, and I could scarcelyinduce them to take any money for the last week we were there. Itwas funny to see old Mr. Atwood: he wanted the money dreadfully--anyone could see that, for a dollar is dear to his heart--but healso wanted to be generous like his wife, and to show his stronggood-will. They sent heaps of love to you, Millie, and cordiallyinvited us to visit them next summer; they also offered to boardus again for just as little as they could afford. Even Jothamappeared to have something on his mind, for he was as helpful asan elephant, and stood around, and stood around, but at last wentoff muttering to himself. "

"Millie, " said Belle indignantly, "I think you treated Rogershamefully. After we returned from seeing you off, mamma and I wentmooning up to that hill of yours looking toward the south, becauseyou and papa were in that direction. Suddenly we came upon Rogersitting there with his face buried in his hands. 'Are you ill?'mamma asked, as if his trouble might have been a stomach-ache. He started up and looked white in the moonlight. 'She was cruel, 'he said passionately; 'I only asked for friendship. I would havegiven my life for her, but she treated Jotham better than she didme, and she thinks I'm no better than he is--that I'm one of thefarm animals. ' 'Mr. Atwood, ' mamma began, 'she did not mean to becruel'--he interrupted her with an impatient gesture. 'The endhasn't come yet, ' he muttered and stalked away. "

Mildred sat down with a little perplexed frown upon her face. "I'm sure I meant him only kindness, " she said; "why will he be soabsurd?"

"You had a queer way of showing your kindness, " snapped Belle. 

"What would you have me to do? Encourage him to leave home, andall sorts of folly?"

"You can't prevent his leaving home. Mark my words, he'll soon bein this city, and he'll make his way too. He's a good deal moreof a man than your lily-fingered Mr. Arnold, and if he wants to befriendly to me and take me out sometimes, I won't have him snubbed. Of course all my old friends will cut me dead. "

"Oh, if he will transfer his devotion to you, Belle, I'll be asfriendly as you wish. 

"No, you've spoiled him for me or any one else. He's fool enough tothink there's not another girl in the world but Mildred Jocelyn, andhe'll get you if you don't look out, for he has the most resolutelook that I ever saw in any one's eyes. The day before we cameaway something happened that took away my breath. A man brought ayoung horse which he said no one could manage. Roger went out andlooked into the beast's eyes, and the vicious thing bit at him andstruck at him with his forefoot. Then as he tried to stroke hisback he kicked up with both hind feet. Oh, he was a very Satan ofa horse, and they had a rope around his head that would have helda ship. Roger went and got what he called a curb-bit, and almost ina twinkling he had slipped it on the horse, and without a moment'shesitation he sprang upon his bare back. The horse then rearedso that I thought he'd fall over backward on Roger. Mamma fairlylooked faint--it was right after dinner--Susan and the childrenwere crying, his father and mother, and even the owner of thehorse, were calling to him to get off, but he merely pulled one reinsharply, and down the horse came on his four feet again. Instead oflooking frightened he was coolly fastening the rope so as to haveit out of the way. After letting the ugly beast rear and plungeand kick around in the road a few minutes, Roger turned his headtoward a stone wall that separated the road from a large pasturefield that was full of cows, and he went over the fence with aflying leap, at which we all screamed and shouted again. Then awaythey went round and round that field, the cows, with their tailsin the air, careering about also, as much excited as we were. Atlast, when the horse found he couldn't throw him, he lay down androlled. Roger was off in a second, and then sat on the beast'shead for a while so he couldn't get up when he wanted to. At lasthe let the brute get up again, but he was no sooner on his feetthan Roger was on his back, and away they went again till the horsewas all in a foam, and Roger could guide him easily with one hand. He then leaped the tamed creature back into the road, and cametrotting quietly to the kitchen door. Springing lightly down, andwith one arm over the panting horse's neck, he said quietly, 'Sue, bring me two or three lumps of sugar. ' The horse ate them out ofhis hand, and then followed him around like a spaniel. His ownerwas perfectly carried away; 'Jerusalem!' he exclaimed, 'I've neverseen the beat of that. I offered you twenty-five dollars if youwould break him, and I'll make it thirty if at the end of a monthyou'll train him to saddle and harness. He wasn't worth a rap tillyou took him in hand. ' 'It's a bargain, ' said Roger coolly, andthen he whispered to me, 'That will buy me a pile of books. ' That'sthe kind of a man that I believe in, " concluded Belle, nodding herhead emphatically, "and I want you to understand that Roger Atwoodand I are very good friends. "

Mildred meditatively bit her lip, and her cheeks had flushed withexcitement at Belle's story, but she would make no comment upon itin words. "What does he want with so many books?" she asked, aftera moment. 

"You'll see before you are gray. "

"Indeed! has he taken you into his confidence, also?"

"That's my affair. I believe in him, and so will you some day. Healready knows more Latin than you do. "

"That's not saying a great deal, " replied Mildred, with a short, vexed laugh. "How came he to know Latin?"

"He studied it at school as you did. The fact is, you are soprejudiced you know nothing about him. He's strong and brave, andhe'll do what he attempts. "

"He'll find that I am strong, too, in my way, " said Mildred coldly. "He said something that hurt me more than I hurt him, and all I askof him is to leave me alone. I wish him well, and all that, but weare not congenial. Complete success in his wild ambition wouldn'tmake any difference. He ought to remain at home and take care ofhis own people. "

"Well, I'm glad he's coming to New York, and I hope for my sakeyou'll treat him politely. "

"Oh, certainly for YOUR sake, Belle. Let us all stick to that. "

"Belle's a mere child, " said Mrs. Jocelyn, with her low laugh. 

"I'm sixteen years old, I thank you; that is, I shall be soon; andI know a real man from the ghost of one. "

"Belle, " cried Mildred, in a tone she rarely used, "I will neitherpermit nor pardon any such allusions. "

"Come, girls, " expostulated their mother, "our nest is too smallfor any disagreements, and we have a great deal too much to do forsuch useless discussions. I'm sorry with Millie that Roger is benton leaving home, for I think his parents need him, and he could dowell in the country. The city is too crowded already. "

"He'll make his way through the crowd, " persisted Belle. 

"Does his father or mother know of his plans?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know very much about his plans. He talks little concerning himself, but when he took me out todrive the day after Millie left, he said he had decided to come toNew York and get an education, and that if I'd let him know wherewe lived he'd come and see me occasionally. I said, 'What will theydo at home without you?' and he replied, 'I can do more for themaway from home by and by than here. ' Now, mamma, you'll let himcome to see me, won't you?"

"Certainly, Belle. I'll be reasonable in this respect. I know youngpeople need company and recreation. My only aim has ever been tosecure you and Millie good company, and I hope your love for me, Belle, will lead you to shun any other. As we are now situated youmust be very, very cautious in making new acquaintances. Young Mr. Atwood is a good, honest-hearted fellow, and I think Millie is alittle prejudiced against him. "

"Very well, mamma, I'll be all smiles so long as he devotes himselfto Belle; but he must stop there most emphatically. "

Thus with busy tongues and busier hands they talked of the pastand the future while they unpacked and stowed away their belongingswith almost the same economy of space that is practiced on shipboard. Mrs. Wheaton was introduced, and she at once became a fast ally ofMrs. Jocelyn as well as of Mildred. 

"I 'ope yer'll halways remember yer 'ave a neighbor that's 'andyand villing, " she said, as she courtesied herself out. "Hit's toobad, " she muttered, on her way back to her room, "that she's 'adto come down to this, for she's a born lady; she's has much a ladyas hany 'oo howned this 'ouse a 'undred years hago. "

Thus their life began in the old mansion, and from its humbleshelter they looked abroad to see what they could obtain from thegreat indifferent world without. 

"Belle and I must not be idle an hour longer than we can help, "said Mildred resolutely, on the following day; "and the only thingis to find what it would be best to do. I am going out to try tosell the work I did in the country, and see if I cannot get ordersfor more of the same kind. My great hope is that I can work athome. I wish I knew enough to be a teacher, but like all the restI know a little of everything, and not much of anything. Fancy workwill be my forte, if I can only sell it. I do hope I shan't meetany one I know, " and heavily veiled she took her way with her daintyfabrics toward the region of fashionable shops. Those, however, whowere willing to buy offered her so little that she was discouraged, and she finally left the articles at a store whose proprietor waswilling to receive them on commission. 

"You must not calculate on speedy sale, " the lady in charge remarked. "People are very generally out of town yet, and will be for sometime. Your work is pretty, however, and will sell, I think, lateron, although in these hard times useful articles are chiefly indemand. "

"Please do your best for me, " said Mildred appealingly, "and pleaselet me know what you think will sell. I'm willing to do any kindof work I can that will bring the money we need. " After receivingsome suggestions she bought more material, and then sat down towork in the hope that the returning citizens would purchase herarticles so liberally that she could do her share toward the family'ssupport. 

She did not shrink from labor, but with the false pride so generalshe did shrink morbidly from meeting those who knew her in the past, and from their learning where and how she lived. She was whollybent on seclusion until their fortunes were greatly mended, fondlyhoping that her father would rally such a constituency from hisSouthern acquaintance that he would soon command a fine salary. And the expectation was not an unreasonable one, had Mr. Jocelynbeen able to work with persistent energy for a few years. The Southwas impoverished, and while a remunerative trade might be built upfrom it, patient and exceedingly aggressive labor would be requiredto secure such a result. It is the curse of opium, however, toparalyze energy, and to render all effort fitful and uncertain. Heshould have written scores of letters daily, and attended to eachcommission with the utmost promptness and care, but there were timeswhen the writing of a single letter was a burden, and too oftenit was vague and pointless like the condition of his mind when itwas written. Mildred did not dream of this, and his employers feltthat they must give him time before expecting very much return forhis effort. Since he attended to routine duties fairly well therewas no cause for complaint, although something in his manneroften puzzled them a little. It was Mildred's belief that renewedprosperity would soon enable them to live in a way entitling themto recognition in the society to which Arnold belonged. If thusmuch could be accomplished she felt that he own and her lover'sfaithfulness would accomplish the rest. They were both young, andcould afford to wait. 

"The world brings changes for the better sometimes, " she thought, as she plied her needle, "as well as for the worse; and no matterwhat his proud mother thinks, I'm sure I could take better care ofhim than she can. Whether they know it or not, the course of hisfamily toward him is one of cold-blooded cruelty and repression. Ifhe could live in a genial, sunny atmosphere of freedom, affection, and respect, his manhood would assert itself, he would grow stronger, and might do as much in his way as Roger Atwood ever can in his. He has a fine mind and a brilliant imagination; but he is chilled, imbittered, and fettered by being constantly reminded of hisweakness and dependence; and now positive unhappiness is added tohis other misfortunes, although I think my little note will do himno harm"--she dreamed that it might be carried next to his heartinstead of mouldering where the faithless Jotham had dropped it. "I shall not punish him for his family's harsh pride, from which hesuffers even more than I do. Turn, turn, fortune's wheel! We aredown now, but that only proves that we must soon come up again. Beingpoor and living in a tenement isn't so dreadful as I feared, andwe can stand it for a while. As stout Mrs. Wheaton says, 'There'svorse troubles hin the vorld. ' Now that we know and have faced theworst we can turn our hopes and thoughts toward the best. "

Poor child! It was well the future was veiled. 

The mode of Belle's activity was a problem, but that incipientyoung woman practically decided it herself. She was outspoken inher preference. 

"I don't want to work cooped up at home, " she said. "I'd go wildif I had to sit and stitch all day. School half killed me, althoughthere was always some excitement to be had in breaking the rules. "

"Naughty Belle!" cried her mother. 

"Never naughty when you coax, mamma. I'd have been a saint if they'donly taken your tactics with me, but they didn't know enough, thankfortune, so I had my fun. If they had only looked at me as you do, and put me on my honor, and appealed to my better feelings and allthat, and laughed with me and at me now and then, I'd been foolenough to have kept every rule. You always knew, mamma, just howto get me right under your thumb, in spite of myself. "

"I hope I may always keep you there, my darling, in spite of thisgreat evil world, out into which you wish to go. It is not undermy thumb, Belle, but under my protecting wing that I wish to keepyou. "

"Dear little mother, " faltered the warm-hearted girl, her eyes fillingwith tears, "don't you see I've grown to be too big a chicken tobe kept under your wing? I must go out and pick for myself, andbring home a nice morsel now and then for the little mother, too. Yes, I admit that I want to go out into the world. I want to bewhere everything is bright and moving. It's my nature, and what'sthe use of fighting nature? You and Millie can sit here like twodoves billing and cooing all day. I must use my wings. I'd die ina cage, even though the cage was home. But never fear, I'll comeback to it every night, and love it in my way just as much as youdo in yours. You must put me in a store, mamma, where there arecrowds of people going and coming. They won't do me any more harmthan when I used to meet them in the streets, but they'll amuse me. My eyes and hands will be busy, and I won't die from moping. I'veno more education than a kitten, but shop-girls are not expectedto know the dead languages, and I can talk my own fast enough. "

"Indeed you can!" cried Mildred. 

"But, Belle, " said her mother, who was strongly inclined towardMildred's idea of seclusion until fortune's wheel HAD turned, "how will you like to have it known in after years that you werea shopgirl?"

"Yes, " added Mildred, "you may have to wait on some whom youinvited to your little company last spring. I wish you could findsomething to do that would be quiet and secluded. "

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Belle impatiently. "We can't hide like bearsthat go into hollow trees and suck their paws for half a dozen years, more or less"--Belle's zoological ideas were startling rather thanaccurate--"I don't want to hide and cower. Why should we? We'vedone nothing we need be ashamed of. Father's been unfortunate; sohave hundreds and thousands of other men in these hard times. Rogershowed me an estimate, cut from a newspaper, of how many had failedduring the last two or three years--why, it was an army of men. We ain't alone in our troubles, and Roger said that those who cutold acquaintances because they had been unfortunate were contemptiblesnobs, and the sooner they were found out the better; and I wantto find out my score or two of very dear friends who have eatenice-cream at our house. I hope I may have a chance to wait on 'em. I'll do it with the air of a princess, " she concluded, assuminga preternatural dignity, "and if they put on airs I'll raisethe price of the goods, and tell them that since they are so muchabove other people they ought to pay double price for everything. I don't believe they'll all turn up their noses at me, " she added, after a moment, her face becoming wistful and gentle in its expressionas she recalled some favorites whose whispered confidences and vowsof eternal friendship seemed too recent to be meaningless and empty. 

The poor child would soon learn that, although school-girls' vowsare rarely false, they are usually as fragile and transient asharebells. She had dropped into a different world, and the old onewould fade like a receding star. She would soon find her that heronly choice must be to make new associations and friendships andfind new pleasures; and this her mercurial, frank, and fearlessnature would incline her to do very promptly. 

With Mildred it was different. The old life was almost essentialto her, and it contained everything that her heart most craved. 

Her courage was not Belle's natural and uncalculating intrepidity. She would go wherever duty required her presence, she would sacrificeherself for those she loved, and she was capable of martyrdom fora faith about as free from doctrinal abstractions as the simpleallegiance of the sisters of Bethany to the Christ who "loved"them. Notwithstanding the truth of all this, it has already beenshown that she was a very human girl. Brave and resolute she couldbe, but she would tremble and escape if possible. Especially wouldshe shrink from anything tending to wound her womanly delicacy anda certain trace of sensitive Southern pride. Above all things sheshrank from that which threatened her love. This was now her life, and its absorbing power colored all her thoughts and plans. Bothconscience and reason, however, convinced her that Belle was right, and that the only chance for the vigorous, growing girl was somephase of active life. With her very limited attainments, standingbehind a counter seemed the only opening that the family wouldconsider, and it was eventually agreed upon, after a very reluctantconsent from her father. 

CHAPTER XVII

BELLE LAUNCHES HERSELF

Only the least of Belle's difficulties were past when she obtainedconsent to stand behind a counter. With her mother she made manya weary expedition through the hot streets, and was laughed at insome instances for even imagining that employment could be obtainedat the dullest season of the year. As soon as their errand wasmade known they were met by a brief and often a curt negative. Mrs. Jocelyn would soon have been discouraged, but Belle's black eyesonly snapped with irritation at their poor success. "Give up?"she cried. "No, not if I have to work for nothing to get a chance. Giving up isn't my style, at least not till I'm tired of a thing;besides it's a luxury poor people can't indulge in. "

Mrs. Jocelyn felt that the necessity which compelled this questwas a bitter one, and her heart daily grew sorer that she had notresolutely saved part of every dollar earned by her husband in theold prosperous times. As she saw the poor young creatures standingwearily, and often idly and listlessly, through the long summerdays, as her woman's eyes detected in the faces of many the impressof the pain they tried to conceal but could never forget, she halfguessed that few laborers in the great city won their bread morehardly than these slender girls, doomed in most instances neverto know a vigorous and perfected womanhood. "Belle, my child, howcan you stand during these long, hot days? It's providential thatwe can't find any place. "

"Well, mamma, I'm not very well up in the ways of Providence. I fearthe dull season has more to do with it. Nevertheless I'm going tomake a situation if I can't find one. "

She had in her mind a shop on Sixth Avenue, which had the appearanceof a certain "go and life, " as she phrased it. 

"There's a strong-willed, wide-awake man back of that establishment, "she had said to herself more than once, "and if I could get at himI believe he'd give me work, but the hateful old foreman stands inthe way like a dragon". 

She and her mother had been curtly informed by this well-dressed"dragon, " which parted its hair like a woman, that "there wasno use in bothering the proprietor; he never added to his help inAugust--the idea was absurd. "

One morning after Mrs. Jocelyn had about given up the hope of obtaininga place until the autumn trade revived--as far as it would revivein those languid years--Belle started out alone, heavily veiled, andwith her purpose also veiled from her mother and Mildred. She wentstraight to the shop on Sixth Avenue that had taken her fancy, andwalked up to the obnoxious foreman without a trace of hesitation. "I wish to see Mr. Schriven, " she said, in a quiet, decisive manner. 

"He is very busy, madam, and does not like to be disturbed. I willattend to anything you wish. "

"Thank you; then please direct me to the proprietor's office withoutdelay. "

After a moment's hesitation the man complied. This veiled presencehad the appearance of a gentlewoman and was decided in manner. Therefore he led the way to a small private office, and said, "Alady, sir, who insists on seeing you, " and then discreetly closedthe door and departed. 

The man of business allowed his pen to glide to the end of hissentence before turning to greet his visitor. Belle in the meantimehad advanced to a point from which she could look directly intohis face, for, child though she was, she understood that it washer difficult task first to obtain a hearing, and then to disarmhis anger at her intrusion. Aware, however, that she had nothingto lose and everything to gain by the adventure, her naturalfearlessness and quickness of tongue carried her through. Shehad already guessed that an appeal for employment, even the mostpitiful, would meet with a flat, prompt refusal, therefore she hadresolved on different tactics. 

At last the man lifted his head in his quick, imperious way, asking, as he turned toward her, "What is your business with me, madam?"

"I like your store very much, " Belle remarked quietly. 

Mr. Schriven now really glanced at her, and he found her brilliantblack eyes and fair flushed face such pleasing objects of contemplationthat he was content to look for a moment while he puzzled a littleover the unexpected apparition. He then smiled satirically andsaid, "What follows from so momentous a fact?"

"It follows that I would rather be employed here than in otherstores that I do not like so well. My mother and I have visitednearly every one, and I like yours best. "

"Well, this IS cool. You and your mother were refused employmentat this season at all the others, were you not?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And my foreman declined your services here, also, did he not?"

"Yes, sir, but I was sure that if I saw you I should obtain mywish. There's a life and snap about this place that I didn't seeelsewhere, and therefore I knew a live man, and not a machine, wasback of it, and that if I could see and talk with him he'd give mea chance. "

"You are exceedingly flattering, " said the man, with anothersatirical smile. "Has it not occurred to you that your course isjust tinged with assurance?"

"Have I said or done anything unbecoming a lady?" asked Belleindignantly. 

Mr. Schriven laughed good-naturedly, for Belle's snapping eyes andbrusque ways were beginning to interest him. "Oh, I forgot that youAmerican working-women are all ladies. I am told that you speak ofcertain of your number as 'scrub-ladies' and 'washer-ladies. '"

"You may call me a shop-girl, sir, as soon as I am in your employ. "

"And why not now?"

"Because I'm not yet a shop-girl, and never have been one. I'veoften bought goods with my mother in this very store, and I comefrom as good blood as there is in the South. A few months ago mysocial position was as good as yours, and now that we have beenunfortunate and I must work, I see no presumption in asking you toyour face for honest work. "

"Not at all, my dear young lady, " resumed Mr. Schriven, stillmaintaining his half-amused, half-ironical manner, "but I must informyou that I cannot afford to employ my social equals as shop-girls. "

"When I enter your employ of my own free will, " responded Bellepromptly, "I the same as promise to obey all the rules and regulationsof your establishment, and I'll do it, too. What's more, I'll sellso many goods in dull times and all times that you can well affordto make a place for me if you have none. One thing is certain--I'mgoing to get work, and my work will repay those who employ me ahundred times. "

"Well, you are an odd fish, " Mr. Schriven ejaculated; "I beg yourpardon, you are not yet in my employ--you are an eccentric younglady, and a very young one, too, to be making your way in the worldin this irresistible style. You mean what you say, that if employedyou will put on no airs and conform to rules?"

"I mean just what I say. "

Mr. Schriven fell into a foxy fit of musing, and there rose beforehis mind the pale face and dragged, weary, listless look of a girlnow standing at the ribbon counter. "She'll break down when hardwork begins again, " he thought; "she's giving way now with nothingmuch to do. To be sure she has been here a long time, and has doneher best and all that, but her day is past, and here's plenty ofyoung flesh and blood to fill her place. This one is rather young, but she's smart as a whip--she's full of mettle and is fresh andhealthy-looking. It won't do to have pale girls around, for itgives cursed busybodies a chance to rant about women standing allday. (Out of the corner of his eye he measured Belle from head tofoot. ) She can stand, and stand it, too, for a long while. She'scompact and stout. She's built right for the business. " At last hesaid, aloud, "In case I should so far depart from my usual customand make a place for you, as you suggest, what do you propose tocharge for the services you rate so highly?"

"What you choose to give. "

"Well, " was the laughing answer, "there's method in your madness. Take that pen and write what I dictate. "

Belle wrote a few sentences in a dashing, but sufficiently legiblehand. 

"You will have to practice a little, and aim at distinctnessand clearness. That's more than style in business, " Mr. Schrivencontinued deliberately, for the young creature was so delightfullyfresh and original that he began to regard her as an agreeableepisode in the dull August day. "I'll make a place for you, as yousay, if you will come for three dollars a week and comply with therules. You are to do just as you are bid by those having charge ofyour department, and you had better keep on their right side. Youare not to come to me again, remember, unless I send for you, " heconcluded, with his characteristic smile; "an event that you mustnot look forward to, for I assure you such interviews are rarein my experience. Come next Monday at seven if you agree to theseconditions. "

"I agree, and I thank you, " the girl promptly answered, herbrilliant eyes glowing with triumph, for thoughts like these werein her mind: "How I can crow over mamma and Millie, who said thisvery morning there was no use in trying! Won't it be delicious tohand papa enough money to pay the rent for a month!" No wonder thechild's face was radiant. 

The thoughts of her employer were of quite a different character. He gave her a look of bold admiration, and said familiarly, "ByJupiter, but you are a daisy!"

Belle's manner changed instantly. He caught a swift, indignant flashin her dark eyes, and then she laid her hand on the door-knob andsaid, with the utmost deference and distance of manner, "I will tryto attend to the duties of my station in a way that will cause nocomplaint. Good morning, sir. "

"Wait a moment, " and Mr. Schriven touched a bell, and immediatelythe foreman appeared. 

"Give this girl a place next Monday at the ribbon counter, " he said, in the quick staccato tones of one who is absolute and saves timeeven in the utterance of words. "I also wish to see you two hourshence. "

The man bowed, as if all were a matter of course, but when he wasalone with Belle he said sharply, "You think you got ahead of me. "

He would indeed have been the most malicious of dragons had notBelle's smiling face and frank words disarmed him. 

"I did get ahead of you, and you know it, but you are too much ofa man to hold a grudge against a poor girl who has her bread toearn. Now that I am under your charge I promise that I'll do mybest to please you. "

"Very well, then; we'll see. I'll have my eye on you, and don'tyou forget it. "

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred laughed, sighed, and shook their heads overBelle's humorous account of her morning's adventure. They praisedher motive, they congratulated her on her success, but her mothersaid earnestly, "My dear little girl, don't get bold and unwomanly. We had all better starve than come to that. It would wound me tothe heart if your manner should ever cause any one to think of youotherwise than as the pure-hearted, innocent girl that you are. Butalas! Belle, the world is too ready to think evil. You don't knowit yet at all. "

She knew it better than they thought. There was one phase of herinterview with Mr. Schriven that she had not revealed, well knowingthat her gentle mother would be inexorable in her decision that theshop must not even be entered again. The girl was rapidly acquiringa certain shrewd hardihood. She was not given to sentiment, andwas too young to suffer deeply from regret for the past. Indeedshe turned buoyantly toward the future, while at the same time sherecognized that life had now become a keen battle among others inlike condition. 

"I don't intend to starve, " she said to herself, "nor to bite offmy own nose because the world is not just what mother and Milliethink it ought to be. Papa would be inclined to break that man'shead if I told him what he said and how he looked. But what wouldcome of it? Papa would go to jail and we into the street. Unlesspapa can get up in the world again very fast, Millie and I shall findthat we have got to take care of ourselves and hold our tongues. Ihadn't been around with mamma one day before I learned that much. Mamma and Millie were never made to be working-women. They areover-refined and high-toned, but I can't afford too much of thatkind of thing on three dollars a week. I'm a 'shop lady'--that'sthe kind of lady I'm to be--and I must come right down to whatsecures success without any nonsense. "

In justice it should be said that Belle's practical acceptance ofthe situation looked forward to no compromise with evil; but shehad seen that she must come in contact with the world as it existed, and that she must resolutely face the temptations incident to herlot rather than vainly seek to escape from them. Alas! her youngeyes had only caught a faint glimpse of the influences that wouldassail her untrained, half-developed moral nature. Body and soulwould be taxed to the utmost in the life upon which she was entering. 

On the Sunday following Mr. Jocelyn slept so late that none ofthe family went to church. Indeed, since their old relations werebroken up they scarcely knew where to go, and Mildred no morefelt that she could return to the fashionable temple in which Mrs. Arnold worshipped than present herself at the elegant mansion onFifth Avenue. The family spent the after part of the day in oneof the most secluded nooks they could find in Central Park, andMildred often looked back upon those hours as among the brightestin the shrouded past. Mr. Jocelyn gauged his essential stimulantso well that he was geniality itself; Belle was more exuberant thanusual; Fred and Minnie rejoiced once more in flowers and trees andspace to run. Mrs. Jocelyn's low, sweet laugh was heard again andagain, for those who made her life were all around her, and theyseemed happier than they had been for many a long, weary day. Fora brief time at least the sun shone brightly through a rift in theclouds gathering around them. 

Beyond the fact that Belle had found a place, little was said toMr. Jocelyn, for the subject seemed very painful to him, and theyoung girl started off Monday morning in high spirits. The foremanmet her in a curt, business-like way, and assigned her to herplace, saying that the girl in charge of the goods would tell herabout the marks, prices, etc. This girl and her companions receivedBelle very coldly, nor did they thaw out before her sunshine. As amatter both of duty and interest the young woman upon whom the taskdevolved explained all that was essential in a harsh, constrainedvoice, and the others ignored the newcomer during business hours. Belle paid no attention to them, but gave her whole mind to thedetails of her work, making rapid progress. "I'll have time forthem by and by, " she muttered, "and can manage them all the betterwhen I know as much as they do. "

She saw, too, that the foreman had his eye upon her and her companions, so she assumed the utmost humility and docility, but persisted inbeing told and retold all she wished to know. Since she observedthat it was the foreman's eye and not good-will which constrainedthe cold, unsympathetic instruction received, she made no scruplein taxing the giver to the utmost. 

When at last they went to the room in which they ate their lunch, the girls treated her as if she were a leper; but just to spite themshe continued as serene as a May morning, either acting as if shedid not see them or treating them as if they were the most charmingyoung women she had ever met. She saw with delight that her courseaggravated them and yet gave no cause for complaint. 

As soon as permitted she hastened home, and was glad to lie down allthe evening from sheer fatigue, but she made light of her weariness, concealed the treatment she had received from the girls, and thedejection it was beginning to occasion in spite of her courage;she even made the little home group laugh by her droll accounts ofthe day. Then they all petted and praised and made so much of herthat her spirits rose to their usual height, and she said confidently, as she went to a long night's rest, "Don't you worry, little mother;I didn't expect to get broken in to my work without a backache. "

The next day it was just the same, but Belle knew now what to chargefor the ribbons, or, if she was not sure, the others were obliged, under the eye of the inexorable foreman--who for some reason gavethis counter a great deal of attention--to tell her correctly, soshe began to lie in wait for customers. Some came to her of theirown accord, and they smiled back into her eager, smiling face. 

In two or three instances her intent black eyes and manner seemedto attract attention and arrest the steps of those who had nointention of stopping. One case was so marked that the alert foremandrew near to note the result. An elderly lady, whose eye Belle hadapparently caught by a look of such vivacity and interest that thewoman almost felt that she had been spoken to, came to the girl, saying, "Well, my child, what have you that is pretty to-day?"

"Just what will please you, madam. "

"YOU please me, whether your ribbons will or not. It's pleasantfor a customer to be looked at as if she were not a nuisance, " sheadded significantly, and in a tone that Belle's companions, withtheir cold, impassive faces, could not fail to hear. "You may pickout something nice for one of my little granddaughters. "

Dimpling with smiles and pleasure, Belle obeyed. Feeling that the eyeof the arbiter of their fates was upon them, the young women nearmight have been statues in their rigid attitudes. Only the hot bloodmounting to their faces betrayed their anger. There was evidentlysomething wrong at the ribbon counter--something repressed, asmouldering and increasing indignation, a suggestion of rebellion. So the foreman evidently thought, from his frequent appearances;so the floor-walker clearly surmised, for with imperious glancesand words he held each one sternly to her duty. Belle was smilingand working in the midst of a gathering storm, and she was becomingconscious of it. So far from cowering, her indignation was fastrising, and there was an ominous glow kindling in her dark eyes. Their seemingly unwarranted hostility and jealousy were beginningto incense her. She believed she had as much right there as theyhad, and she resolved to maintain her right. Catching an irefulglance from the girl in charge of the counter, she returned it withinterest. Even this spark came very near kindling the repressedfires into an open flame, regardless of consequences. The bread ofthese girls was at stake, but women are not calculating when theirfeelings are deeply disturbed. 

At last, just as the wretched afternoon was ending, and preparationsto close were in progress, a pale, thin girl, with a strange andrather reckless look, came in, and, sitting down before Belle, fixed her gaunt eyes upon her. 

"So you were heartless enough to take my place away from me?" shesaid slowly, after a moment. 

"I don't know what you mean, " answered Belle indignantly. 

"Yes, you do know what she means, you little black snake in thegrass, " whispered one of the girls in her ear while pretending toput a box upon the shelf. 

Belle whirled upon her with such a vivid and instantaneous flashof anger that the girl stepped back precipitately and dropped thebox. 

Just at this moment Mr. Schriven, in the act of departure, came outof his office and witnessed the whole scene. He stopped and smiledbroadly. The foreman had informed him from time to time of the little"comedy" progressing at the ribbon counter, and the two potentatesfelt quite indebted to Belle for a sensation in the dullest of dullseasons, especially at the girl's conduct was wholly in the lineof their wishes, regulations, and interests. "She's as plucky as aterrier, " the echo of his chief had said, "and the time will comewhen she'll sell more goods than any two girls in the store. Youmade a ten-strike in effecting that exchange. "

It was rich sport for them to see her fiery spirit arousing and yetdefying the intense and ill-concealed hostility of her companions--ahostility, too, that was extending beyond the ribbon counter, andhad been manifesting itself by whispering, significant nods, andblack looks toward the poor child all the afternoon; but so farfrom shrinking before this concentration of ill-will Belle had onlygrown more indignant, more openly resentful, and unable to maintainher resolute and tantalizing serenity. 

Feeling that it would compromise his dignity and authority evento appear to notice what was going forward, Mr. Schriven wrappedhimself in his greatness and passed down the shop, sweeping the excitedgroup--that was restrained for the moment by his presence--with acold, nonchalant glance, from which, however, nothing escaped. Whenin the street his characteristic smile reappeared. 

"By the Lord Harry!" he muttered, "if she isn't the gamiest bit offlesh and blood that I've seen in a long time! She's worth lookingafter. "

Since his eye and restraining presence, however, were now absentfrom the store, there would have been no small tumult at the ribboncounter had not Belle by her straight-forward, fearless manner broughtthings to a speedy issue. There were now no customers in the shop, and the discipline of the day was practically over, thereforethe girl on whom Belle had turned so passionately, having reacheda safe distance, said, outspokenly, "I'll say it now, so all canhear, even if I lose my place for it. You are a mean, p'ismislittle black snake in the grass. We all know how you got this girlout of the place she's had for years, and I want you to understandthat if you stay you'll have a hot time of it. "

"And I want you to understand that if I've a right to stay, I WILLstay, " cried Belle, in a ringing voice. "I'm not afraid of you, nora thousand like you. Either you're all cats to treat a young girlas you've treated me the last two days, or else there's somethingthat I don't understand. But I' m going to understand it here andnow. You hold your tongue, and let this girl speak who says I'vetaken her place. She's the one I'm to deal with. But first let mesay how I got this place--I asked for it. That's the whole story, and I didn't know I was taking it from any one else. "

Belle's courageous and truth-stamped manner began to create adiversion in her favor, and all near listened with her to what thedismissed girl might say. The latter did not in the least respondto Belle's energy, but after a long, weary sigh she began, withoutraising her head from her hand as she sat leaning on the counter, "Whether you're right or wrong, I'm too badly used up to quarrelwith you or to answer in any such gunpowdery fashion. I'm deadbeat, but I thought I'd like to come in and see you all once more, and my old place, and who was standing in it. You are at the beginning, my pert one. If I was as young and strong as you I wouldn't comeand stand here. "

"How is your mother?" asked the girl in charge of the counter. 

"She's dying, starving, " was the reply, in the same dreary, apathetictone, and black looks were again directed toward Belle. 

She heeded them not, however. For a moment her eyes dilated withhorror, then she sprang to the girl, and taking her hands exclaimed, "Good God! What do you mean? Let me go home with you. "

The girl looked at her steadfastly, and then said, "Yes, come homewith me. That's the best way to understand it all. "

"We'll bring your mother something by and by, " said two or threeof the girls as the poor creature rose slowly to follow Belle, whowas ready instantly, and whose course compelled a suspension ofjudgment on the part of those even the most prejudiced against her. 

CHAPTER XVIII

"I BELIEVE IN YOU"

"Come, " cried Belle impatiently, as they made their way down SixthAvenue, which was crowded at that hour; "why do you walk so slowly?If my mother was as badly off as you say yours is, I'd fly to her. "

"No, you wouldn't, if you had scarcely eaten anything for two days. "

"What!" Belle exclaimed, stopping short and looking at her companionto see if she were in earnest. Something in her expression causedthe impulsive child to seize her hand and drag her into a bakerynear. Then snatching out her little purse she thrust it into thegirl's hands and said, "Here, take all I have and buy what you likebest. "

But instead of buying anything, the stranger looked wistfully intothe excited and deeply sympathetic face, and said slowly, "I don'tbelieve you're bad after all. "

"Oh, I'm bad enough--bad as most girls of my age, " said the innocentgirl recklessly, "but I'm not bad enough to keep back a penny if Iknew any one was hungry. Stop looking at me and buy what you like, or else let me do it. Take home some of this jelly-cake to yourmother. That would tempt my appetite if it ever needed any tempting. I half believe you are shamming all this, you act so queer. "

"Come with me, " said the girl, for the people in the store werelooking at them curiously. When in the street she continued, "Youare not bad. What is your name?"

"Belle Jocelyn. "

"My name is Clara Bute. I AM hungry. I'm faint for food, but mayit choke me if I eat any before I take something home to mother!Cake is not what either of us need, although it made me ravenousto see it. You haven't much money here, Belle, and small as thesum is, I don't know when I can repay it. "

"Oh, stop that kind of talk, " cried Belle; "you'll drive me wild. Let us get what your mother DOES want and take it to her withoutanother word. "

They purchased bread and milk, a little tea, a bit of beef, abundle of kindling-wood, and then Belle's slender funds gave out. With these they turned into a side street and soon reached a talltenement. 

"Oh, " sighed Clara, "how can I climb those dreadful stairs! We liveat the top. "

"Drink some of the milk, " said Belle kindly, "and then let me carryeverything. "

"I guess I'll have to or I'll never get up at all. " Slowly andpainfully she mounted flight after flight, sitting down at lastand resting after each ascent. "I didn't--realize--I was so weak, "she panted. 

"Tell me your room, " said Belle, "and I'll come back and help you. "

"It's the--last one--back--top floor. I've given out. "

Belle left her sitting on the stairs and soon reached the door, which had been left slightly ajar for air, for the evening wassultry. She pushed it open with her foot, since her hands were sofull, and with her eyes fixed on the articles she was carrying soas to drop nothing, she crossed the small room to a table and putthem down before looking around. 

"There's some--mistake, " said a very low, hollow voice. 

Belle was almost transfixed by eyes as black as her own, gleamingout of cavernous sockets and from the most emaciated face she hadever seen. It seemed as if the dead were speaking to her. At anyrate, if the woman were not dead she soon would be, and the thoughtflashed through Belle's mind that she would be the cause of herdeath, since she had taken her daughter's place and robbed themof sustenance. She who had been ready to face a whole shopful ofhostile people with undaunted eyes was seized with a remorsefulpanic, and ran sobbing down to Clara, crying, "Oh, do come--letme carry you"; and this she half did in her excitement. "Giveyour mother something to make her better right away. Let me helpyou--tell me what to do. "

Clara went to her mother and kissed her tenderly, whispering, "Courage, momsy, I've got something nice for you. " Then she turnedand said, "You are too excited, Belle. I'll do everything, and makethe little we have go a great way. You would waste things. I knowjust what to do, only give me time, " and she soaked some of thebread in the milk and began feeding her mother, who swallowed withgreat difficulty. 

"I'll take no more--till--I see you--eat something, " gasped thepoor woman. "Who gave you all this? Who's that?" pointing feeblyat Belle. 

"I'm the girl that took Clara's place, " Belle began, with a freshburst of sobs. "I didn't know I was doing it, and now I'll neverforgive myself. "

Clara looked at her wonderingly as she explained: "The foremansaid you asked Mr. Schriven to make a place for you, but I don'tbelieve you meant that he should 'sack' me to do it. Why, you arenothing but a great, warm-hearted child. The girls said you were'knowing, ' and could 'play as deep a game as the next one, ' andthat the foreman about the same as owned it to them. It's all hisdoing and his master's. They both care more for a yard of ribbonthan for a girl, body and soul. "

"Well, " said Belle, with bitter emphasis, "I'll never work for themagain--never, never. "

"Don't say that, " resumed Clara, after coaxing her mother to takea little more nourishment, and then sitting down to eat somethingherself. "If you are poor you must do the best you can. Now that Iknow you I'd rather you had my place than any one else, for"--shegave a swift glance at her mother's closed eyes, and then whisperedin Belle's ear--"I couldn't keep it much longer. For the last twoweeks it has seemed I'd drop on the floor where you stood to-day, andevery night I've had harder work to climb these stairs. Oh, Lord!I wish mother and I could both stay here now till we're carrieddown together feet foremost. "

"Don't talk that way, " pleaded Belle, beginning to cry again. "We'll all do for you now, and you both will get better. "

"Who's 'we all'? Would you mind telling me a little about who youare, and how you came to get my place?"

Belle's brief sketch of herself, her history, and how the recentevents had come about, was very simple, but strong and original, and left no doubt in her listener's mind. 

"My gracious!" Clara cried, as the room darkened, "your folks'llbe wild about you. I've nothing to offer you but your own, and I'vekept you talking when you must have been tired and hungry, but youare so full of life that you put a bit of life in me. It's agessince I felt as you do, and I'll never feel so again. Now run homewith your mind at rest. You have done us more good than you haveharm, and you never meant us any harm at all. "

"Indeed I did not, " cried Belle, "but I'm not through with youyet. I'll bring Millie back with me and a lot of things, " and shedarted away. 

The inmates of the two rooms at the Old Mansion were, indeed, anxious over Belle's prolonged absence. Her father had gone to theshop; Mrs. Wheaton, with her apron thrown over her head, was on thesidewalk with Mildred, peering up and down through the dusk, whenthe half-breathless girl appeared. 

Her story was soon told, and Mrs. Wheaton was taken into theirconfidence. From trembling apprehension on Belle's behalf, kindMrs. Jocelyn was soon deep in sympathy for the poor woman and herdaughter, and offered to go herself and look after them, but Mildredand Mrs. Wheaton took the matter into their own hands, and Belle, after gulping down a hasty supper, was eager to return as guide. Mr. Jocelyn, who had returned from the closed store on a run, hadso far recovered from his panic concerning his child that he saidhe would bring a physician from the dispensary, and, taking thenumber, went to do his part for those who had become "neighborsunto them. " A woman on the same floor offered to look after Mrs. Wheaton's children for an hour or two, and the two sisters and thestout English woman, carrying everything they could think of tomake the poor creatures comfortable, and much that they could illspare, started on their errand of mercy. It never occurred to themthat they were engaged in a charity or doing a good deed. Theywere simply following the impulses of their hearts to help thoseof whose sore need they had just learned. Mildred panted a littleunder her load before she reached the top of those long, dark stairs. "I could never get to heaven this way, " muttered Belle, upon whomthe day of fatigue and excitement was beginning to tell. "It's up, up, up, till you feel like pitching the man who built these stepshead first down 'em all. It's Belle, Clara, " she said, after a briefknock at the door; then entering, she added, "I told you I'd comeback soon with help for you. "

"I'm sorry I've nothing to make a light with, " Clara answered; "themoon has been so bright of late that we did without light, and thenI got all out of money. We either had to pay the rent or go intothe street, unless some one took us in. Besides, mother was toosick to be moved. "

"I've brought two candles, " said Mrs. Wheaton. "They're heasiermanaged hon a 'ot night, " and she soon had one burning on the tableand another on the mantel. "I vant to see vat's to be done, " shecontinued, "because I must give yer a 'arty lift him a jiffy andbe back to my children hagain. " Then going to the sick woman shetook her hand and felt her pulse. "'Ow do yer find yerself, mum?"she asked. 

"Oh, I'm much--better--I shall--get well now, " the poor soul gasped, under the strange hallucination of that disease which, althoughincurable, ever promises speedy health to its victims. 

"That's a splendid; that's the way to talk, " cried Belle, who hadbeen oppressed with the fear that the woman would die, and thatshe in some sense would be to blame. "Clara, this is sister Milliethat I told you about, " and that was all the introduction the twogirls ever had. 

"Vy didn't you send yer mother to a 'ospital?" Mrs. Wheaton asked, joining the girls at the table. 

"Don't say 'hospital' so mother can hear you. The very word wouldkill her now, for there's nothing on earth she dreads more thanthat they'll separate us and send her to a hospital. I've sometimesthought it would have been best, and then it seemed it would killher at once, she was so opposed to it. That we might keep togetherand to buy her delicacies I've parted with nearly everything inthe room, as you see, " and it was bare indeed. A bed from which theelement of comfort had long since departed, two rickety chairs, apine table, a rusty stove, and a few dishes and cooking utensilswere about all there was left. With eyes slowly dilating Mildredtook in the bleak truth, but said only a few gentle words and wasvery busy. She lifted Mrs. Bute's head, while Clara gave her alittle bread soaked in wine, and then aided Mrs. Wheaton in makingthe room and bed a little more like what they should be by means ofthe articles they had brought. Clara wonderingly saw that her littlecloset was stocked with supplies for days to come. Her mother'spreternaturally brilliant eyes followed every movement, also, witha dumb but eager questioning. Tired Belle in the meantime haddrawn a chair to the table, and with her head resting on her armshad dropped asleep in a moment. 

"Why should your sister work in a store if you're not poor?" Claraasked Mildred. "You can't be poor and spare all these things. "

"Yes, we're poor, but not so poor as you are, " said Mildred simply. "Belle touched our hearts in your behalf, and we see you need alittle neighborly help. "

"Well, I was never so mistaken in any one in my life, " Claraexclaimed, looking at the sleeping girl, with a remorseful gush oftears. "There isn't a bad streak in her. "

At this moment the door opened, and two girls, who had been Clara'scompanions at the shop, appeared with a few meagre parcels. Beforeasking them in she pulled them back in the hall and there were afew moments of eager whispering. Then they all came in and lookedat Belle, and Clara stooped down and kissed her lightly, at whichthe girl smiled and murmured, "Dear little mother--always broodingover her chicks. "

"She thinks she's home, " explained Mildred, with moist eyes. 

"This is her sister, " said Clara, "and this lady is a friend oftheirs. I know they've robbed themselves, they've brought so much. "

"Vun's honly ter come to Hameriker ter be a lady, " chuckled Mrs. Wheaton under her breath. 

"We won't wake your sister, " said one of the girls. "She's tired, and no wonder. We haven't treated her right at the store, but wewasn't to blame, for we didn't know her at all. Please tell herthat we'll give her a different reception to-morrow, " and afteranother season of whispering in the hall they departed, leavingthe simple offerings gleaned from their poverty. 

Mr. Jocelyn and the physician soon appeared, and after a briefexamination the latter called Mr. Jocelyn aside and said, "Her pulseindicates that she may die at any hour. There is no use in tryingto do anything, for the end has come. It has probably been hastenedby lack of proper food, but it's too late now to give much, forthere is no power of assimilation. "

"You had better tell the poor girl the truth, then, " said Mr. Jocelyn. 

Clara was called, and heard the verdict with a short, convulsivesob, then was her weary, quiet self again, "I feared it was so, "was all she said. She now became aware that Mildred stood besideher with an encircling and sustaining arm. "Don't, " she whispered;"don't be too kind or I'll break down utterly, and I don't want tobefore mother. She don't know--she never will believe she can die, and I don't want her to know. I'll have time enough to cry aftershe's gone. "

"I feel I must stay vith yer to-night, " warm-hearted Mrs. Wheatonbegan; "and if Miss Jocelyn vill look hafter my children I vill. "

"No, Mrs. Wheaton, " said Mildred decidedly, "I'm going to stay. You ought to be with your children. Don't tell Belle, papa, andtake the poor child home. Clara and I can now do all that can bedone. Please don't say anything against it, for I know I'm right, "she pleaded earnestly in answer to her father's look of remonstrance. 

"Very well, then, I'll return and stay with you, " he said. 

The physician's eyes dwelt on Mildred's pale face in strong admirationas he gave her a few directions. "That's right, Millie, make herwell for mercy's sake or I'll have the horrors, " Belle whisperedas she kissed her sister good-night. 

Soon Clara and Mildred were alone watching the gasping, fitfulsleeper. "After all that's been done--for me--to-night I'll--surelyget well, " she had murmured, and she closed her eyes without anapparent doubt of recovery. 

Mildred furtively expiorea the now dimly lighted room. "MercifulHeaven, " she sighed, "shall we ever come to this?" Clara's eyeswere fixed on her mother's face with pathetic intensity, watchingthe glimmer of that mysterious thing we call life, that flickeredmore and more faintly. The difference between the wasted form, with its feeble animation, and what it must soon become would seemslight, but to the daughter it would be wide indeed. Love couldstill answer love, even though it was by a sign, a glance, a whisperonly; but when to the poor girl it would be said of her mother, "She's gone, " dim and fading as the presence had been, manifestedchiefly by the burdens it imposed, its absence would bring thedepths of desolation and sorrow. 

Going the poor creature evidently was, and whither? The child shewas leaving knew little of what was bright and pleasant in thisworld, and nothing of the next. "Miss Jocelyn, " she began hesitatingly. 

"Don't call me Miss Jocelyn; I'm a working-girl like yourself. "

"Millie, then, as Belle said?"

"Yes. "

"Millie, do you believe in a heaven?"

"Yes. "

"What is it like?"

"I don't know very well. It's described to us under every grandand beautiful image the world affords. I think we'll find it whatwe best need to make us happy. "

"Oh, then it would be rest for mother and me, " the girl sighedwearily. 

"It's surely rest, " Mildred replied quickly, "for I remember aplace in the Bible where it says, 'There remaineth a rest for thepeople of God. '"

"That's it, " said Clara with some bitterness; "it's always the peopleof God. What remains for such as we, who have always been so busyfighting the wolf that we've thought little of God or church?"

"You've been no poorer, Clara, than Christ was all His life, andwere He on earth now as He was once, I'd bring Him here to yourroom. He'd come, too, for He lived among just such people as weare, and never once refused to help them in their troubles or theirsins. "

"Once--once, " cried Clara, with a gush of tears. "Where is He now?"

"Here with us. I know it, for we need Him. Our need is our strongestclaim--one that He never refused. I have entreated Him in yourbehalf and your mother's, and do you ask Him also to put heaven atthe end of this dark and often thorny path which most of us musttread in this world. "

"Oh, Millie, Millie, I'm ignorant as a heathen. I did have a Bible, but I sold even that to buy wine to save mother's life. I mightbetter have been thinking of saving her soul. She's too sick to betalked to now, but surely she ought to find at least a heaven ofrest. You could never understand the life she's led. She hasn'tlived--she's just been dragged through the world. She was born ina tenement-house. The little play she ever had was on sidewalksand in the gutters; she's scarcely ever seen the country. Almostbefore she knew how to play she began to work. When she was onlyseventeen a coarse, bad man married her. How it ever came aboutI never could understand. I don't believe he knew anything moreof love than a pig; for he lived like one and died like one, onlyhe didn't die soon enough. It seems horrible that I should speakin this way of my father, and yet why should I not, when he was ahorror to me ever since I can remember? Instead of taking care ofmother, she had to take care of him. He'd take the pittance shehad wrung from the washtub for drink, and then come back to repayher for it with blows and curses. I guess we must have lived infifty tenements, for we were always behind with the rent and sohad to move here and there, wherever we could get a place to putour heads in. Queer places some of them were, I can tell you--mererat-holes. They served one purpose, though--they finished off thechildren. To all mother's miseries and endless work was added theanguish of child-bearing. They were miserable, puny, fretful littleimps, that were poisoned off by the bad air in which we lived, andour bad food--that is, when we had any--after they had made all thetrouble they could. I had the care of most of them, and my lifebecame a burden before I was seven years old. I used to get sotired and faint that I was half glad when they died. At last, whenmother became so used up that she really couldn't work any more, father did for us the one good act that I know anything about--hewent off on a big spree that finished him. Mother and I have clungtogether ever since. We've often been hungry, but we've never beenseparated a night. What a long night is coming now, in which thedoctor says we shall be parted!" and the poor girl crouched on thefloor where her mother could not see her should she open her eyes, and sobbed convulsively. 

Mildred did not try to comfort her with words, but only with caresses. Christ proved centuries ago that the sympathetic touch is healing. 

"Oh, Millie, I seem to feel the gentle stroke of your hand on myheart as well as on my brow, and it makes the pain easier to bear. It makes me feel as if the coarse, brutal life through which I'vecome did not separate me from one so good and different as you are;for though you may be poor, you are as much of a lady as any I'veever waited on at the store. And then to look at your father and tothink of mine. I learned to hate men even when a child, for nearlyall I ever knew either abused me or tempted me; but, Millie, you neednot fear to touch me. I never sold myself, though I've been faintwith hunger. I'm ignorant, and my heart's been full of bitterness, but I'm an honest girl. "

"Poor, poor Clara!" said Mildred brokenly, "my heart aches for youas I think of all you've suffered. "

The girl sprang up, seized the candle, and held it to Mildred'sface. "My God, " she whispered, "you are crying over my troubles. "Then she looked steadfastly into the tearful blue eyes and beautifulface of her new friend for a moment, and said, "Millie, I'll believeany faith YOU'LL teach me, for _I_ BELIEVE IN YOU. "

CHAPTER XIX

BELLE JARS THE "SYSTEM"

Some orthodox divines would have given Clara a version of the storyof life quite different from that which she received from Mildred. Many divines, not orthodox, would have made the divergence muchwider. The poor girl, so bruised in spirit and broken in heart, wasnot ready for a system of theology or for the doctrine of evolution;and if any one had begun to teach the inherent nobleness andself-correcting power of humanity, she would have shown him thedoor, feeble as she was. But when Mildred assured her that if Christwere in the city, as He had been in Capernaum, He would climb thesteep, dark stairs to her attic room and say to her, "Daughter, beof good comfort"--when she was told that Holy Writ declared thatHe was the "same yesterday, to-day, and forever"--her heart becametender and contrite, and therefore ready for a Presence that isstill "seeking that which was lost. "

Men may create philosophies, they may turn the Gospel itself intoa cold abstraction, but the practical truth remains that the Christwho saves, comforts, and lifts the intolerable burden of sorrow orof sin, comes now as of old--comes as a living, loving, personalpresence, human in sympathy, divine in power. As Mildred had said, our need and our consciousness of it form our strongest claim uponHim and the best preparation for Him. 

Clara was proving the truth of her words. Life could never be toher again merely a bitter, sullen struggle for bread. A great hopewas dawning, and though but a few rays yet quivered through thedarkness, they were the earnest of a fuller light. 

Before midnight Mr. Jocelyn joined the watchers, and seated himselfunobtrusively in a dusky corner of the room. Clara crouched on thefloor beside her mother, her head resting on the bed, and her handclasping the thin fingers of the dying woman. She insisted ondoing everything the poor creature required, which was but little, for it seemed that life would waver out almost imperceptibly. Mildredsat at the foot of the bed, where her father could see her pureprofile in the gloom. To his opium-kindled imagination it seemedto have a radiance of its own, and to grow more and more luminousuntil, in its beauty and light, it became like the countenanceof an accusing angel; then it began to recede until it appearedinfinitely far away. "Millie, " he called, in deep apprehension. 

"What is it, papa?" she asked, springing to his side and puttingher hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh!" he said, shudderingly. "I had such a bad dream! You seemedfading away from me, till I could no longer see your face. It wasso horribly real!"

She came and sat beside him, and held his hand in both of hers. "That's right, " he remarked; "now my dreams will be pleasant. "

"You didn't seem to be asleep, papa, " said the girl, in somesurprise; "indeed, you seemed looking at me fixedly. "

"Then I must have been asleep with my eyes open, " he answered witha trace of embarrassment. 

"Poor papa, you are tired, and it's very, very kind of you to comeand stay with me, but I wasn't afraid. Clara says it's a respectablehouse, and the people, though very poor, are quiet and well behaved. Now that you have seen that we are safe, please go home and rest, "and she coaxed until he complied, more from fear that he wouldbetray himself than from any other motive. 

In the deep hush that falls on even a great city before the earlylife of the next day begins, Mrs. Bute opened her eyes and called, "Clara!"

"Right here, momsy, dear, holding your hand. "

"It's strange--I can't see you--I feel so much better, too--sortof rested. It does--seem now--as if I--might get--a little rest. Don't wake me--child--to give me--anything--and rest yourself. "

She smiled faintly as she closed her eyes, and very soon Clara couldnever wake her again. Mildred took the head of the orphan into herlap, and the poor girl at last sobbed herself to sleep. 

We will not attempt to follow Mildred's thoughts as she tried tokeep up through the long hours. The murmured words, "I would watchmore patiently over Vinton Arnold, did not his proud mother standbetween us, " suggests the character of some of them. At last, whenshe was faint from weariness, she heard steps coming up the stairs, and her mother entered, followed by Mrs. Wheaton. 

"My dear, brave child, this is too much for you. I'd rather it hadbeen myself a thousand times, " Mrs. Jocelyn exclaimed. 

"It's all right, mamma, but the sight of you and good Mrs. Wheatonis more welcome than I can tell you, for I was getting very lonelyand tired. "

"I'll stay now hand tend ter heverything, " said Mrs. Wheaton, witha stout, cheery kindness that could not be disguised even in herwhisper; but Clara awoke with a start and said, "What is it, momsy?"

Then she sprang up, and after a brief glance at her mother threwherself with a long, low cry on the lifeless form. 

"Leave hall ter me, " said Mrs. Wheaton decidedly, "hand take MissJocelyn 'ome, for this'll be too much for 'er. "

"Ah, mamma dear, " sobbed Mildred, "my heart would be broken indeedif that were you. "

"Millie, if you love me, come home at once, " Mrs. Jocelyn urged. It was quite light when they gained the street, and after reachinghome Mildred was given a warm cup of tea, and left to sleep untillate in the day. While she slept, however, there occurred somerather stirring scenes. 

Belle, too, slept rather late, but a portentous gloom came into hereyes when told that Mrs. Bute was dead. She did not say very much, but her young face grew older and very resolute while she hastilyate her breakfast. Then she carried something nice to Clara, andfound that Mrs. Wheaton had left, a neighbor from the tall tenementhaving taken her place. 

Belle looked at the bereaved girl with half-fearful eyes as if sheexpected reproaches, and when Clara kissed her in greeting she said"Don't" so sharply as to excite surprise. 

"Belle, " said Clara gently, "mother's at rest. "

"That's more than I am, " muttered the girl. "Oh, Clara, I didn'tmean to bring all this trouble on you. That man just caught me ina trap. "

"Belle, Belle! why do you blame yourself for all this? It wouldhave come just the same, and probably just as soon, and if it hadn'tbeen for you I'd been alone, with no friends and no hope. "

"Oh, don't talk to me!" Belle cried; "your mother might have beenalive if I hadn't taken your place. I want to see her. "

Clara turned back the covering, and the young girl looked at thedead face with a stern, frowning brow. 

"Starved!" she muttered. "I understand why they all looked so blackat me now; but why couldn't some one have told me? He shall knowthe truth for once; he's more to blame than I, " and she abruptlydeparted. 

Very little later the foreman of the shop on Sixth Avenue wasastonished to see her passing hastily toward the private office, regardless of the looks of surprise and interest turned toward heron every side, for the events of the night had been very generallywhispered around. 

"Mr. Schriven's engaged, " he said sharply. "What do you want? Whyare you not in your place?"

"I am in my place, but you are not. Stand aside, for I will seeMr. Schriven at once. "

"I tell you some one is with him. "

"I don't care if the king's with him, " and darting on one side shereached the office door, and knocked so sharply that the irefulpotentate within sprang up himself to see who the inconsiderateintruder was. 

"Oh, it's you, " he said, half inclined to laugh in spite of hisanger. "I thought I said that, if I employed you, you were not tocome to my office again unless I sent for you?"

"I'm not in your employ. "

"Indeed! How's that?" he asked very sharply. 

"That is just what I've come to explain, " was the unflinching reply. 

"By-by, " remarked Mr. Schriven's visitor maliciously; "I see youare to be interviewed. "

"Very briefly, I assure you. Good-morning. Now, miss, I give youabout one minute to transact your business with me, then the cashierwill pay you for two days' work. "

"No, sir, he will not. Do you think I'd take money stained withblood?"

"What do you mean? What kind of a girl are you anyway?"

"I'm an honest girl; I believe in God and the devil--I believe inthem both too well to have anything more to do with you unless youcan prove you didn't know any more than I did. You think to frightenme with black looks, but I've just come from a greater presencethan yours--the presence of one who'll soon be your master--Death, and death for which you are responsible. "

"Good God! what do you mean?"

"What did you mean by turning off without a word a poor girl--onewho for years had done her best for you? What did you mean by makinga place for me in that way? Her mother died last night--starved--andI'd have you know that I'd have starved before I'd have taken herplace had I known what I know now. Go look at your work at the topof a tenement-house! There's more flesh on your arm than on thatdead woman's body, and the poor girl herself hadn't eaten anythingfor two days when she came here last night. She'd have died, too, if sister Millie hadn't stayed with her last night. I hope youdidn't know any more than I did. If you did you've got to settlewith God and the devil before you're through with this kind ofbusiness. "

The man was frightened, for he had meant no deliberate cruelty. Hewas only practicing the sound political economy of obtaining themost for the least, but in the words and stern face of the childhe saw how his act must appear to a mind unwarped by interest andunhardened by selfish years. Moreover, he could not bluster in thepresence of death, and the thought that his greed had caused itchilled his heart with a sudden dread. He caught at the extenuationher words suggested, and said gravely, "You are right; I did notknow. I would send food from my own table rather than any one shouldgo hungry. I knew nothing about this girl, and no one has told meof her need until this moment. A man at the head of a great businesscannot look after details. The best he can do is to manage hisbusiness on business principles. To prove that I'm sincere, I'lltake the girl back again at her old wages, although I do not needher. "

The man lied in giving a false impression. It was true that he didnot single out individuals as objects of intentional cruelty, buthis system was hard and remorseless, and crushed like the wheelsof Juggernaut, and he purposely shut his eyes to all questionsand consequences save those of profit and loss. When compelled toface, through Belle's eyes, an instance of the practical outcomeof his system, he shuddered and trembled, for the moment, and wasinclined to ease his conscience by a little ostentatious kindness, especially as the facts in the case bade fair to become known. Menwho, unlike Belle, have little fear of God or the devil, do fearpublic opinion. The girl interpreted him, however, after her ownwarm, guileless heart, and in strong revulsion of feeling said, tearfully, "Please forgive me, sir, for speaking as I have. I'vedone you wrong, and I acknowledge it frankly, but I was almostbeside myself. We didn't either of us mean them any harm. "

The man could not repress a smile at Belle's association of herselfwith him in the guilt of the affair. In fact, he rather liked theidea, for it made his own part seem quite venial after all--an errorof ignorance like that of the child's--so he said kindly, "Indeed, we did not, and now we'll make amends. You go and see what is neededand let me know, and to-morrow, if you wish, you can take your ownplace and not any one's else. You are a smart, good-hearted girl, and by and by I can give you better wages. "

"I did you wrong, sir, " repeated Belle remorsefully, "and now thatyou will take Clara back, I'd work for you almost for nothing. When and where shall I come?" she added humbly; "I don't wish toseem rude any more. "

"Come to my house this evening, " and he gave her his number. 

"I beg your pardon for what I said. Good-by, sir, " and with tearfuleyes and downcast face she went to the street, without a glance oneither side. 

The man sat for a few moments with a heavily contracting brow. Atlast he stretched out his hand and sighed, "I'd give all there isin this store if my heart was like that girl's, but here I am atthis hour engaged in a transaction which is the devil's own bargain, and with a firm that can't help itself because it is in my power. Hang it all! business is business; I'll lose a cool thousand unlessI carry it through as I've begun. " He seized his pen and carriedit through. 

Belle, attended by her father, was not in the least abashed bythe elegance of Mr. Schriven's parlor, as he had rather hoped shewould be, but he was much impressed by Mr. Jocelyn's fine appearanceand courtly bearing. "No wonder the girl's course has been peculiar, "he thought. "She comes from no common stock. If I've ever seen aSouthern gentleman, her father's one, and her plump little body isfull of hot Southern blood. She's a thoroughbred, and that accountsfor her smartness and fearlessness. Where other girls would whineand toady to your face, and be sly and catlike behind your back, she'd look you in the eyes and say all she meant point-blank. I'mglad indeed things are taking their present course, for these peoplecould make any man trouble, " and he treated his guests very suavely. 

Belle soon told her story in a straightforward manner. One of hergenerous projects was to have a rather grand funeral, with all thegirls in the shop attending in a procession. "What a child she is!"thought Mr. Schriven, with difficulty repressing a laugh, but heproceeded very gravely to induce the girl to take his own practicalview. 

"In the first place, my child, " he said, "that woman died ofconsumption--she didn't starve at all. "

"I think she died the sooner, " Belle faltered. 

"Possibly. If so, she was the sooner out of her misery. At any ratewe are not to blame, since, as you have said, we didn't know. Nowa funeral, such as you suggest, would be very costly, and would dono one any good. It would scarcely be in good taste, for, consideringthe poor woman's circumstances, it would be ostentatious. "

"Belle, Mr. Schriven is right, " said her father, in a tone of quietauthority. 

"Let us rather consider the need of the daughter, " Mr. Schrivenresumed. "You say she is worn and weak from watching and work. Aquarter of the money that a funeral would cost would give her twoor three weeks in the country. And now, " he concluded impressively--hisconscience needed a little soothing, and his purse was plethoricwith the thousand dollars wrung from those who had the misfortuneto be in his power--"I will pay her board at some quiet farmhousefor three weeks, and then she'll come back fresh and strong to herold place. "

Belle's eyes filled with tears of gladness. "You are right, sir, and you are very kind and generous. I know just the place for herto go--the people we've been with all summer. They are kind, andwill do everything for her, and take away her strange feeling atonce. Oh, I'm so glad it's all ending so much better than I feared!I thought this morning I could never be happy again, but you'vemade all seem so different and hopeful. I thank you, sir, over andover, and I'll do my best now at the store, and be respectful toevery one. "

The man was touched. The warm, reflected glow of the girl's heartsoftened for a moment his own icy organ, and his eyes grew moistmomentarily. "You are a good child, " he said. "Here are thirty-fivedollars for your friend, for you've been a friend to her indeed. Most girls would have let them starve for all they cared. Now sendthe girl off to the country, and as soon as I can I'll raise yourwages to five dollars. I'd do it now, only the others would talk andsay it wasn't customary to pay beginners so highly. Mr. Jocelyn, I congratulate you on the possession of such a daughter, and Isincerely hope you may soon retrieve your fortunes and regain theposition to which I see that you both naturally belong, " and hebowed them out with a politeness and respect that were not by anymeans assumed. 

Belle almost danced home by her father's side, so great was therebound of her depressed feelings. Thirty-five dollars! How muchthat would do for poor Clara! Millie would help her make up hermourning, and she would have nothing to pay for but the material. She would write to Mrs. Atwood that very night, and to Roger, telling him he must be kind to Clara, and take her out to drive. Her heart fairly bubbled over with plans and projects for the girlwhose "place she had taken. "

The poor child had scarcely begun her letter to Mrs. Atwood beforeher head drooped, and Mildred said, "Tell me what to say, Belle, and I'll write it all. You've done you part to-day, and done itwell. "

"That's good of you, Millie. When I get sleepy it's no use to tryto do anything. I'd go to sleep if the house was on fire. But youwon't write to Roger, I'm afraid. "

"No. If he must be written to, you must do that. "

"Well, I will to-morrow. He'll do Clara more good than all therest. "

Our story passes hastily over the scenes that followed. A briefservice was held over Mrs. Bute's remains by a city missionary, known to Mrs. Wheaton, who was present with Mrs. Jocelyn, Belle, and Mildred. Three or four neighbors from the tenement lent chairsand came in also. The girls at the ribbon counter clubbed togetherand sent an anchor of white flowers, and at the hour of the funeralthey looked grave and were quiet in manner, thus taking partin the solemnity in the only way they could. In due time the citydepartment upon which the duty devolved sent the "dead wagon"; themorsel of human clay was returned to its kindred dust in "Potter'sField, " a public cemetery on Hart's Island, in which are interredall who die in the city and whose friends are unable to payfor a grave or a burial plot. Clara, however, had not the pain ofseeing her mother placed in the repulsive red box furnished by thedepartment, for Mr. Jocelyn sent a plain but tasteful coffin, withthe woman's age and name inscribed upon it. 

Mrs. Wheaton went with the girl to the grave, and then brought herto her own little nook in the old mansion, for Clara had said shehad no relatives she knew anything about except a few on her father'sside, and she had rather go to a station-house than to them. "Don'ttalk habout station 'ouses till yer can see vat I kin do for yer, "the good woman had said in her hearty way, and she did play thegood Samaritan so well, and poured the "oil and wine" of kindnessinto the poor creature's wounds so effectually, that she began tochange for the better daily. 

Mildred redeemed Belle's promise, and between them all they soonfitted Clara for her trip to the country. By the time Mrs. Atwood'sreply reached Mildred, and Roger's hearty answer came back in responseto Belle's characteristic note, she was ready to go. "There's aman's hand for you, " cried Belle exultantly as she exhibited Roger'sbold chirography. "It's a hand that can be depended upon, strongand ready. "

Mildred smiled as she replied, "You're welcome to it, Belle. "

"You needn't smile so placidly, " she retorted, with an ominous nod. "We are not through with Roger Atwood yet. "

Perhaps quotations from two letters written by Clara to Mildred andBelle, and received a week later, will form a satisfactory endingto this chapter. Clara had been taught to read and write in thepublic schools of the city, and but little more. In later yearsshe had occasionally found opportunity to attend some of the nightschools established for those whose only leisure came after thebusy day was over, and so had learned to use her pen with tolerablecorrectness. In waiting upon the educated people who frequented theshop she had caught, with the aptness of an American girl, a veryfair power of expressing herself in speech. Writing a letter, however, was a formidable affair, in which she had scarcely anyexperience. Her missives, therefore, were very simple, and somewhatdefective in outward form, but they suggested some interestingfacts. 

"DEAR MILLIE (ran the first): I'm very sad and hapy. The Countryslike heven. All are so kind. Even the dog dosen't grole at me, andMr. Roger says that's queer for he groles at everybody. I feel somuch better, I don't know myself. I feel like takin depe brethsof air all the time and I never tasted such milk. Every glass putslife in me. If I can get work up here I'll never go back to town andstand all day again. The girls up here have a chance to live--theyhaven't any chance at all in a store. The strongest will brake downand then they are good for nothing. I wish Belle could do somethingelse. I wish thousands would go in the country and do work thatwould make us look like Susan. Mrs. Atwood thinks she can findme a place with kind people, where I'll be treted almost like oneof the family. Anyway I've had enough of standing and bad air andstarving and I don't see why working in a farmhouse ain't just asladylike as wating on folks with the floorwalker awatchin you likea slave driver. Standing all day is deth to most girls and aboutthe hardest deth they can die. I feel as if I could live to be ahundred up here. 

"Millie, dear, I read the Bible you gave me and I pray for you andBelle every night and morning and He answers. I know it. I loveyou very much and I've good reason. Good by. CLARA BUTE. "

Her letter to Belle was more descriptive of her daily life, of thekindness she received on every hand. One brief extract from it willsuffice:

"I've got well acquainted with Roger, " she wrote. "He's easy toget acquainted with. Now I think of it though he says little ornothing about himself but he leads me to talk and tell about you allin a way that surprises me. If his interest was prying I'm sure Iwouldn't have told him anything. I know well now it isn't. DoesMillie know how he feels toward her? I saw it all last night. Iwas telling him about my past life and how poor and forlorn we hadbeen and how I had told Millie all about it and then how Milliehad just treted me as if I were as good as she was. As I talkedhe became so white I thought he'd faint. Suddenly he burst outdespairingly, 'I hoped she was proud but she isn't--I could overcomepride. But what can I do when I'm just detested? There, I've madea fool of myself, ' he said savagelike after a moment, and he hurriedaway. For the last two days he's been so quiet and looked so sternand sad that his family don't know what to make of him, but I knowwhat's the matter, and I feel sorry for him, for he seems to memore like a man than any of the young fellows I've seen in town. Don't tell Millie for I don't want to even seem to meddle. "

But Belle had no gift of reticence, and she not only showed hersister the letter, but overwhelmed her with reproaches for her"heartless treatment of Roger. " As a natural result Mildred wasonly more irritated and prejudiced against the young man than ever. 

"You are all absurdly unreasonable, " she cried. "What have I everdone to make him turn white or red, or to 'burst out despairingly, 'and all that kind of sentimental nonsense? Because he is lackadaisicaland is experiencing strange, vague emotions, must I be afflicted inlike manner? Must I break faith with one I do love and do violenceto my own feelings, just because this farmer wants me to? You knowwhat's the matter with him--Clara saw at a glance--and the courseI'm taking is the only way to cure him. All his talk about friendshipis transparent folly. If I took your advice it would make him onlymore and more infatuated; and now I haven't it on my consciencethat I gave him one bit of encouragement. I'm sorry for him, ofcourse. I shall be more sorry for his mother and sister if he isguilty of the folly of leaving home. If, instead of doing his dutyby them, he comes mooning after me here, when he knows it is ofno use, I shall lose my respect for him utterly. " There seemed somuch downright common-sense in this view of the affair that evenBelle found no words in reply. Her reason took Mildred's part, buther warm little heart led her to shake her head ominously at hersister, and then sleepily she sought the rest her long, tiresomeday required. 

CHAPTER XX

SEVERAL QUIET FORCES AT WORK. 

Precipitous ascents and descents do not constitute the greater partof life's journey. In the experience of very many they occur moreor less frequently, but they conduct to long intervals where theway is comparatively level, although it may be flinty, rough, andhedged with thorns. More often the upward trend or the decline ofour paths is so slight as not to be noticed as we pass on, but atthe end of years we can know well whether we are gaining or losing. 

The Jocelyns, in common with thousands of others, had made a swiftdescent from a position of comparative affluence to one of real, though not repulsive, poverty. There was nothing, however, in theirfall that cast a shadow upon them in the eyes of the world exceptas the unfortunate are always "under a cloud" to the common herdthat moves together in droves only where the sunlight of prosperityfails. If Mr. Jocelyn could regain his former position, or a betterone, there had been nothing in his brief obscurity that wouldprevent his wife and daughters from stepping back into their oldsocial place, with all its privileges and opportunities. 

The reader knows, however, that his prospects were becoming moreand more dubious--that each day added a rivet to the chain thatan evil habit was forging. His family did not even suspect this, although the impression was growing upon them that his health wasbecoming impaired. They were beginning to accommodate themselvesto life at its present level, and the sense of its strangenesswas passing slowly away. This was especially true of Belle and thechildren, upon whom the past had but a comparatively slight hold. Mildred, from her nature and tastes, felt the change more keenlythan any of the others, and she could never forget that it raiseda most formidable barrier against her dearest hopes. Mrs. Jocelynalso suffered greatly from the privations of her present lot, and her delicate organization was scarcely equal to the tasks andburdens it imposed. As far as possible she sought to perform thedomestic duties that were more suited to the stout, red arms ofthose accustomed to such labors. It seemed essential that Mildredand Belle should give their strength to supplementing their father'ssmall income, for a time at least, though all were living in hopethat this necessity would soon pass away. The family was American, and Southern at that, in the idea that bread-winning was not woman'snatural province, but only one of the direful penalties of extremepoverty. The working-woman of the South belonged to a totally differentclass from that in which Mr. And Mrs. Jocelyn had their origin, andprejudices die hard, even among people who are intelligent, and, in most respects, admirable. To Mrs. Jocelyn and her daughters workwas infinitely preferable to dependence, but it was neverthelessmenial and undignified because of its almost involuntary and hereditaryassociation with a race of bond-servants. He is superficial indeedin his estimate of character who thinks that people can changetheir views and feelings in response to a brief demonstration ofthe essential dignity of labor, especially after generations ofaccumulating pride of caste have been giving the mind a differentbent. Moreover, this family of Southern origin had not seen inthe city of New York very much confirmation of the boasted Northernideas of labor. Social status depended too much on the number ofservants that people kept and the style in which they lived. Povertyhad brought them a more sudden and complete loss of recognition thanwould have been possible in the South--a loss which they would nothave felt so greatly had they wealthy connections in town throughwhom they might have retained, in part at least, their old relationswith people of their own station. 

As it was, they found themselves almost wholly isolated. Mrs. Jocelyn did not regret this so much for herself, since her familywas about all the society she craved; moreover in her girlhood shehad been accustomed to rather remote plantation life, with its longintervals of absence of society. Mr. Jocelyn's business took himout among men even more than he relished, for his secret indulgencepredisposed to solitude and quiet. He was living most of the timein an unreal world, and inevitable contact with his actual lifeand surroundings brought him increasing distress. 

With Belle and Mildred it was different. At their age society andrecreation were as essential as air and light. Many are exceedinglyuncharitable toward working-girls because they are often foundin places of resort that are, without doubt, objectionable anddangerous. The fact is ignored that these places are sought froma natural and entirely wholesome desire for change and enjoyment, which are as needful to physical and moral health as sunlight toa plant. They forget that these normal cravings of the young intheir own families find many and safe means of gratification whichare practically denied to the tenement population. If, instead ofharsh judgments, they would provide for the poor places of cheapand innocent resort; if, instead of sighing over innate depravity, they would expend thought and effort in bringing sunshine intothe experiences of those whose lives are deeply shadowed by theinevitable circumstances of their lot, they would do far more toexemplify the spirit of Him who has done so much to fill the worldwith light, flowers, and music. 

Mildred began to brood and grow morbid in her monotonous work andseclusion; and irrepressible Belle, to whom shop life was becomingan old, weary story, was looking around for "pastures new. " Hernature was much too forceful for anything like stagnation. Theworld is full of such natures, and we cannot build a dike of "thoushalt nots" around them; for sooner or later they will overleap thebarriers, and as likely on the wrong side as on the right. Thosewho would save and bless the world can accomplish far more by makingsafe channels than by building embankments, since almost as manyare ruined by undue and unwise repression as by equally unwise andidiotic indulgence. 

If Mr. Jocelyn had been himself he might have provided much innocentand healthful recreation for his family; but usually he was sodreamy and stupid in the evening that he was left to doze quietlyin his chair. His family ascribed his condition to weariness andreaction from his long strain of anxiety; and opium had alreadyso far produced its legitimate results that he connived at theirdelusion if he did not confirm it by actual assertion. It is oneof the diabolical qualities of this habit that it soon weakens andat last destroys all truth and honor in the soul, eating them outwith a corrosive power difficult to explain. 

For the first week or two Belle was glad to rest in the eveningsfrom the intolerable weariness caused by standing all day, butthe adaptability of the human frame is wonderful, and many at lastbecome accustomed, and, in some sense, inured to that which wastorture at first. Belle was naturally strong and vigorous, and hercompact, healthful organism endured the cruel demand made upon itfar better than the majority of her companions. Nature had endowedher with a very large appetite for fun. For a time her employment, with its novelty, new associations, and small excitements, furnished this, but now her duties were fading into prosaic work, and the child was looking around for something enlivening. Where inthe great city could she find it? Before their poverty came therewere a score of pretty homes like her own in which she could visitschoolmates; her church and Sabbath-school ties brought her intorelation with many of her own age; and either in her own home orin those of her friends she took part in breezy little festivitiesthat gave full and healthful scope to her buoyant nature. She wasnot over-fastidious now, but when occasionally she went home withsome of her companions at the shop, she returned dissatisfied. Thesmall quarters in which the girls lived rendered little confidentialchats--so dear to girls--impossible, and she was brought at onceinto close contact with strange and often repulsive people. Itseemed that the street furnished the only privacy possible, exceptas she brought girls to her own abode. Her mother and sister werevery considerate in this respect, and welcomed all of her acquaintanceswho appeared like good, well-meaning girls; and Mildred would eithergive up her share of their little room for the time, or else takepart in their talk in such a genial way as to make the visitors athome as far as they could be with one in whom they recognized theirsuperior. Their light talk and shop gossip were often exceedinglytiresome to Mildred, but she felt that Belle needed every safeguardwithin their power to furnish. And this privilege of welcoming thebest companions her circumstances permitted was of great help toBelle, and, for a time, prevented her restless spirit from longingfor something more decided in the way of amusement. Of necessity, however, anything so quiet could not last; but where could the girlfind pleasures more highly colored? Occasionally she would coax orscold her father into taking her out somewhere, but this occurredless and less frequently, for she was made to feel that his healthrequired absolute rest when his business permitted it. If she hadhad kind brothers the case would have been greatly simplified, butthousands of working-girls have no brothers, no male companionssave those acquaintances that it is their good or, more often, theirevil fortune to make. Without a brother, a relative, or a frienddeserving the name, how is a young girl, restricted to a boarding-houseor a tenement, to find safe recreation? Where can she go for it onthe great majority of the evenings of the year? Books and papersoffer a resource to many, and Mildred availed herself of them toher injury. After sitting still much of the day she needed greateractivity in the evening. Belle was not fond of reading, as multitudeson the fashionable avenues are not. The well-to-do have many otherresources--what chances had she? To assert that working-girls oughtto crave profitable reading and just the proper amount of hygienicexercise daring their leisure, and nothing more, is to be like theengineer who said that a river ought to have been half as wide asit was, and then he could build a bridge across it. The problemmust be solved as it exists. 

To a certain extent this need of change and cheerful recreationis supplied in connection with some of the mission chapels, andthe effort is good and most commendable as far as it goes; butas yet the family had formed no church relations. Mildred, Belle, and occasionally Mrs. Jocelyn had attended Sabbath service in theneighborhood. They shrank, however, so morbidly from recognitionthat they had no acquaintances and had formed no ties. They hada prejudice against mission chapels, and were not yet willing toidentify themselves openly with their poor neighbors. As yet theyhad incurred no hostility on this account, for their kindly waysand friendliness to poor Clara had won the goodwill and sympathyof all in the old mansion. But the differences between the Jocelynsand their neighbors were too great for any real assimilation, and thus, as we have said, they were thrown mainly on their ownresources. Mrs. Wheaton was their nearest approach to a friend, andvery helpful she was to them in many ways, especially in relievingMrs. Jocelyn, for a very small compensation, from her heavier tasks. The good woman, however, felt even more truly than they that theyhad too little in common for intimacy. 

There is one amusement always open to working-girls if they areat all attractive--the street flirtation. To their honor it can besaid that comparatively few of the entire number indulge in thisdangerous pastime from an improper motive, the majority meaning nomore harm or evil than their more fortunate sisters who can enjoythe society of young men in well-appointed parlors. In most instancesthis street acquaintance, although unhedged by safe restrictions, is by no means indiscriminate. The young men are brothers or friendsof companions, or they are employed in the same establishment, or else reside in the neighborhood, so that usually something isknown of their characters and antecedents, and the desire to becomefriendly is similar to that influencing the young people of countryneighborhoods. As a rule these young people have few opportunitiesof meeting save in the streets and places of public resort. Theconditions of life in a great city, however, differ too widely fromthose of a village or country town, where every one is well knownand public opinion is quick and powerful in its restraints. Socialcircles are too loosely organized in a city; their members fromnecessity are generally to little known to each other; there aretoo many of both sexes ready to take advantage of the innocent andunwary, and their opportunities of escape from all penalty invitethe crimes suggested by their evil natures. Belle had been oftenwarned, and she had so much affection for her mother and so muchpride that she did not fall readily into indiscretions; nor wouldshe in the future respond, without considerable self-restraint, to the frequent advances which she never failed to recognize, however distant she might appear, and she would not have possesseda woman's nature had she been indifferent to admiring glances andthe overtures of those who would gladly form her acquaintance. Stillit must be admitted that her good resolutions were fast weakeningin this direction. 

Mildred's dangers were quite different from those which assailedBelle, and yet they were very grave ones. Her mind and heart werepreoccupied. She was protected from even the desire of perilousassociations and pleasures by the delicacy and refinement of hernature and her Christian principle. She shrank from social contactwith the ruder world by which she was now surrounded; she felt andlived like one in exile, and her hope was to return to her nativeland. In the meantime she was growing pale, languid, morbid, and, occasionally, even irritable, from the lack of proper exercise andchange. She was not discouraged as yet, but the day of deliveranceseemed to grow more distant. Her father apparently was declining inenergy and health, and his income was very small. She worked longhours over her fancy work, but the prices paid for it at the shopswere so small that she felt with a growing despondency it was buta precarious means of support. Their first month in the old mansionwas drawing to a close, and they had been compelled to draw slightlyon the small sum of ready money still remaining after paying fortheir summer's board. They still had a few articles in storage, having retained them in hope of moving, at no distant time, intomore commodious quarters. 

In their desire for economy they also fell into the very commonerror of buying salt fish and meat, and other articles of food thatwere cheap and easily prepared rather than nutritious, and Bellewas inclined to make her lunch on pastry and cake instead of food. In teaching them a better way Mrs. Wheaton proved herself a veryuseful friend. "Vat yer vant is sumthink that makes blood an'stands by von, " she had said; "an' this 'ere salt, dry stuff an'light baker's bread and tea and coffee don't do this hat hall. They's good henough as relishes an' trimmins an' roundins hoff, butthey hain't got the nourishin' in 'em that vorking people vants. Buy hoat meal an' corn meal--make good bread of yer hown. Buygood but cheap chunks of beef an' mutton an' wegetables, an' makestews an' meat pies an' rich soups, an' say yer prayers hagainsthall trashy things as hain't vorth the trouble of heatin'. Heggs, too, ven ther're plenty, hare fust-rate, an' milk is better thanso much tea an' coffee, heven if the milkman do spill it in thebrook an' pick it hout hagain before we get it. Vorkin' hon teaan' coffee is like keepin' the 'orse hagoin' on a vip hinstead ofhoats. "

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were sensible enough to take her advice, and although Belle complained at first over the more simple andwholesome diet, she soon felt so much the better for it that shemade no further trouble. 

As had been the case at the farmhouse, Mildred at last awakenedto the evils of a depressed and sedentary life, and felt that shemust look around for objects of interest. She began to spend moretime with Mrs. Wheaton, and found considerable amusement in herhomely common-sense. The good woman was all the more companionablefor the reason that she never presumed on a coarse familiarityor indulged in a prying interest. Mildred also aided the Wheatonchildren in their lessons, and gave more time to her own littlebrother and sister, taking them out to walk in the cool of the day, and giving much thought, while she plied her needle, to variouslittle expedients that would keep them content to remain away fromthe street and the rude children that often made the old houseresound with boisterous sport. Mrs. Wheaton's children were inthe main well behaved, and there was much visiting back and forthamong the little people of the two families, but here the line wasdrawn, and generally with very good reason. After all, perhaps, the chief horror of tenement life to a family like the Jocelynsconsisted in the fact that just outside their door were hordes ofprowling little savages ignorant in the main of civilization, butprematurely enlightened as to its vices. To prevent the inevitablecontamination which would result from indiscriminate association, and to interest Fred and Minnie in their daily lessons, wasthe constant effort of both Mildred and Mrs. Jocelyn. And yet, asat the farmhouse, Mildred's conscience began to reproach her forkeeping too much aloof from the people who dwelt with her in theold mansion. It was not necessary to make companions of them inorder to do them some good, and in aiding them to bear their burdensshe might in part forget her own. Mrs. Wheaton's hearty kindnesspermeated the house like an atmosphere, and from her Mildred learnedthe character and circumstances of each family quite correctly. "Ican get hon with 'em hall hexcept a hold daft German on the topfloor, oos a bit crazy hover the 'evens, but don't stand much chanceof hever gettin' hup hinto 'em. You've hoften seen 'im a-lookin'at the stars an' things on the roof. 'E 'alf starves 'is family tobuy books an' maps an' a telescope. 'E 'ates me cos I tried to talkreligion to 'im vonce ven 'e vas sick, an' cos I told 'im 'e 'adno bizness to take his death a'cold on the roof o' vinter nights;an 'ven 'e vonce gets a grudge hagainst yer 'e never lets hup. "

Mildred had already become more interested in this old man than inany other of her neighbors except Mrs. Wheaton, but had found himutterly unapproachable. Not infrequently she spent part of thehot evenings on the platform built over the old hip-roof, and hadinvariably seen him there on cloudless nights studying the skieswith a telescope that appeared to be by no means a toy instrument;but he always took possession of the far end of the platform, andwas so savage when any one approached thyt even Belle was afraid ofhim. His wife, for a wonder, was a slattern German, and she spokeEnglish very imperfectly. With her several small children she livedin a chaotic way, keeping up a perpetual whining and fault-fnding, half under her breath from fear of her irascible husband, that waslike a "continual dropping on a very rainy day. " Every now and then, Mrs. Wheaton said, he would suddenly emerge from his abstractionand break out against her in a volley of harsh, guttural Germanoaths that were "henough to make von's 'air riz. " Therefore it verynaturally happened that Mildred had become acquainted with all theother families before she had even spoken to Mr. Or Mrs. Ulph. Onthe other inmates of the mansion her influence soon began to befelt; for almost unconsciously she exercised her rare and subtlepower of introducing a finer element into the lives of those whowere growing sordid and material. She had presented several familieswith a small house-plant, and suggested that they try to developslips from others that she sedulously tended in her own window. Intwo or three instances she aided untidy and discouraged women tomake their rooms more attractive. The fact, also, that the Jocelynshad made their two apartments, that were little if any better thanthe others, so very inviting had much weight, and there sprang upquite an emulation among some of the simple folk in making the mostof their limited resources. 

"Instead of scolding your husbands for going out and perhaps takinga glass too much, try and keep them home by making the living-roomhomelike, " she had said on several occasions to complaining wiveswho had paved the way by their confidential murmurings. "Have someextra dish that they like for supper--they will spend more if theygo out--then be a little smiling and chatty, and tell them to lighttheir pipes and stay with you, for you are a bit lonesome. If theywill have their mug of beer, coax them to take it here at home. Tryto put a few shillings in the savings bank every week, and talkover little plans of saving more. If you can only make your husbandsfeel that they are getting ahead a little, it will have a greatinfluence in steadying them and keeping them out of bad company. "

Mildred had a genius for everything relating to domestic life, andan almost unbounded belief in good home influences. Although sherarely talked religion directly to the people whom she was tryingto benefit--she was much too diffident and self-depreciativefor this--her regular attendance at some place of worship on theSabbath and her course toward poor Mrs. Bute and her daughter hadgiven the impression that she was a very religious girl, and thather motives were Christian in character. People's instincts arequick in discerning the hidden springs of action; and her influencewas all the more effective because she gave them the fruits offaith rather than stems of exhortation or which they were requiredto develop fruit of their own. Much good fruit was eventuallyproduced, but more through her example, her spring-like influence, than from any formal instruction. 

CHAPTER XXI

"HE'S A MAN"

Mrs. Wheaton, although she had the good taste to ask few questions, was much puzzled over the Jocelyns. Mr. Jocelyn's state of healthseemed to her very peculiar, and her shrewd, unprejudiced mind wasapproaching Roger's conclusion, that he was a little "off. " With aninsight common to sound, thrifty people, she saw that the outlookfor this family was dubious. She believed that the father wouldbecome less and less of a reliance, that Mrs. Jocelyn was toodelicate to cope with a lower and grimmer phase of poverty, whichshe feared they could not escape. When alone she often shook herhead in foreboding over Belle's brilliant black eyes, being awarefrom long experience among the poor how dangerous are such attractions, especially when possessed by an impulsive and unbalanced child. Sheeven sighed more deeply and often over Mildred, for she knew wellthat more truly than any of the house-plants in the window theyoung girl who cared for them was an exotic that might fade anddie in the changed and unfavorable conditions of her present andprospective life. The little children, too, were losing the brownand ruddy hues they had acquired on the Atwood farm, and verynaturally chafed over their many and unwonted restrictions. 

Nor did the city missionary whom she had called in to attend Mrs. Bute's funeral illumine the Jocelyn problem for the good woman. He was an excellent man, but lamentably deficient in tact, beingprone to exhort on the subject of religion in season, and especiallyout of season, and in much the same way on all occasions. Sincethe funeral he had called two or three times, and had mildly andrather vaguely harangued Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred. Instead ofechoing his pious platitudes with murmurs of assent and approval, they had been very polite, and also very reticent and distant; andMr. Woolling--that was his name--had said in confidence to Mrs. Wheaton that "they might be good people, but he fearing they werenot yet altogether 'in the light. ' They seemed a little cold towardthe good cause, and were not inclined to talk freely of theirspiritual experiences and relations. Probably it was because theywere not altogether orthodox in their views. "

It would seem that this worthy person had taken literally the promiseof his Master, "I will make you fishers of men. " for he was quitecontent to be a fisher. Let us hope that occasionally, as by amiracle, his lenient Master enabled him to catch some well-disposedsinner; but as a rule his mannerism, his set phrases, his utter lackof magnetism and appreciation of the various shades of characterwith which he was dealing, repelled even those who respected hismotive and mission. Sensitive, sad-hearted women like Mrs. Jocelynand Mildred could no more open their hearts to him than to abenevolent and impersonal board of trustees sitting around a greenbaize table. That detestable class, however, who thrive on openingtheir hearts and dilating on their spiritual experiences, couldtalk to him, as he would say, in a "most edifying and godly manner, "and through him, in consequence, reap all the pecuniary advantageswithin his power to bestow. 

It is not the blatant and plausible poor who suffer, but thosewho hide their poverty and will starve rather than trade on theirfaith; and too often Christian and charitable organizations provethey are not the "children of this world" by employing agents solacking in fitness for the work that a commercial firm, followinga like policy, would soon compass its own failure. The Church deservesslight progress if it fails to send its best and most gifted menand women among the poor and vicious. Mr. Woolling was a sincerewell-meaning man, but he no more knew how to catch men with aChrist-like magnetism and guile than how to render one of Beethoven'ssymphonies; and he was so constituted that he could never learn. It was an open question whether he did not do more harm than good;and those who employed him might and ought to have known the fact. 

Fortunately for the Jocelyns, there were other workers in that partof the vineyard, and Mrs. Wheaton had said to herself more thanonce, "Ven my young lady comes 'ome she'll git 'old of these 'erepeople and make things better for 'em. " One day, about the middleof September, there was a light knock at the door of the largeliving-room that had been made so inviting. Mildred opened itand admitted a young woman, who appeared not very much older thanherself, and who she saw at a glance was of her own class in respectto refinement and cultivation. Although entire strangers, the eyesof the two girls met in woman's intuitive recognition. 

"This is Miss Jocelyn, I think, " said the visitor in an accent thatto the poor girl sounded like her native tongue, so long unheard. 

"You are correct, " replied Mildred, with exploring eyes and a quietand distant manner. "Will you please be seated, " she added aftera moment, as the young lady evidently wished to enter. 

It was in the afternoon, and the room had its usual pretty orderat that hour. Fred and Minnie were seated by Mrs. Jocelyn, whowas giving them their daily lesson from an illustrated primer; andthey, with their mother, turned questioning eyes on the unexpectedguest, who won their good-will almost instantly by a sunshinysmile. Then turning to Mildred she began, with a quiet, well-bredease which made her visit seem perfectly natural, "We are nowstrangers, but I trust we shall not remain such very long. Indeed, I am already sure that you can help me very much. " (This askinghelp instead of offering it was certainly adroit policy. ) "I am aChristian worker in this district. My name is Alice Wetheridge. Iam well acquainted with Mrs. Wheaton, and the little she has toldme about you has made me wish to know you well; and I trust you willmeet me with the spirit in which I come--that of honest friendlinessand respect. I shall be just as frank with you as you wish, and Iknow you have just as much right to your feelings and views as Ihave to mine. It is our plan of work to co-work cordially, askingeach one to choose her own place and kind of effort. I have beenaround among some of my families in this house, and, if you willpermit me to say it, I have seen your influence, and I think it ismost Christian and womanly. You can scarcely blame me, then, if Ihope to find in you a congenial fellow-worker. "

These remarks contained no hint of poverty or inferiority, and mighthave been made to Mildred in her old home. The sweet, low voice inwhich they were spoken was soothing and winning, while her visitor'sgaze was direct and sincere. Mildred smiled with a little answeringfriendliness as she said, "Please do not expect much from me. Ifear I shall disappoint you. "

"I shall not expect anything more than your own feelings prompt andyour own conscience can warrant. I and some friends have classesat a mission chapel not far from here, and all I ask at first isthat you and Mrs. Jocelyn attend service at the chapel and see howyou like us and how you like our minister. "

"Is--is his name Mr. Woolling?" faltered Mildred. 

A slight, evanescent smile flitted across the visitor's face. "No, "she said, "that is not his name. Our minister has just returnedfrom Europe, where he has taken a well-deserved vacation. I, too, have only come in town within the last few days, otherwise I donot think you would have escaped us so long, " she concluded, witha bright smile, but after a moment she added earnestly, "Please donot think that we shall try to force upon you associations that maynot be pleasant. We only ask that you come and judge for yourselves. "

"What you ask is certainly reasonable, " said Mildred thoughtfully, and with an inquiring glance at her mother. 

"I agree with you, Millie, " her mother added with gentle emphasis, for she had been observing their visitor closely; "and I think weboth appreciate Miss Wetheridge's motive in calling upon us, andcan respond in like spirit. "

"I thank you, " was the cordial reply. "On this card is written myaddress and where to find our chapel, the hours of service, etc. Please ask for me next Sabbath afternoon, and I will sit you, soyou won't feel strange, you know. After the service is over we willremain a few moments, and I will introduce you to our minister. As I said at first, if you don't like us or our ways you must notfeel in the least trammelled. However that may be, I trust you willlet me come and see you sometimes. It was my duty to call upon youbecause you were in my district; but now it will be a pleasure towhich I hope you will let me look forward. "

"You will be welcome, " said Mildred smilingly. "I can at leastpromise so much. "

Miss Wetheridge had slipped off her glove while talking, and inparting she gave a warm, friendly palm to those she wished to win. She had intended only a smiling leave-taking of the children, butthey looked so pretty, and were regarding her with such an expressionof shy, pleased interest, that she acted on her impulse and kissedthem both. "I don't often meet such kissable children, " she said, with a bright flush, "and I couldn't resist the temptation. "

The room seemed lighter the rest of the day for her visit. If shehad kissed the children out of policy Mrs. Jocelyn would have beenresentfully aware of the fact; but they were "kissable" children, and no one knew it better than the fond mother, who was won completelyby the spontaneity of the act. 

"Millie, I think I'd go to her church, even if Mr. Woolling werethe minister, " she said, with her sweet laugh. 

"Soft-hearted little mother!" cried Mildred gayly; "if people onlyknew it, you have one very vulnerable side. That was a master-strokeon the part of Miss Wetheridge. "

"She didn't mean it as such, and if some good people had kissedthe children I'd have washed their faces as soon as they had gone. The visit has done YOU good, too, Millie. "

"Well, I admit it has. It was nice to see and hear one of our ownpeople, and to feel that we were not separated by an impassablegulf. To tell the truth, I feel the need of something outside ofthis old house. I am beginning to mope and brood. I fear it willbe some time before the way opens back to our former life, and onegrows sickly if one lives too long in the shade. I COULD work withsuch a girl as that, for she wouldn't humiliate me. See, her cardshows that she lives on Fifth Avenue. If SHE can work in a missionchapel, I can, especially since she is willing to touch me withher glove off, " she concluded, with a significant smile. 

As the evening grew shadowy Mildred took the children out for theirwalk, and, prompted by considerable curiosity, she led the way toFifth Avenue, and passed the door on which was inscribed the numberprinted on Miss Wetheridge's card. The mansion was as stately andgave as much evidence of wealth as Mrs. Arnold's home. At thismoment a handsome carriage drew up to the sidewalk, and Mildred, turning, blushed vividly as she met the eyes of her new acquaintance, who, accompanied by a fashionably-attired young man, had evidentlybeen out to drive. Mildred felt that she had no right to claimrecognition, for a young woman making mission calls in her "district"and the same young lady on Fifth Avenue with her finance, veryprobably, might be, and often are, two very distinct persons. Thegirl was about to pass on with downcast eyes and a hot face, feelingthat her curiosity had been well punished. But she had not takenthree steps before a pleasant voice said at her side, "Miss Jocelyn, what have I done that you won't speak to me? This is my home, andI hope you will come and see me some time. "

Mildred looked at the speaker searchingly for a moment, and thensaid, in a low tone and with tearful eyes, "May you never exchangea home like this, Miss Wetheridge, for one like mine. "

"Should it be my fortune to do so--and why may it not?--I hope Imay accept of my lot with your courage, Miss Jocelyn, and give tomy humbler home the same impress of womanly refinement that youhave imparted to yours. Believe me, I respected you and your motherthoroughly the moment I crossed your threshold. "

"I will do whatever you wish me to do, " was her relevant, althoughseemingly irrelevant, reply. 

"That's a very big promise, " said Miss Wetheridge vivaciously; "wewill shake hands to bind the compact, " and her attendant raisedhis hat as politely as he would to any of his companion's friends. 

Mildred went home with the feeling that the leaden monotony ofher life was broken. The hand of genuine Christian sympathy, notcharity or patronage, had been reached across the chasm of herpoverty, and by it she justly hoped that she might be led intonew relations that would bring light and color into her shadowedexperience. 

With her mother and Belle she went to the chapel on the followingSunday afternoon, and found her new friend on the watch for them. The building was plain but substantial, and the audience-room largeand cheerful looking. Mr. Woolling was, in truth, not the type ofthe tall, rugged-featured man who sat on the platform pulpit, andMildred, at first, was not prepossessed in his favor, but as herose and began to speak she felt the magnetism of a large heartand brain; and when he began to preach she found herself yieldingto the power of manly Christian thought, expressed in honest Saxonwords devoid of any trace of affectation, scholasticism, and setphraseology. He spoke as any sensible, practical man would speakconcerning a subject in which he believed thoroughly and wasdeeply interested, and he never once gave the impression that hewas "delivering a sermon" which was foreordained to be delivered atthat hour. It was a message rather than a sermon, a sincere effortto make the people understand just what God wished them to knowconcerning the truth under consideration, and especially what theywere to do in view of it. The young girl soon reached the conclusionthat the religion taught in this chapel was not something fashionedto suit the world, but a controlling principle that brought therich and poor together in their obedience to Him whose perfectlife will ever be the law of the Christian Church. The attentionof even mercurial Belle was obtained and held, and at the close ofthe address she whispered, "Millie, that man talks right to one, and not fifty miles over your head. I'll come here every Sunday ifyou will. "

After the benediction the Rev. Mr. Wentworth came down from thepulpit--not in a bustling, favor-currying style, but with a grave, kindly manner--to speak to those who wished to see him. When he atlast reached Mildred, she felt him looking at her in a way thatproved he was not scattering his friendly words as a handful of coinis thrown promiscuously to the poor. He was giving thought to hercharacter and need; he was exercising his invaluable but lamentablyrare gift of tact in judging how he should address these "newpeople" of whom Miss Wetheridge had spoken. His words were few andsimple, but he made Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred feel that his interestin them was not official, but genuine, Christian, and appreciative. Belle very naturally shrank into the background. Her acquaintancewith clergymen was not extensive, nor would it, I fear, ever havebeen increased by any efforts of her own; therefore it was with sometrepidation that she saw Mr. Wentworth giving her an occasionalside glance while talking to her mother. She was about to bow veryformally when introduced, but a smile broke over the man's ruggedfeatures like a glow of sunshine, as he held out his hand and said, "Miss Belle, I know you and I would be good friends if we had achance. "

The girl's impulsive nature responded as if touched by an electricspark, and with her usual directness the words in her mind werespoken. "I like you already, " she said. 

"The liking is mutual then, " was Mr. Wentworth's laughing reply;"I'm coming to see you. "

"But, sir, " stammered the honest child, "I'm not good like mysister. "

The clergyman now laughed heartily. "All the more reason I shouldcome, " he said. 

"Well, then, please come in the evening, for I wouldn't miss yourvisit for the world. "

"I certainly shall, " and he named an evening early in the week; "andnow, " he resumed, "my friend Miss Wetheridge here has informed meof the conditions on which you have visited our chapel. We proposeto carry them out in good faith, and not put any constraint uponyou beyond a cordial invitation to cast your lot with us. It's agreat thing to have a church home. You need not feel that you mustdecide at once, but come again and again, and perhaps by and byyou will have a home feeling here. "

"I'm coming whether the rest do or not, " Belle remarked emphatically, and Mr. Wentworth gave her a humorous look which completed theconquest of her heart. 

"Miss Wetheridge knows that my decision was already made, " saidMildred quietly, with an intelligent glance toward her friend; "andif there is any very, very simple work that I can do, I shall feelit a privilege to do the best I can. "

She never forgot his responsive look of honest friendliness as heanswered, "The simplest work you do in that spirit will be blessed. Miss Wetheridge, I hope you will soon find some more people likeMrs. Jocelyn and her daughters. Good-by now for a short time, "and a moment later Mildred saw him talking just as kindly, butdifferently, to a very shabby-looking man. 

Mr. Wentworth was also a "fisher of men, " but he fished intelligently, and caught them. 

Belle could hardly wait until she was in the street before exclaiming, "He isn't a bit like our old minister. Why--why--he's a man. "

CHAPTER XXII

SKILLED LABOR

Miss Wetheridge's visit bade fair to occasion important changesfor the better in Mildred's prospects. From Mrs. Wheaton the younglady had learned of her protegee's long hours of ill-repaid toil. She was eager to gain Mildred's confidence to an extent that wouldwarrant some good advice, and after another call early in the weekshe induced the girl to come and see her and to open her heartfully in the privacy thus secured. Of course there was one secretjealously guarded, and the reader can well understand that VintonArnold's name was not mentioned, and the disagreeable episode ofRoger Atwood was not deemed worth speaking of. He was now but afast-fading memory, for even Belle rarely recalled him. 

That the Jocelyns did not belong to the ordinary ranks of the poor, and that Mildred was not a commonplace girl, was apparent to MissWetheridge from the first; and it was her design to persuade herfriend to abandon the overcrowded and ill-paid divisions of laborfor something more in accordance with her cultivation and ability. Mildred soon proved that her education was too general and superficialto admit of teaching except in the primary departments, and asthe schools were now in session it might be many months before anyopening would occur. With a mingled sigh and laugh she said, "Theone thing I know how to do I shall probably never do--I could makea home, and I could be perfectly happy in taking care of it. "

"Pardon me!" cried Miss Wetheridge roguishly, "that seems to me yourinevitable fate, sooner or later. We are only counselling togetherhow best to fill up the interval. My friend almost made me jealousby the way he talked about you the other evening. "

A faint color stole into Mildred's face. "All that's past, I fear, "she said with low, sad emphasis, "and I would never marry merelyfor the sake of a home. My future is that of a working-woman unlesspapa can regain his former means. Even then I should not like tolive an idle life. So the question is, What kind of work shall Ido? How can I do the most for the family, for I am troubled aboutpapa's health, and mamma is not strong. "

Her warm-hearted friend's eyes grew moist as she looked intentlyand understandingly into the clouded and beautiful face. In one ofher pretty impulses that often broke through her polite restraintshe exclaimed, "Millie, you are a true woman. Please pardon myfamiliarity, but I can't tell you how much you interest me, how Irespect you, and--and--how much I like you. "

"Nor can I tell you, " responded Mildred earnestly, "how much hopeand comfort you have already brought me. "

"Come, " said Miss Wetheridge cheerily, "we will go down to therooms of the Young Women's Christian Association at once. We mayget light there. The thing for you to do is to master thoroughlyone or more of the higher forms of labor that are as yet uncrowded. That is what I would do. "

While she was preparing for the street she observed Mildred'seyes resting wistfully on an upright piano that formed part of thebeautiful furniture of her private sanctum. "You are recognizingan old friend and would like to renew your acquaintance, " she saidsmilingly. "Won't you play while I am changing my dress?"

"Perhaps I can best thank you in that way, " answered Mildred, availing herself of the permission with a pleasure she could notdisguise. "I admit that the loss of my piano has been one of mygreatest deprivations. "

Miss Wetheridge's sleeping-apartment opened into her sitting-room, and, with the door open, it was the same as if they were stilltogether. The promise of thanks was well kept as the exquisitenotes of Mendelssohn's "Hope" and "Consolation" filled the roomswith music that is as simple and enduring as the genuine feelingof a good heart. 

"I now understand how truly you lost a friend and companion in yourpiano, " said Miss Wetheridge, "and I want you to come over hereand play whenever you feel like it, whether I am at home or not. "

Mildred smiled, but made no reply. She could accept kindness andhelp from one who gave them as did Miss Wetheridge, but she wastoo proud and sensitive to enter upon an intimacy that must ofnecessity be so one-sided in its favors and advantages, and sheinstinctively felt that such wide differences in condition wouldlead to mutual embarrassments that her enthusiastic friend couldnot foresee. It was becoming her fixed resolve to accept her lot, with all that it involved, and no amount of encouragement couldinduce her to renew associations that could be enjoyed now onlythrough a certain phase of charity, however the fact might bedisguised. But she would rather reveal her purpose by the retiringand even tenor of her way than by any explanations of her feelings. Thus it came about in the future that Miss Wetheridge made threecalls, at least, to one that she received, and that in spite ofall she could do Mildred shrank from often meeting other members ofher family. But this sturdy self-respect on the part of the younggirl--this resolute purpose not to enter a social circle where shewould at least fear patronage and surprise at her presence--increasedher friend's respect in the secrecy of her heart. 

Mildred at once became a member of the Young Women's Association, and its library and reading-room promised to become a continuedmeans of pleasure and help. From among the several phases of skilledlabor taught under the auspices of the Association, she decided tochoose the highest--that of stenography--if her father thought hecould support the family without much help for a few months. Shewas already very rapid and correct in her penmanship, and if shecould become expert in taking shorthand notes she was assured thatshe could find abundant and highly remunerative scope for her skill, and under circumstances, too, that would not involve unpleasantpublicity. She thought very favorably, also, of the suggestionthat she should join the bookkeeping class. With her fine mentalcapacity and previous education Miss Wetheridge believed thatMildred could so far master these two arts as to be sure of anindependence, and her kind friend proposed to use no little influencein finding opportunities for their exercise. 

Mildred, naturally, lost no time in explaining her projects to herfather, and it so happened that she spoke at a moment of peculiarexhilaration on his part. "If it would give you pleasure, " he said, "to learn these two accomplishments, you may do so, of course, butI foresee no probability of your ever putting them to use. I nowhave prospects, " etc. , etc. Soon after, he was in a deep sleep. She looked at him with troubled eyes, and promptly entered on herstudies the following day, working with the assiduity of one whofeels that the knowledge may be needed before it can be acquired. 

Belle was in quite a flutter of excitement on the evening named forMr. Wentworth's visit, and the genial clergyman would have laughedagain could he have heard one of her reasons for welcoming him. "He is so deliciously homely, " she said, "I like to look at him. "He came at the hour appointed, and his visit was truly a "spiritual"one, if enlivened spirits, more hopeful hearts, and a richerbelief in their Divine Father's goodwill toward them all were thelegitimate result of a spiritual visit. Mr. Jocelyn, in expectancyof the guest, had carefully prepared himself in guilty secrecy, andappeared unusually well, but he was the only one who sighed deeplyafter the good man's departure. Rising from the depths of hissoul through his false exhilaration was a low, threatening voice, saying, "That man is true; you are a sham, and your hollowness willbecome known. "

Indeed, Mr. Wentworth went away with a vague impression that therewas something unreal or unsound about Mr. Jocelyn, and he beganto share Mrs. Wheaton's painful forebodings for the family. Belleenjoyed the visit greatly, for the minister was an apostle of avery sunny gospel, and she was then ready for no other. Moreover, the healthful, unwarped man delighted in the girl's frolicsomeyouth, and no more tried to repress her vivacity than he would thebubble and sparkle of a spring. Indeed he was sensible enough toknow that, as the spring keeps pure by flowing and sparkling intothe light, so her nature would stand a far better chance of remaininguntainted if given abundant yet innocent scope. His genial wordshad weight with her, but her quick intuition of his sympathy, his sense of humor, which was as genuine as her own, had far moreweight, and their eyes rarely met without responsive smiles. Therewas nothing trivial, however, in their interplay of mirthfulness--nothingthat would prevent the child from coming to him should her heartbecome burdened with sin or sorrow. She was assigned to MissWetheridge's class, and soon became warmly attached to her teacher. Mildred, to her great surprise, was asked to take a class ofrude-looking, half-grown boys. In answer to her look of dismay, Mr. Wentworth only said smilingly, "Try it; trust my judgment; youcan do more with those boys than I can. "

"Were it not for my promise to Miss Wetheridge, I shouldn't evendare think of such a thing, " she replied; "but I now feel bound toattempt it, although I hope you will soon give me some very, verylittle girls. "

"In complying you show a high sense of honor, Miss Jocelyn. Iwill relieve you after a time, if you wish me to, " and the studentof human nature walked away with a peculiar smile. "When I wasa harum-scarum boy, " he muttered, "a girl with such a face couldalmost make me worship her. I don't believe boys have changed. "

She was shrewd enough not to let the class see that she was afraid;and being only boys, they saw merely what was apparent--that theyhad the prettiest teacher in the room. Her beauty and refinementimpressed them vaguely, yet powerfully; the incipient man withinthem yielded its involuntary homage, and she appealed to theirmasculine traits as only a woman of tact can, making them feel thatit would be not only wrong but ungallant and unmannerly to takeadvantage of her. They all speedily succumbed except one, whoserude home associations and incorrigible disposition rendered futileher appeals. After two or three Sabbaths the other boys became soincensed that he should disgrace the class that after school theylured him into an alleyway and were administering a well-deservedcastigation, when Mildred, who was passing, rescued him. His fearinduced him to yield to her invitation to accompany her home; andher kindness, to which he knew he was not entitled, combined withthe wholesome effect of the pummelling received from the boys, ledhim to unite in making the class--once known as "the Incorrigibles"--thebest behaved in the school. 

Everything apparently now promised well for the Jocelyns. Theirmistaken policy of seclusion and shrinking from contact with theworld during their impoverishment had given way to kindly Christianinfluences, and they were forming the best associations their lotpermitted. All might have gone to their ultimate advantage had itnot been for the hidden element of weakness so well known to thereader, but as yet unsuspected by the family. 

If Mr. Jocelyn had been able to put forth the efforts of a soundand rational man, he could, with the aid of his daughters, even inthose times of depression, have passed safely through the trialsof sudden poverty, and eventually--having learned wisdom from thepast experience--he could have regained a better and more stablefinancial position than the one lost. Thus far he had been able tomaintain considerable self-control, and by daily experience knewjust about how much morphia he could take without betraying himself. His family had become accustomed to its effects, and ascribed themto the peculiar state of his health. Loving eyes are often the mostblind, and that which is seen daily ceases to seem strange. Beyondtheir natural solicitude over his failing appetite, his unwholesomecomplexion, and his loss of flesh, they had no misgivings. Hisdecline was so very gradual that there was nothing to startle them. Every day they hoped to see a change for the better, and soughtto bring it about by preparing such dainty dishes as were withintheir means to catch his capricious appetite, and by keeping alltheir little perplexities and worriments to themselves, so thathe might have unbroken rest when free from business. He recognizedtheir unselfish and considerate devotion, and it added to thehorrible depression into which he sank more and more deeply themoment he passed from under the influence of the fatal drug. Hewas living over an abyss, and that which kept him from its depthswas deepening and widening it daily. He still had the vague hopethat at some time and in some way he could escape; but days andweeks were passing, bringing no change for the better, no honest, patient effort to regain the solid ground of safety. He was driftingdown, and when at times he became conscious of the truth, a largerdose of morphia was his one method of benumbing the terror thatseemed groping for his heart with a death-cold hand. 

Mildred soon began to make rapid progress in her studies, and grewhopeful over the fact. If her father would give her the chanceshe could make a place for herself among skilled workers within ayear, and be able, if there were need, to provide for the entirefamily. Great and prolonged destitution rarely occurs, even ina crowded city, unless there is much sickness or some destructivevice. Wise economy, patient and well-directed effort, as a rule, secure comfort and independence, if not affluence; but continuedillness, disaster, and especially sin, often bring with them atrain of evils difficult to describe. 

Mildred found time between her lessons to aid her mother and alsoto do a little fancy work, for which, through the aid of MissWetheridge, she found private customers who were willing to payits worth. 

Thus the month of October was passing rapidly and rather hopefullyaway. They received letters from Clara Bute occasionally, whereinshe expressed herself well content with the country and the situationMrs. Atwood had obtained for her. "I'm getting as plump and rosyas Susan, " she wrote, "and I'm not coming back to town. Goingup and down those tenement stairs tired me more than all the workI do here. Still, I work hard, I can tell you; but it's all sortsof work, with plenty of good air and good food to do it on. I'mtreated better than I ever was before--just like one of the family, and there's a young farmer who takes me out to ride sometimes, andhe acts and talks like a man. "

Whether this attentive friend were Roger or a new acquaintance shedid not say. For some reason a reticence in regard to the formercharacterized her letters. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE OLD ASTRONOMER

One Saturday night Mildred was awakened from time to time by thewailing of a child. The sounds came from the rooms of the Ulphs, which were directly overhead, and by morning she was convinced thatthere was a case of serious illness in the German family. Led byher sympathies, and also by the hope of thawing the reserve of theeccentric old astronomer, she resolved to go and ask if she couldbe of any help. 

In response to her light knock a shock-headed, unkempt boy openedthe door and revealed a state of chaos that might well have drivenmad any student of the heavenly bodies with their orderly ways. There seemed to be one place for everything--the middle of thefloor--and about everything was in this one place. In the midstof a desolation anything but picturesque, Mrs. Ulph sat before thefire with a little moaning baby upon her lap. 

"I heard your child crying in the night, " said Mildred gently, "andas we are neighbors I thought I would come up and see if I couldhelp you. "

The woman stared a moment and then asked, "You Miss Schoslin?"

"Yes, and I hope you will let me do something, for I fear you'vebeen up all night and must be very tired. "

"I'm shust dead; not von vink of schleep haf I had all der night. He shust cry und cry, and vat I do I don't know. I fear he die. Derfader gone for der doctor, but he die 'fore dey gets here. Schee, he getten gold now. "

Truly enough, the child's extremities were growing chill indeed, and the peculiar pinched look and ashen color which is so oftenthe precursor of death was apparent. 

"Let me call my mother, " cried Mildred, in much alarm. "She knowsabout children. "

Mrs. Jocelyn soon became convinced from the mother's account thatthe child's disease was cholera infantum, and some previous experiencewith her own children taught her just what to do. Before very longthe little one gave evidence of a change for the better. After thecrisis of danger was past, and while her mother and Mrs. Ulph wereworking over the infant, Mildred began quietly to put the room intosomething like order, and to dress the other children that were invarious transition stages between rags and nakedness. As the Germanwoman emerged from a semi-paralyzed condition of alarm over herchild she began to talk and complain as usual. 

"It vas von shudgment on der fader, " she said querulously. "He caremore for der schpots on der sun dan for his schilder. For der lastveek it's all peen schpots on der sun, notting put schpots. Vatgoot dey do us? Dare's peen light to vork py, put efry minit heschtop vork to run to der roof und see dem schpots vot he says onder sun. He says dere ish--vat you call him--pig virl-a-rounds updere dat vould plow all der beoples off der earth in von vink, undven I tells him dat he ish von pig virl-a-round himself, runnin'und runnin', und lettin' der vork schstand, den von of der schpotscome outen on him und I dink he plow my hed offen. "

By and by she began again: "If it ish not schpots it ish somedingelse. Von year he feel vorse dan if I die pegose vat you calla gomet did not gome ven he said it vould gome. He near look hiseyes outen for it, und he go efry morning 'fore preakfast for derbapers to get vord of dat gomet. I dought we all schtarve 'forehe got done mit dot gomet, and ven he give oup all hope of him, hefeel vorse dan he vould if dis schild die. He vas so pad to me asif I eat der gomet oup, and we had not mooch else to eat till hesure der gomet gone to der duyvil. It might haf been vorse if dergomet come; vat he done den der goot Lord only know--he go off mitit if he gould. He tink notting of sittin' oup mit a gomet, put heget der schpots on him ven I ask to nurse der schild in der night. "

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred paid little attention to her plaints; andthe former, having done what she could, returned to her own familycares. Mildred took the little sick boy in her arms, saying thatshe would hold him while Mrs. Ulph prepared breakfast. 

It was at this stage of affairs that the door opened, and thepinched and grizzled visage of Mr. Ulph appeared, followed by theburly form of a German physician whom he had insisted on finding. The former stopped short and stared at Mildred, in grim hesitationwhether he should resent an intrusion or acknowledge a kindness. His wife explained rapidly in German, with a deferential manner, but in a sub-acidulous tone. 

"I do not wish to intrude, but only to help as a neighbor should, "Mildred began, during a lull between Mrs. Ulph's shrill notes. "I fear your little boy was very ill when I first came--indeedmy mother thought he was dying. She knows, I think, for my littlebrother nearly died of an attack like this. "

Beyond her explanation of Mildred's presence he seemingly had givenno heed to his wife's words, but now he started and exclaimed, "Mein Gott! Vat you say? Die?" and he turned with intense anxietyto the doctor, who without ceremony began to investigate the case, asking the mother questions and receiving answers that Mildreddid not understand. The woman evidently claimed all the credit shedeserved for her care of the patient in the night, and suggestedthat Mr. Ulph had been very oblivious until the child seemedsinking, for the old man grew excessively impatient during theinterrogations. As if unconscious of Mildred's ignorance of theirlanguage, he said earnestly to her, "I did not know--I vould gifmy life for der schild--der boor leedle poy--I no dink dat he vasso sick, " and his eager words and manner convinced Mildred thathis wife misrepresented him, and that his interest in the mysteryof the comet's fate would be slight compared with that which centredin his son. 

The phlegmatic physician continued his investigations with trueGerman thoroughness and deliberation. It was well that the child'sworst symptoms had been relieved before he came, for he seemed benton having the whole history of the case down to the latest momentbefore he extended his heavy hand to the aid of nature, andhe questioned Mildred as minutely as he had Mrs. Ulph, while she, unlike the former, did not take any credit to herself. 

If the doctor was a little slow, he was sure, for he said somethingemphatically to the father, who in turn seized Mildred's hand, exclaiming, with explosive energy, "Gott pless you! Gott plessyou!"

"But it was mamma who did everything, " protested the young girl. 

"Yah, I know, I know; put who prought mamma? Who listen ven derboor leetle poy gry in der night? Who gome in der morning? Minepaby vould haf been ded if you haf not gome. Gott pless you; Gottpless your moder. I vant to dank her mooch. "

The grateful father had called down God's blessings so lavishlythat Mildred very naturally said, "You have more reason to thankGod than any one else, Mr. Ulph, for no doubt it was His blessingon our efforts that has made your child better. The disease is sucha dangerous one that the best human skill is often in vain. "

The physician shrugged his shoulders and looked significantly atMr. Ulph, whose visage wrinkled into an odd grimace. 

"You may dink vat you please and say vat you please, Miss Schoslin. Men dink different off dese dinks vrom vomans. I haf a vay off sayingGott pless beoples ven I feels goot dowards 'em, put I means 'emno harm. Vat you American beoples somedimes say--dank my schtars?Dat will do shust so vell for me. It vas dis vay: der schild vasseek; you und your moder gome, und you make gauses und dere are derevvects. I perlieve in gause und evvect, und you vas a very gootgause. "

"We certainly should be very poor neighbors had we not come anddone all we could, and with your permission mother and I will helpyour wife to-day so she can get some rest. "

"I dank you vrom mine heart. You make me dink off der heafenlypodies--you make order put no noise. I vill do for you vatefer youvish und pe honest. "

Mildred now believed that she had gained the key to the old German'scharacter, and such a hold upon his feelings that he would eventuallypermit her to become his companion in his star-gazing on the roof. Denied so much of the beauty she craved on the earth, she believedthat she could find in an intelligent study of the skies a pleasurethat would prove an antidote for the depressing circumstances ofher lot. She had often longed with intense curiosity to look throughhis telescope, and to penetrate some of the bright mysteries thatglittered above her with such tantalizing suggestion. She wasadroit, however, and determined that the invitation should comeunsolicited from him, so that his suspicions and cynical naturecould give no sinister interpretation to her kindness. 

The physician evidently shared in Mr. Ulph's estimate of the motherof the child, for he explained to Mildred how the remedies he leftshould be used. She and Mrs. Jocelyn acted as nurse most of theday, and the patient improved steadily. After her return from thechapel in the afternoon, Mildred found the old German smoking hispipe in quite a placid mood, and she skilfully led him to talk onhis favorite theme. He soon became so interested and so confidentialthat he unlocked a small, closet-like room and showed her histreasures--the telescope and other instruments, Argelander's maps, and many books written by the most eminent authorities. 

"I haf gone mitout mine dinner many und many der day to puy dese. Mine pody schtays in dis hole in dis old house, put mit dese vat Igather since ven I vas young, I go to heafen every night. Hah, hah, hah! dot Engleesh voman on der virst vloor dink she know a pettervay off going to heafen; und she dalk her reeleegious schargou tome, ven she know notting at all put vat der briests dell her. Ifdey dell her de moon von pig green scheese she swar it ish so; putdese dings dell der druf, und der great laws vork on for efer nomatter vat voolish beoples perlieve. It vas all law und vorce, undit vould be von pig muddle in der heafens if it vas all vat derbriests say. "

Mildred was in a dilemma, for she felt that she could not be silentunder his outspoken scepticism, and yet if she revealed her mindshe doubted whether there would be any result except the alienationof the man whose friendship she was bent on securing. After amoment's hesitation she saw but one honorable course, and so saidfirmly, "Mr. Ulph, I believe you are an honest man, but I want youto think of me as an honest girl, also. If I wanted to know aboutastronomy--and I do want to know very much--I would come to you. IfI wanted to know about some other things I would go to my minister. I believe in law as truly as you do, but I believe God made thelaws--that they are simply His will. If I respect your unbelief, you must respect my faith--that is fair; and I think you are onewho would deal fairly and do justice to all. Mrs. Wheaton knowslittle of astronomy and many other things, no doubt, but she hasknown how to be a very kind, good neighbor to us, and her religionis mine. "

The old German stared at her a moment, then scratched his head ashe replied, half apologetically and half pityingly, "You vas nottingput a leedle schild, put you haf a goot heart. You vas honest, und you schtands oop vor your vriends, und I likes dot. You mayperlieve all der vables you vish; und I vill dells you more vablesapout der schtars dat ish shust so goot und shust so old. "

"But you will tell me the truth about them, too, won't you?" pleadedMildred, with a smile that would have thawed a colder nature thanMr. Ulph's. "I want to learn a wee bit of what you know. I have solittle that is bright and pretty in my life now that I just long tocatch some glimpses of what you see in the skies. Perhaps I couldhelp you by writing down your observations. I would ask questionsonly when you said I might. "

"Veil, now, dot's a good idea. Mine eyes vas getten old, und youvas young, put it von't last; you vas a young ding, und girls vasvlighty and vant--vat you call him?--peaux und vrolics ven dernights vas goot and glear. "

"Try me, " said Mildred, with a little emphatic nod. 

"Veil, you don't seem likes von silly girl, und I vill dry you; putyou moost pe very schteady und batient, und but down shust vhat Isay. Von leedle schlip, und I vas all vrong in mine vigures. Vonpreadth off hair down here ish oh--so vide oop dere. Und now, gome, I tells you apout der schpots--der sun schpots, " and with many oddgesticulations and contortions of his quaint visage he describedthe terrific cyclones that were sweeping over the surface of thesun at that time, and whose corresponding perturbations in theastronomer's mind had so exasperated his wife. She and the sickchild were now sleeping, and the other children, warned by thethreatening finger of the father, played quietly in a corner. Itwas an odd place to conjure up images of whirling storms of fire soappallingly vast that the great earth, if dropped into one of them, would be fused instantly like a lump of ore in a blast furnace; butthe grotesque little man was so earnest, so uncouth, yet forcible, in his suggestions as he whirled his arms around to indicate thevast, resistless sweep of the unimaginable forces working theirwild will millions of miles away, that their truth and reality grewpainfully vivid to the young girl, and she trembled and shuddered. The roar of the wildest storm, he told her, and the bellowing ofmountainous waves combined, would be but a murmur compared with thefar-reaching thunder of a sun hurricane as it swept along hundredsof times faster than clouds are ever driven by an earthly tornado. There was nothing in her nature which led her to share in hisalmost fierce delight in the far-away disturbances, and he suddenlystopped and said kindly, "Vy I vrighten you mit sooch pig gommotions?You shust von leedle schild off a voman; und I likes you pegauseyou haf prain so you see und know vat I say. You see him too mooch, und so you dremble. Dot's goot. If you vas silly you vould giggle. Der schpots ish a goot way offen, und vill nefer virl you away;und next dime I dells you someding schmooth und britty. "

Mildred was glad to hasten through the gathering dusk to her ownnatural and homelike abode, for the old man's strong descriptionsand vivid manner had oppressed her with a vague terror, and it wasa long time before she could escape from the spell of his words. Indeed they followed her into her dreams, and in one of thesedreadful visions she imagined herself shot by the old astronomerthrough his telescope straight into the centre of a "sun schpot. "Whom should she find there in her uncurbed imagination but RogerAtwood? He seemed to be standing still, and he coolly remarkedthat "a man had no business to be whirled about by any force inthe universe. " She, however, was carried millions of miles away--afact she did not so much regret, even in her dream, since he wasleft behind. 

CHAPTER XXIV

ROGER REAPPEARS

Roger Atwood had entered Mildred's mind as a part of a grotesquedream, but he had no place in her waking thoughts. With VintonArnold, however, it was very different, and scarcely an hour passedthat she was not wondering where he was, and again questioning hisprolonged silence. Often her heart beat quick as she imagined shecaught a glimpse of him in the street; and it must be admittedthat she looked for him constantly, although she took pains neverto pass his residence. Could he be ill, or was he patiently waitinglike herself, secure in her good faith? She longed to see him, even though unseen herself, and one Sunday early in November sheyielded to her strong desire to look upon one in reality who hadbecome an abiding presence in her mind. She believed that from acertain part of the gallery in the church they both had attendedin former days she could look down upon the Arnold pew. If he werenot ill she felt quite sure he would be in his old place. 

It was almost with a sense of guilty intrusion that she crossed thethreshold of her old church-home and stole to the thinly occupiedgallery. She saw familiar faces, but shrank from recognition inalmost trembling apprehension, scarcely feeling secure behind herthick veil. The place, once so familiar, now seemed as strange asif it belonged to another world; and in a certain sense she feltthat it was part of a world with which she would never willinglyidentify herself again. It was a place where fashion was supreme, and not the spirit of Christ, not even the spirit of a broad, honest, and earnest humanity. The florid architecture, the high-priced andelegantly upholstered pews, sparsely occupied by people who neverwished to be crowded under any possible circumstances, and preferrednot to touch each other except in a rather distant and conventionalway, the elaborately ritualistic service, and the cold, superficialreligious philosophy taught, were all as far removed from thedivine Son of Mary as the tinsel scenery of a stage differs froma natural landscape. Mildred's deep and sorrowful experience madeits unreality painfully apparent and unsatisfactory. She resolved, however, to try to give the sacred words that would be utteredtheir true meaning; and, in fact, her sincere devotion was like asimple flower blooming by the edge of a glacier. She felt that thehuman love she brought there and sought to gratify was pure andunselfish, and that in no sense could it be a desecration of theplace and hour. To a nature like hers, her half-pitying love for oneso unfortunate as Vinton Arnold was almost as sacred as her faith, and therefore she had no scruple in watching for his appearance. 

Her quest was unrewarded, however, for no one entered the pew exceptMr. Arnold and one of his daughters. The absence of Mrs. Arnoldand the invalid son filled her with forebodings and the memory ofthe past; the influence of the place combined with her fears wasso depressing that by the time the service ended her tears werefalling fast behind her veil. With natural apprehension that heremotion might be observed she looked hastily around, and, with astart, encountered the eyes of Roger Atwood. Her tears seemed tofreeze on her cheeks, and she half shuddered in strong revulsionof feeling. She had come to see the man she loved; after monthsof patient waiting she had at last so far yielded to the cravingsof her heart as to seek but a glimpse of one who fed her dearestearthly hope; but his place is vacant. In his stead she finds, almost at her side, one whom she hoped never to see again; and sheknew he was offering through his dark eyes a regard loathed inher inmost soul. She was oppressed with a sudden, superstitiousfear that she could not escape him--that he was endowed with sucha remorseless will and persistence that by some strange necessityshe might yield in spite of herself. Belle's words, "He'll win youyet, " seemed like a direful prophecy. How it could ever be fulfilledshe could not imagine; but his mere presence caused a flutter of fear, and the consciousness that she was followed by a man pre-eminentlygifted with that subtle power before which most obstacles crumblemade her shiver with an undefined dread. 

She believed her veil had been no protection--that he had seen heremotion and divined its cause, indeed that nothing could escapehis eyes. She also felt sure that he had come to the city to carryout the projects which he had vaguely outlined to her, and thathenceforth she could never be sure, when away from home, that hissearching eyes were not upon her. However well-intentioned hismotive might be, to her it would be an odious system of espionage. There was but one way in which she could resent it--by a cold andsteadily maintained indifference, and she left the church withoutany sign of recognition, feeling that her lowered veil should havetaught him that she was shunning observation, and that he had noright to watch her. She went home not only greatly depressed, butincensed, for it was the same to her as if she had been intrudedupon at a moment of sacred privacy, and coldly scrutinized whileshe was giving way to feelings that she would hide from all theworld. That he could not know this, and that it was no great breachof delicacy for a young man to sit in the same church with a ladyof his acquaintance, and even to regard her with sympathy, she didnot consider. She was in no mood to do him justice, and circumstanceshad imbued her mind with intense prejudice. She was by no meansperfect, nor above yielding to very unjust prejudices when temptedto them by so unwelcome an interest as that entertained by RogerAtwood. 

"What's the matter, Millie?" her mother asked, following her intoher room where Belle was writing a letter to Clara Bute. Mildredconcluded to tell all, for she feared Roger might soon appear andoccasion awkward explanations, so she said, "I felt, this morning, like having a glimpse of our old church and life. I suppose itwas very weak and foolish and I was well punished, for toward theend of the service I was thinking over old times, and it all verynaturally brought some tears. I looked around, and who, of allothers, should be watching me but Roger Atwood!"

Belle sprang up and clapped her hands with a ringing laugh. "That'scapital, " she cried. "Didn't I tell you, Millie, you couldn't escapehim? You might just as well give in first as last. "

"Belle, " said Mildred, in strong irritation, "that kind of talkis unpardonable. I won't endure it, and if such nonsense is to beindulged in Roger Atwood cannot come here. I shall at least haveone refuge, and will not be persecuted in my own home. "

"Belle, " added Mrs. Jocelyn gravely, "since Mildred feels as shedoes, you must respect her feelings. It would be indelicate andunwomanly to do otherwise. "

"There, Millie, I didn't mean anything, " Belle said, soothingly. "Besides I want Roger to come and see us, for he can be jollygood company if he has a mind to; and I believe he will come thisafternoon or evening. For my sake you must all treat him well, forI want some one to talk to once in a while--some one that mammawill say is a 'good, well-meaning young man. ' The Atwoods have allbeen so kind to us that we must treat him well. It would be meannot to do so. No doubt he's all alone in the city, too, and willbe lonely. "

"There is no need of his being in the city at all, " Mildredprotested. "I've no patience with his leaving those who need himso much. I think of them, and am sure they feel badly about it, and likely enough are blaming me, when, if I had my way, he'd liveand die in sight of his own chimney smoke. "

"Millie, you are unreasonable, " retorted Belle. "Why hasn't RogerAtwood as good a right to seek his fortune out in the world asother young men? Papa didn't stay on the old plantation, althoughthey all wanted him to. What's more, he has as good a right to likeyou as you have to dislike him. I may as well say it as think it. "

It was difficult to refute Belle's hard common-sense, and hersister could only protest, "Well, he has no right to be stealthilywatching me, nor to persecute me with unwelcome attentions. "

"Leave it all to me, Millie, " said her mother gently. "I willmanage it so that Belle can have his society occasionally, and weshow our goodwill toward those who have been kind to us. At thesame time I think I can shield you from anything disagreeable. Heis pretty quick to take a hint; and you can soon show him by yourmanner that you wish him well, and that is all. He'll soon get overhis half-boyish preference, or at least learn to hide it. You giveto his feelings more importance than they deserve. "

"I suppose I do, " Mildred replied musingly, "but he makes upon methe queer impression that he will never leave me alone--that I cannever wholly shake him off, and that he will appear like a ghostwhen I least expect it. "

Belle smiled significantly. "There, you might as well speak plainlyas look in that way, " Mildred concluded irritably. "I foresee howit will be, but must submit and endure as best I can, I suppose. "

Belle's anticipation proved correct, for just as they were nearlyready to start for the chapel Eoger appeared, and was a little awkwardfrom diffidence and doubt as to his reception. Mrs. Jocelyn'skindness and Belle's warm greeting somewhat reassured him, andatoned for Mildred's rather constrained politeness. While answeringthe many and natural questions about those whom he had left inForestville, he regained his self-possession and was able to holdhis own against Belle's sallies. "You have come to the city tostay?" she asked, point-blank. 

"Yes, " he said briefly, and that was the only reference he made tohimself. 

She soon began vivaciously, "You must go with us to church andSunday-school. Here you are, an innocent and unprotected youth inthis great wicked city, and we must get you under good influenceat once. "

"That is my wish, " he replied, looking her laughingly in the face, "and that is why I came to see you. If you have a class and willtake me into it, I will accept all the theology you teach me. "

"Mr. Wentworth's hair would rise at the idea of my teaching theologyor anything; but I'll look after you, and if you get any fast waysI'll make you sorry. No, I'm only a scholar. Millie has a class ofthe worst boys in school, and if--" A warning glance here checkedher. 

"Well, then, can't I join your class?"

"Oh, no, we are all girls, and you'll make us so bashful we wouldn'tdare say anything. "

"I think Mr. Atwood had better go with us to the chapel, acceptingthe conditions on which we first attended, " suggested Mrs. Jocelyn. "If he is pleased, as we were, he can then act accordingly. "

"Yes, come, " cried Belle, who had resumed at once her old companionableand mirthful relations with Roger. "I'll go with you, so you won'tfeel strange or afraid. I want you to understand, " she continued, as they passed down the quaint old hallway, "that we belong tothe aristocracy. Since this is the oldest house in town, we surelyshould be regarded as one of the old families. "

"By what magic were you able to make so inviting a home in such aplace?" he asked. 

"Oh, that's Millie's work, " she replied. 

"I might have known that, " he said, and a sudden shadow crossedhis face. Quickly as it passed away, she saw it. 

"Yes, " she resumed in a low, earnest tone--for she had no scruplein fanning the flame of his love which she more than half believedmight yet be rewarded--"Millie is one of a million. She will beour main dependence, I fear. She is so strong and sensible. "

"Is--is not Mr. Jocelyn well?" he asked apprehensively. 

"I fear he isn't well at all, " she answered with some despondency. "He is sleeping now; he always rests Sunday afternoon, and we tryto let him rest all he can. He sleeps, or rather dozes, a greatdeal, and seems losing his strength and energy, " and she spokequite frankly concerning their plans, projects, and hopes. Shebelieved in Roger, and knew him to be a sincere friend, and itwas her nature to be very outspoken where she had confidence. "IfMillie can learn thoroughly what she is now studying, " she concluded, "I think we can get along. "

"Yes, " said Roger, in low, sad emphasis, "your sister is indeed oneof a million, and my chance of winning one friendly thought fromher also seems but one in a million. Belle, let us understand eachother from the start. I have come to the city to stay, and I intendto succeed. I have an uncle in town who has given me a chance, and he'll do more for me, I think. He's peculiar, but he's shrewdand sensible, and when he is convinced that I intend to carry outcertain plans he will aid me. He is watching me now, and thinks Iam here only from a restless impulse to see the world; by and byhe will know better. He has the obstinate Atwood blood, and if hetakes a notion to give me a chance to get a first-class education, he will see me through. I'm going to have one anyway, but of courseI'd rather be able to get it in five or six years than in eight orten years, as would be the case if I had to work my own way. I amnow employed in his commission store down town, but I am studyingevery spare moment I can get, and he knows it, only he thinks itwon't last. But it will, and I shall at least try to be one of thefirst lawyers in this city. What's more, I shall work as few youngmen are willing to work or can work, for I am strong, and--well, I have motives for work that are not usual, perhaps. You see Iam frank with you as you have been with me. You often talk like agay child, but I understand you well enough to know that you area whole-souled little woman, and thoroughly worthy of trust; andI have told you more about myself and present plans than any oneelse. Clara Bute informed me all about your courage at the store, and I felt proud that I knew you, and don't intend that you shallever be ashamed of me. You may tell your mother all this if youplease, because I wish her to know just what kind of a young fellowI am, and what are my connections and prospects. I would much liketo come and see you and go out with you now and then; and if youand your--well, your family should ever need any service that itwas in my power to render, I should like you all to feel that I amnot altogether unfit to give it, or to be your associate. "

"You needn't talk that way, " said Belle; "you are up in the worldcompared with us. "

"I mean every word I say. I respect your mother as I do my own, for I have seen her beautiful life and beautiful face for weeks andmonths. I never expect to see a more perfect and genuine lady. Iam not well versed in society's ways, but I assure you I wouldmake every effort in my power to act as she would think a youngman ought to act. I'd rather fight a dragon than displease her. "

Tears of gratified feeling were in Belle's eyes, but she saidbrusquely, "Not versed in society's ways! Account, then, for thatfashionable suit of clothes you are wearing. "

"They were not cut in Forestville, " he replied dryly. 

"Roger, " she said impulsively, "I'm wonderfully glad you've cometo New York to live, for I was dying for a little society and funthat mother and Millie wouldn't disapprove of. They are so particular, you know, that I fairly ache from trying to walk in the strait andnarrow path which is so easy for them. I want a lark. I must havea lark before long, or I'll explode. What can we do that willbe real genuine fun? It will do you good, too, or you'll become adull boy with nothing but work, work, work. You needn't tell me theworld was only made to work in. If it was, I've no business here. You must think up something spicy, and no make-believe. I want togo somewhere where I can laugh with my whole heart. I can't go onmuch longer at this old humdrum, monotonous jog, any more than yourcolts up at the farm could go around like the plow-horses, and Iknow it isn't right to expect it of me. And yet what has been thecase? Off early in the morning to work, standing all day till I'mlame in body and mad in spirit--stupid owls to make us stand tillwe are so out of sorts that we are ready to bite customers' headsoff instead of waiting on 'em pleasantly. When I come home, mammaoften looks tired and sad, for this life is wearing on her, andshe is worrying in secret over papa's health. Millie, too, is tiredand downhearted in spite of her trying to hide it. She won't go outanywhere because she says there are no places where young girlscan go unattended that are within our means. I've got tired ofthe other shop-girls. A few of them are nice; but more of them arestupid or coarse, so I just sit around and mope, and go to bed earlyto get through the time. If I even try to romp with the childrena little, mamma looks distressed, fearing I will disturb papa, whoof late, when he comes out of his dozing condition, is strangelyirritable. A year ago he'd romp and talk nonsense with me to myheart's content; but that's all passed. Now is it natural for ayoung girl little more than sixteen to live such a life?"

"No, Belle, it is not, and yet I have seen enough of the city duringthe week I have been here to know that your mother and sister areright in their restrictions. "

"Well, then, it's a burning shame that in a city called Christiana poor girl is not more safe outside of her own door than if shewere in a jungle. Do you mean to say that girls, situated as Millieand I are, must remain cooped up in little rooms the year roundwhen our work is over?"

"The street is no place for you to take recreation in afternightfall; and where else you can go unattended I'm sure I don'tknow. If there is any place, I'll find out, for I intend to studythis city from top to bottom. A lawyer is bound to know life as itis, above all things. But you needn't worry about this question inthe abstract any more. I'll see that you have a good time occasionally. You sister will not go with me, at least not yet--perhaps never--butthat is not my fault. I've only one favor to ask of you, Belle, andI'll do many in return. Please never, by word, or even by look, makemy presence offensive or obtrusive to Miss Mildred. If you will becareful I will not prove so great an affliction as she fears. "

"Roger Atwood, do you read people's thoughts?"

"Oh, no, I only see what is to be seen, and draw my conclusions, "he said, a little sadly. 

"Well, then, if you can have the tact and delicacy to follow suchgood eyesight, you may fare better than you expect, " she whisperedat the chapel door. 

He turned toward her with a quick flash, but she had stepped forwardinto the crowd passing through the vestibule. From that moment, however, a ray of hope entered his heart, and in quiet resolve hedecided to conform his tactics to the hint just received. 

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred followed half a block away, and the formersaid to her daughter: "There they go, Millie, chattering togetherlike two children. You surely take this affair too seriously. Hissudden and boyish infatuation with you was the most natural thingin the world. He had never seen a girl like you before, and youawoke him into something like manhood. Very young men are prone tofall in love with women older than themselves, or those who seemolder, and speedily to fall out again. Martin has often said hisfirst flame is now a gray-headed lady, and yet he was sure at onetime he never could endure life without her. You know that I consoledhim quite successfully, " and Mildred was pleased to hear the old, sweet laugh that was becoming too rare of late. Even now it endedin a sigh. Mr. Jocelyn was losing his resemblance to the man shehad accepted in those bright days that now seemed so long ago. 

"I hope you are right, mamma. It seems as if I ought to laugh atthe whole affair and good-naturedly show him his folly, but forsome reason I can't. He affects me very strangely. While I feel astrong repulsion, I am beginning to fear him--to become consciousof his intensity and the tenacity and power of his will. I didn'tunderstand him at first, and I don't now, but if he were an ordinary, impulsive young fellow he would not impress me as he does. "

"Don't you think him true and good at heart?"

"I've no reason to think him otherwise. I can't explain to you how Ifeel, nor do I understand it myself. He seems the embodiment of acertain kind of force, and I always shrank from mere force, whetherin nature or people. "

"I can tell you how it is, Millie. Quiet and gentle as you seem, youhave a tremendous will of your own, and very strong-willed peopledon't get on well together. "

"Astute little mother! Well, explain it in any way that pleasesyou, only keep your promise not to let him become the bane of mylife. "

"I'm not at all sure but that Belle will soon usurp your place in hisregard, nor would I object, for I am very anxious about the child. I know that her present life seems dull to her, and the temptations ofthe city to a girl with a nature like hers are legion. He can be avery useful friend to her, and he seems to me manly and trustworthy. I'm not often deceived in my impressions of people, and he inspiresme with confidence, and has from the first. I never saw anythingunderhand in him at the farm. "

"Oh, no, he's honest enough, no doubt. "

"There, Millie, " resumed her mother, laughing, "you have a woman'sreason for your feelings--you don't like him, and that is the endof it. You must admit, however, that he has improved wonderfully. I never saw a young fellow so changed, so thoroughly waked up. Hehas sense, too, in little things. One would think from his dresshe had been born and bred in the city. They didn't palm off anold-fashioned suit on him, if he was from the country. 

"Chant his praises to Belle, mamma, and she will greatly appreciatethis last proof of his superiority. To me he seems like his clothes--alittle too new. Still I admit that he can be of very great serviceto Belle; and if he will restrict his attentions to her I willbe as polite as either of you can wish. I, too, feel a very deepsympathy for Belle. She is little more than a child, and yet herlife is imposing upon her the monotonous work of a middle-agedwoman, and I fear the consequences. It's contrary to nature, andno one knows it better than she. If he will help us take care ofher I shall be grateful indeed; but if he grows sentimental andfollows me as he did this morning, I could not endure it--indeedI could not. "

"Well, Millie dear, we won't cross any bridges till we come tothem. "

CHAPTER XXV

THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS

During the sermon it must be admitted that Belle's thoughts wanderedfrom the text and its able development by Mr. Wentworth. In fact, she was developing a little scheme of her own, and, as the result, whispered at the close of service, "Mamma, Roger and I are goingto take a walk in the Park. Can't I ask him home to supper? Thisis his first Sunday in town, and it will be so dismal--"

"Yes, child, go and have a good time. "

Within the next five minutes radiant Belle was an unconsciousembodiment of foreordination to Roger. He had had no idea of goingto the Park, but Belle had decreed he should go, and as he smilinglyaccompanied her he certainly remained a very contented free agent. 

It was a clear, bracing afternoon and evening, wherein were blendedthe characteristics of both autumn and winter, and the young peoplereturned with glowing cheeks and quickened pulses. 

"Oh, Millie!" cried Belle, "such a walk as I have had would makeyou over new. I felt as if I were a hundred this morning, but nowI feel just about sixteen--that was my last birthday, wasn't it, mamma?"

Both mother and sister smiled to see her sparkling eyes and bubblinghappiness; and the latter thought, "For her sake I must certainlyeither master or conceal my dislike for that young fellow. "

Indeed, she herself appeared sadly in need of a little vigorousexercise in the frosty air. The events of the day had been exceedinglydepressing; despondency had taken the place of the irritation andthe hopes and fears that had alternated in the morning hours; butshe unselfishly tried to disguise it, and to aid her mother inpreparing an inviting supper for Belle and her guest. 

Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that Roger had very littleof the appearance and manner of an uncouth countryman. There was asubtle, half-conscious homage for her mother in his every look andword, and for herself a politeness almost as distant and unobtrusiveas her own. Once, when a sigh escaped her as she was busy aboutthe room, she looked apprehensively at him, and, as she feared, encountered a glance from which nothing could escape. She now feltthat her assumed cheerfulness deceived him so little that, wereit not for Belle, she would wholly forego the effort, and end thelong, miserable day in her own room. 

Suddenly the thought occurred to her: "I will learn from hismicroscopic eyes how papa appears to others not blinded by loveas we are; for, in spite of all my efforts to look on the brightside, I am exceedingly ill at ease about him. I fear he is failingfaster than we think--we who see him daily. Mr. Atwood has not seenhim for months, and the least change would be apparent to him. "

Immunity from business induced Mr. Jocelyn to gratify his cravingsmore unstintedly on Sunday; and as he was often exceedingly irritableif disturbed when sleeping off the effects of an extra indulgence, they usually left him to wake of his own accord. Unfortunately thewalls of his apartment were but curtains, and his loud breathingsmade it necessary to rouse him. This Mrs. Jocelyn accomplishedwith some difficulty, but did not mention the presence of Roger, fearing that in his half-wakened condition he might make some remarkwhich would hurt the young man's feelings. She merely assisted himto arrange his disordered hair and dress, and then led the way tothe supper-table he in the meantime protesting petulantly that hewished no supper, but would rather have slept. 

As he emerged from the curtained doorway, Mildred's eyes were fastenedon Roger's face, determined that nothing in its expression shouldescape her. He at the moment was in the midst of a laughing replyto one of Belle's funny speeches, but he stopped instantly andturned pale as his eyes rested on the visage of her father. Hadthat face then changed so greatly? Had disease made such havocthat this comparative stranger was aghast and could not concealthe truth that he was shocked?

It was with sharp anguish that these queries flashed through Mildred'smind, and, with her own perceptions sharpened and quickened, shesaw that her father had indeed changed very greatly; he had grownmuch thinner; his complexion had an unnatural, livid aspect; hisold serene, frank look was absent, and a noticeable contraction inthe pupils of his eyes gave an odd, sinister aspect to his expression. 

There were other changes that were even more painful to witness. Informer days he had been the embodiment of genial Southern hospitality;but now, although he made a visible effort for self-control, hiswhole body seemed one diseased irritable nerve. 

Roger almost instantly overcame his pained surprise, yet not soquickly but that it was observed by all, and even by him who had beenthe cause. "I am very sorry to learn you are not in good health, "he was indiscreet enough to say as he offered his hand in greeting. 

"From whom have you learned this?" demanded Mr. Jocelyn, lookingangrily and suspiciously around. "I assure you that you aremistaken. I never was in better health, and I am not pleased thatany one should gossip about me. "

They sat down under a miserable constraint--Belle flushedand indignant, Mildred no longer disguising her sadness, and poorMrs. Jocelyn with moist eyes making a pitiful attempt to restoreserenity so that Belle's happy day might not become clouded. Rogertried to break the evil spell by giving his impressions of the Parkto Mrs. Jocelyn, but was interrupted by her husband, who had beenwatching the young man with a perplexed, suspicious look, vainlytrying to recall the name of one whose face was familiar enough, remarking at last very satirically, "Has it ceased to be thestyle to introduce people, especially at one's own table? I mightappreciate this gentleman's conversation better if I knew his name. "

They all looked at each other in sudden dismay, for they couldnot know that opium impairs memory as well as health and manhood. "Martin, " cried his wife, in a tone of sharp distress, "you AREill, indeed. There is no use in trying to disguise the truth anylonger. What! don't you remember Roger Atwood, the son of the kindfriends with whom we spent the summer?" and in spite of all efforttears blinded her eyes. 

The wretched man's instinct of self-preservation was aroused. He sawfrom the looks of all about him that he was betraying himself--thathe was wholly off his balance. While vividly and painfully aware ofhis danger, his enfeebled will and opium-clouded mind were impotentto steady and sustain him or to direct his course. He had muchof the terror and all the sense of helplessness of a man who findshimself in deep water and cannot swim. He trembled, the perspirationstarted out on his brow, and his one impulse now was to be alonewith his terrible master, that had become the sole source of hissemblance of strength as well as of his real and fatal weakness. "I--I fear I am ill, " he faltered. "I'll go out and get a littleair, " and he was about to leave the room almost precipitately. 

"Oh, Martin, " expostulated his wife, "don't go out--at least notalone. "

Again he lost control of himself, and said savagely, "I will. Don'tany one dare to follow me, " and he almost rushed away. 

For a moment Mrs. Jocelyn tried to bear up from instinctivepoliteness, but her lip quivered like that of a child; then thetide of her feeling swept her away, and she fled to the adjoiningapartment. Mildred followed her at once, and Belle, with a white, scared face, looked into Roger's eyes. He rose and came directlyto her and said, "Belle, you know you can always count on me. Yourfather is so ill that I think I had better follow him. I can do sounobserved. "

"Oh, Roger--why--is--is papa losing his mind?"

His quick eye now noted that Fred and Minnie had become so impressedthat something dreadful had happened that they were about to makethe occasion more painful by their outcries, and he turned smilinglyto them, and with a few reassuring words and promises soon quietedtheir fears. "Be a brave little woman, Belle, " he at last said toher. "There is my address, and please promise to let me know if Ican do anything for you and for--for Mrs. Jocelyn. "

"Don't go--please don't go yet, " Belle pleaded. "Papa's looks andwords to-night fill me with a strange fear as if something awfulmight happen. "

"Perhaps if I follow your father I may prevent--"

"Oh, yes, go at once. "

He was intercepted at the door by the entrance of Mr. Jocelyn, whohad had ample time in the few brief minutes that had elapsed tofill his system with the subtle stimulant. He now took Roger by thehand most cordially, and said, "Pardon me, Mr. Atwood. My healthhas become somewhat impaired of late, and I fear I have just hada rather bad turn; but the air has revived me, and the trouble nowhas passed. I insist that you stay and spend the evening with us. "

"Oh, papa, " cried Belle, rushing into his arms, "how you frightenedus! Please go into my room, there, and comfort mamma by tellingher you are all well again. "

This he did so effectively that he soon led her out smiling throughher tears, for her confidence in him was the growth and habitof years, and anything he said to her seemed for the moment true. And, indeed, the man was so changed that it was hard to realize hewas not well. His face, in contrast with its aspect a few momentssince, appeared to have regained its natural hue and expression;every trace of irritability had passed away, and with his old-time, easy courtesy and seeming frankness he talked so plausibly of itall that Belle and his wife, and even Roger, felt that they hadattached undue importance to a mere temporary indisposition. 

Mildred made great effort to be cheerful for her father's sake, but the pallor did not pass from her face, nor the look of deepanxiety from her eyes. The shadow of coming trouble had fallen tooheavily upon her, and that the marked exhibition of her father'sfailing powers should have occurred at this time added to theimpression that Roger Atwood was their evil genius. She recalledthe fact that he seemingly had been the first exciting cause ofher father's unnatural behavior, and now his reappearance was theoccasion of the most convincing proof they had yet received thatthe one upon whom they all depended was apparently failing in bothmind and body. Even now, while he was doing his best to reassure andrender happy his family, there was to her perception an unrealityin his words and manner. She almost imagined, too, that he fearedto meet her eye and shunned doing so. Not in the remotest degree, however, did she suspect the cause of his suddenly varying moodsand changed appearance, but regarded all as the result of hismisfortunes; and the miserable presentiment grew strong upon herthat soon--alas! too soon--she would be the slender reed on whichthey all would lean. If she could have six months, only, of carefulpreparation she would not so dread the burden; but if now, or soon, the whole responsibility of the family's support should come uponher and Belle, what would they do? Her heart sank, and her verysoul cowered at the prospect. She could not live in the presenthour like Belle, but with too keen a foresight realized how darkand threatening was the future. 

The night was clear and beautiful, and Roger and Belle went up tothe platform built over the roof. Not long afterward there was aknock at the door, and Mr. Ulph appeared. "Der night vas goot, " hesaid to Mildred, "und I vill gif you von leedle glimpse oil hefenif you vould like him. "

The poor girl felt that she certainly needed a glimpse of somethingbright and reassuring, and wrapping herself warmly she followedher quaint friend to the roof. 

Roger grew taciturn as he watched the dim outline of her form andher white, upturned face. She seemed as cold and distant to himas the stars at which she gazed, and he thought dejectedly, "Theleast of them have an interest for her greater than I shall everbe able to inspire. "

He overrated her interest in the stars on that occasion, however, for though she did her best to follow the old astronomer's words, her heart was too sorrowful and preoccupied, and her eyes too oftenblinded by tears, which once glittered so distinctly in the raysof a brilliant planet that her companion stopped in the midst ofa sentence and looked at her keenly. 

"You vas not habby, my leedle schild, " he said kindly. "Dere'ssomeding droubling you heart; put you gan no see vay inter derhefens drew dears do' dey vas glear as der lens off my glass. "

"I fear I shall have to see through tears very often, if I seeat all, " Mildred replied, with a low, suppressed sob. "Forgiveme to-night. I DO feel grateful that you are willing to showme--but--I--I--well, I am troubled to-night about something, andI can't control myself. To-morrow night I'll be braver, and willhelp you. Please don't feel hurt if I leave you now. "

"Ah, mine leedle girl, learn vrom der schtars dot der great lawsmoost be opeyed, und don't you vorry und vret ober vat you gannothelp. Shust you go along quiet und easy like Shupiter oup dere. Lots off dings vill dry to bull dis vay and dot vay outen der rightorpt, put dond you mind 'em, und shust go right schtrait alongund not care. You veels too mooch apout oder beoples. Der schtarsdeach you petter; dey goes right on der own vay und about der ownpisness, unless dey vas voolish leedle schtars, like dot von deredots shust gone to der duyvel vrom runin outen his vay toward derearth. "

She might have reminded him that, if she had acted upon this coldand selfish philosophy, his little child would now be sleeping ina distant cemetery instead of in his warm crib, but she only said, "Good-night, Mr. Ulph; I'll do better next time, " and she hurriedaway. She felt that the sun and centre of their family life waspassing under a strange and lasting eclipse, and the result mightbe darkness--chaos. 

She wiped her eyes carefully, that no traces of grief might appear, and then entered their room. Her mother was putting the children tobed, and her father looking dreamily out of the window. She kissedhim, and said briefly, "I'm tired and think I will retire early soas to be ready for my work. " He made no effort to detain her. Sheclasped her mother in a momentary passionate embrace, and then shutherself up to a night of almost sleepless grief. 

CHAPTER XXVI

WAXING AND WANING MANHOOD

Both Belle and Roger saw that Mildred had not been reassured byMr. Jocelyn's return and manner; and as they thought it over theyfound it difficult to account for his strangely varying moods. Aftera rather lame effort to chat cheerily, Roger bad Belle good-night, and assured her that she now had a friend always within call. 

His uncle's modest residence was in a side street and not far away, but the young fellow walked for hours before applying his night-keyto the door. What he had seen and heard that day touched his heart'score, and the influences that were so rapidly developing his manhoodwere greatly strengthened. For Belle he now had a genuine likingand not a little respect. He saw her foibles clearly, and understoodthat she was still more a child than a woman, and so should notbe judged by the standards proper for those of mature age; but healso saw the foundations on which a noble womanhood might be built. She inspired a sense of comradeship and honest friendliness whichwould easily deepen into fraternal love, but Mrs. Jocelyn's surmisethat she might some day touch that innermost spring which controlsthe entire man had no true basis. Nor would there have been anypossibility of this had he never seen Mildred. A true man--onegoverned by heart and mind, not passion--meets many women whom helikes and admires exceedingly, but who can never quicken his pulse. On Mildred, however--although she coveted the gift so little--wasbestowed the power to touch the most hidden and powerful principlesof his being, to awaken and stimulate every faculty he possessed. Her words echoed and re-echoed in the recesses of his soul; evenher cold, distant glances were like rays of a tropical sun to whichhis heart could offer no resistance; and yet they were by no meansenervating. Some natures would have grown despondent over prospectsseemingly so hopeless, but Roger was of a different type. His deepand unaccepted feeling did not flow back upon his spirit, quenchingit in dejection and despair, but it became a resistless tide backof his purpose to win her recognition and respect at least, andhis determination to prove himself her peer. A girl so beautifuland womanly might easily gain such power over several men withoutany conscious effort, remaining meanwhile wholly indifferentor even averse herself, and Roger had indeed but little cause forhope. He might realize every ambitious dream and win her respectand admiration, and her heart continue as unresponsive as it hadbeen from the first. Many a man has loved and waited in vain; andsome out of this long adversity in that which touched their dearestinterests have built the grandest successes of life and the loftiestand purest manhood. 

A few months before, Roger seemingly had been a good-natured, pleasure-loving country youth, who took life as it came, with littlethought for the morrow. Events had proved that he had latent andundeveloped force. In the material world we find substances thatapparently are inert and powerless, but let some other substancebe brought sufficiently near, and an energy is developed that seemslike magic, and transformations take place that were regarded assupernatural in times when nature's laws were little understood. If this be true concerning that which is gross and material, howmuch more true of the quick, informing spirit that can send out itsthoughts to the furthest star! Strong souls--once wholly unconsciousof their power--at the touch of adequate motives pass into actionand combinations which change the character of the world from ageto age. 

But in the spiritual as in the physical world, this development takesplace in accordance with natural law and within the limitations ofeach character. There is nothing strange, however strange it mayappear to those who do not understand. Roger Atwood was not a geniusthat would speedily dazzle the world with bewildering coruscations. It would rather be his tendency to grow silent and reserved withyears, but his old boyish alertness would not decline, or his habit ofshrewd, accurate observation. He thus would take few false steps, and would prove his force by deeds. Therefore he was almostpredestined to succeed, for his unusually strong will would notdrive him into useless effort or against obstacles that could beforeseen and avoided. 

After Mildred's departure from the country he carried out hisplans in a characteristic way. He wrote frankly and decidedly tohis uncle that he was coming to the city, and would struggle onalone if he received no aid. At the same time he suggested thathe had a large acquaintance in his vicinity, and therefore byjudicious canvassing among the farmers he believed he could bringmuch patronage with him. This looked not unreasonable to the shrewdcommission merchant, and, since his nephew was determined to makean excursion into the world, he concluded it had better be doneunder the safest and most business-like circumstances. At the sametime recalling the character and habits of the country boy, as heremembered him, he surmised that Roger would soon become homesickand glad to go back to his old life. If retained under his eye, the youth could be kept out of harm's way and returned untaintedand content to be a farmer. He therefore wrote to Roger that, ifhis parents were willing, he might secure what trade he could infarm produce and make the trial. 

At first Mr. And Mrs. Atwood would not hear of the plan, and thefather openly declared that it was "those Jocelyn girls that hadunsettled the boy. "

"Father, " said Roger, a little defiantly and sarcastically, doesn'tit strike you that I'm rather tall for a boy? Did you never hearof a small child, almost of age, choosing his own course in life?"

"That is not the way to talk, " said his mother reprovingly. "Weboth very naturally feel that it's hard, and hardly right, too, for you to leave us just as we are getting old and need some oneto lean on. "

"Do not believe, mother, that I have not thought of that, " was theeager reply; "and if I have my way you and father, and Susan too, shall be well provided for. "

"Thank you, " Mr. Atwood snarled contemptuously. "I'll get what Ican out of the old farm, and I don't expect any provision from anovergrown boy whose head is so turned by two city girls that hemust go dangling after them. "

Roger flushed hotly, and angry words rose to his lips, but herestrained them by a visible effort. After a moment he said quietly, "You are my father, and may say what you please. There is but oneway of convincing you whether I am a boy or a man, and I'll takeit. You can keep me here till I'm twenty-one if you will, but you'llbe sorry. It will be so much loss to me and no gain to you. I'veoften heard you say the Atwoods never 'drove well, ' and you foundout years ago that a good word went further with me than what youused to call a 'good thrashing. ' If you let me have my way, nowthat I'm old enough to choose for myself, I'll make your old agecozy and comfortable. If you thwart me, as I said before, you'llbe sorry, " and he turned on his heel and left them. 

Politic Mrs. Atwood had watched her son closely for weeks and knewthat something was coming, but with woman's patience she waited andwas kind. No one would miss him so much as she, and yet, mother-like, she now took sides against her own heart. But she saw that herhusband was in no mood to listen to her at present, and nothingmore was said that day. 

In the evening Roger drove out in his carriage and returned onhorseback. 

"There's the money you paid for the buggy, with interest, " he saidto his father. 

"You aren't gone yet, " was the growling answer. 

"No matter. I shall not ride in it again, and you are not theloser. "

Roger had a rugged side to his nature which his father's courseoften called out, and Mrs. Atwood made her husband feel, reluctantas he was to admit it, that he was taking the wrong course withhis son. A letter also from his brother in town led him to believethat Roger would probably come back in the spring well content toremain at home; so at last he gave a grudging consent. 

Ungracious as it was, the young man rewarded him by a vigorous, thorough completion of the fall work, by painting the house andputting the place in better order than it had ever known before;meanwhile for his mother and sister he showed a consideration andgentleness which proved that he was much changed from his old self. 

"I can see the hand of Mildred Jocelyn in everything he says anddoes, " Susan remarked one day after a long fit of musing, "andyet I don't believe she cares a straw for him. " Her intuition wascorrect; it was Roger's ambition to become such a man as Mildredmust respect in spite of herself, and it was also true that shewas not merely indifferent, but for the reasons already given--asfar as she had reasons--she positively disliked him. 

Roger brought sufficient business from the country to preventregretful second thoughts in the mind of his thrifty uncle, and theimpression was made that the young fellow might steady down intoa useful clerk; but when as much was hinted Roger frankly told himthat he regarded business as a stepping-stone merely to the study ofthe law. The old merchant eyed him askance, but made no response. Occasionally the veteran of the market evinced a glimmer of enthusiasmover a prime article of butter, but anything so intangible as ayoung man's ambitious dreams was looked upon with a very cynicaleye. Still he could not be a part of New York life and remain whollysceptical in regard to the possibilities it offered to a youngfellow of talent and large capacity for work. He was a childlessman, and if Roger had it in him to "climb the ladder, " as heexpressed it to himself, "it might pay to give him the chance. " Butthe power to climb would have to be proved almost to a demonstration. In the meantime Roger, well watched and much mistrusted, was buta clerk in his store near Washington Market, and a student duringall spare hours. 

He had too much sense to attempt superficial work or to seek tobuild his fortunes on the slight foundation of mere smartness. Itwas his plan to continue in business for a year or more and thenenter the junior class of one of the city colleges. By making themost of every moment and with the aid of a little private tutoringhe believed he could do this, for he was a natural mathematician, and would find in the classics his chief difficulties. At any rateit was his fixed resolve not to enter upon the study of the lawproper until he had broadened his mind by considerable generalculture. Not only did his ambition prompt to this, but he felt thatif he developed narrowly none would be so clearly aware of the factas Mildred Jocelyn. Although not a highly educated girl herself, heknew she had a well-bred woman's nice perception of what constituteda cultivated man; he also knew that he had much prejudice toovercome, and that he must strike at its very root. 

In the meantime poor Mildred, unconscious of all save his unwelcomeregard, was seeking with almost desperate earnestness to gainpractical knowledge of two humble arts, hoping to be prepared forthe time--now clearly foreseen and dreaded--when her father mightdecline so far in mind and health as to fail them utterly, andeven become a heavy burden. She did not dream that his disease wasa drug, and although some of his associates began to suspect asmuch, in spite of all his precautions, none felt called upon tosuggest their suspicions to his family. 

Causes that work steadily will sooner or later reach their legitimateresults. The opium inertia grew inevitably upon Mr. Jocelyn. Hedisappointed the expectations of his employers to that degree thatthey felt that something was wrong, and his appearance and manneroften puzzled them not a little even though with all the cunningwhich the habit engenders he sought to hide his weakness. 

One day, late in November, an unexpected incident brought mattersto a crisis. An experienced medical acquaintance, while making acall upon the firm, caught sight of Mr. Jocelyn, and his practicedeye detected the trouble at once. 

"That man is an opium-eater, " he said in a low tone, andhis explanation of the effects of the drug was a diagnosis of Mr. Jocelyn's symptoms and appearance. The firm's sympathy for a manseemingly in poor health was transformed into disgust and antipathy, since there is less popular toleration of this weakness than ofdrinking habits. The very obscurity in which the vice is involvedmakes it seem all the more unnatural and repulsive, and it mustbe admitted that the fullest knowledge tends only to increase thishorror and repugnance, even though pity is awakened for the wretchedvictim. 

But Mr. Jocelyn's employers had little knowledge of the vice, andthey were not in the least inclined to pity. They felt that theyhad been imposed upon, and that too at a time when all businessmen were very restless under useless expenditure. It was the man'sfault and not misfortune that he had failed so signally in securingtrade from the South, and, while they had paid him but a smallsalary, his ill-directed and wavering efforts had involved them inconsiderable expense. Asking the physician to remain, they summonedMr. Jocelyn to the private office, and directly charged him withthe excessive and habitual use of opium. 

The poor man was at first greatly confused, and trembled as ifin an ague fit, for his nerve power was already so shattered thathe had little self-control in an emergency. This, of course, wasconfirmation of guilt in their eyes. 

"Gentlemen, you do me a great wrong, " he managed to say, andhastily left the office. Having secreted himself from observationhe snatched out his hypodermic syringe, and within six minutesfelt himself equal to any crisis. Boldly returning to the officehe denied the charge in the most explicit terms, and with some showof lofty indignation. The physician who was still present watchedhim closely, and noticed that the cuff on his left hand was somewhatcrumpled, as if it had been recently pushed back. Without a wordhe seized Mr. Jocelyn's arm and pulled back his coat and shirtsleeve, revealing a bright red puncture just made, and many othersof a remoter date. 

"There is no use in lying about such matters to me, " said thephysician. "How much morphia did you inject into your arm sinceyou left us?"

"I am a victim of neuralgia, " Mr. Jocelyn began, without anyhesitation, "and the cruel and unreasonable charge here made againstme brought on an acute paroxysm, and therefore I--"

"Stop that nonsense, " interrupted the doctor, roughly. "Don't youknow that lying, when lying is of no use, is one of the characteristictraits of an opium-eater? I am a physician, and have seen toomany cases to be deceived a moment. You have all the symptoms ofa confirmed morphia consumer, and if you ever wish to break yourchains you had better tell doctors the truth and put yourself underthe charge of one in whom you have confidence. "

"Well, curse you!" said Mr. Jocelyn savagely, "it was through oneof your damnable fraternity that I acquired what you are pleasedto call my chains, and now you come croaking to my employers, poisoning their minds against me. "

"Oh, as to poisoning, " remarked the physician sarcastically, "I'llwager a thousand dollars that you have absorbed enough morphiawithin the last twenty-four hours to kill every one in this office. At the rate you are going on, as far as I can judge from appearances, you will soon poison yourself out of existence. No physician everadvised the destroying vice you are practicing, and no physicianwould take offence at your words any more than at the half-dementedravings of a fever patient. You are in a very critical condition, sir, and unless you can wake up to the truth and put forth morewill-power than most men possess you will soon go to the bad. "

"I sincerely hope you will take this experienced physician'sadvice, " said the senior member of the firm very coldly. "At anyrate we can no longer permit you to jeopardize our interests byyour folly and weakness. The cashier will settle with you, and ourrelations end here and now. "

"You will bitterly repent of this injustice, " Mr. Jocelyn repliedhaughtily. "You are discharging a man of unusual business capacity--onewhose acquaintance with the South is wellnigh universal, and whosecombinations were on the eve of securing enormous returns. "

"We will forego all these advantages. Good-morning, sir. Did youever see such effrontery?" he continued, after Mr. Jocelyn haddeparted with a lofty and contemptuous air. 

"It's not effrontery--it's opium, " said the physician sadly. "Youshould see the abject misery of the poor wretch after the effectsof the drug have subsided. "

"I have no wish to see him again under any aspect, and heartilythank you for unmasking him. We must look at once into our affairs, and see how much mischief he has done. If he wants the aid andrespect of decent men, let him give up his vile practice. "

"That's easier said than done, " the physician replied. "Very fewever give it up who have gone as far as this man. "

CHAPTER XXVII

A SLAVE

The physician was right. A more abject and pitiable spectacle thanMr. Jocelyn could scarcely have been found among the miserableunfortunates of a city noted for its extremes in varied condition. Even in his false excitement he was dimly aware that he was facinga dreadful emergency, and following an instinctive desire forsolitude so characteristic of those in his condition, he took aroom in an obscure hotel and gave himself up to thoughts that grewmore and more painful as the unnatural dreams inspired by opiumshaped themselves gradually into accord with the actualities ofhis life. 

For a month or two past he had been swept almost unresistingly downthe darkening and deepening current of his sin. Whenever he madesome feeble, vacillating effort to reduce his allowance of thedrug, he became so wretched, irritable, and unnatural in mannerthat his family were full of perplexed wonder and solicitude. Tohide his weakness from his wife was his supreme desire; and yet, if he stopped--were this possible--the whole wretched truth wouldbe revealed. Each day he had been tormented with the feeling thatsomething must be done, and yet nothing had been done. He had onlysunk deeper and deeper, as with the resistless force of gravitation. 

His vague hope, his baseless dream that something would occurwhich would make reform easier or the future clearer, had now beendissipated utterly, and every moment with more terrible distinctnessrevealed to him the truth that he had lost his manhood. The vicewas already stamped on his face and manner, so that an experiencedeye could detect it at, once; soon all would see the degradingbrand. He, who had once been the soul of honor and truth, had liedthat day again and again, and the thought pierced him like a sword. 

And now, after his useless falsehoods, what should he do? He wasno longer unacquainted with his condition--few opium victims are, at his advanced stage of the habit--and he knew well how long andterrible would be the ordeal of a radical cure, even if he had thewill-power to attempt it. He had, of late, taken pains to informhimself of the experience of others who had passed down the samedark, slippery path, and when he tried to diminish instead ofincreasing his doses of morphia, he had received fearful warningsof the awful chasm that intervened between himself and safety. 

A few opium consumers can go on for years in comparative tranquillityif they will avoid too great excess, and carefully increase theirdaily allowance so as not to exhibit too marked alternations ofelation and depression. Now and then, persons of peculiar constitutioncan maintain the practice a long time without great physical ormoral deterioration; but no habitue can stop without sufferingsprolonged and more painful than can be described. Sooner or later, even those natures which offer the strongest resistance to theravages of the poison succumb, and pass hopelessly to the samedestruction. Mr. Jocelyn's sanguine, impulsive temperament had littlecapacity for resistance to begin with, and he had during the lastyear used the drug freely and constantly, thus making downwardadvances in months that in some instances require years of moderateindulgence. Moreover, as with alcohol, many natures have an unusualand morbid craving for opium after once acquiring the habit of itsuse. Their appetite demands it with an imperiousness which will notbe denied, even while in soul they recoil and loathe the bondage. This was especially true of Mr. Jocelyn. The vice in his case waswrecking a mind and heart naturally noble and abounding in thebest impulses. He was conscious, too, of this demoralization, andsuffered almost as greatly as would a true, pure woman, if, by somefatal necessity, she were compelled to live a life of crime. 

He had already begun to shrink from the companionship of his family. The play and voices of his little children jarred his shatterednerves almost beyond endurance; and every look of love and act oftrust became a stinging irritant instead of the grateful incense thathad once filled his home with perfume. In bitter self-condemnationhe saw that he was ceasing to be a protector to his daughters, andthat unless he could break the dark, self-woven spells he would dragthem down to the depths of poverty, and then leave them exposed tothe peculiar temptations which, in a great city, ever assail girlsso young, beautiful, and friendless. Mildred, he believed, woulddie rather than sin; but he often groaned in spirit as he thoughtof Belle. Their considerate self-denial that he might not be disturbedafter his return from business, and their looks of solicitude, pierced him daily with increasing torture; and the knowledge thathe added to the monotony of their lives and the irksomeness of theirpoverty oppressed him with a dejection that was relieved only bythe cause of all his troubles. 

But the thought of his loving, trusting, patient wife was the mostunendurable of all. He had loved her from the first as his ownsoul, and her love and respect were absolutely essential to him, and yet he was beginning to recoil from her with a strange andunnatural force. He felt that he had no right to touch her whileshe remained so true and he was so false. He dreaded her lovinggaze more than a detective's cold, searching eye. He had alreadydeceived her in regard to the marks of the hypodermic needle, assuringher that they were caused by a slight impurity in his blood, andshe never questioned anything he said. He often lay awake throughinterminable nights--the drug was fast losing its power to producequiet sleep--trembling and cold with apprehension of the hour whenshe would become aware that her husband was no longer a man, butthe most degraded of slaves. She might learn that she was leaning, not even on a frail reed, but on a poisoned weapon that wouldpierce her heart. It seemed to him that he would rather die thanmeet that hour when into her gentle eyes would come the horror ofthe discovery, and in fact the oft-recurring thought of it all hadcaused more pain than a hundred deaths. 

Could he go home now and reveal his degradation? Great drops of coldperspiration drenched him at the bare thought. The icy waters, theooze and mud of the river seemed preferable. He could not openlycontinue his vice in the presence of his family, nor could he concealit much longer, and the attempt to stop the drug, even gradually, would transform him almost into a demon of irritability and perhapsviolence, so frightful is the rebellion of the physical natureagainst the abstinence essential to a final cure. 

At last he matured and carried out the following plan: Returningto the firm that had employed him, he told them of his purpose togo South among his old acquaintances and begin life anew, and ofhis belief that a sea voyage and change of scene would enable himto break the habit; and he so worked upon their sympathies thatthey promised to say nothing of his weakness, and not to let thepast stand in his way if he would redeem himself. 

Then fortifying his nerves carefully with morphia he went home andbroached the project to his wife and Mildred, plausibly advancingthe idea that the change might restore his failing health. To hisrelief they did not oppose his scheme, for indeed they felt thatsomething must be done speedily to arrest his decline; and althoughthe separation would be hard for the wife to endure, and would becomea source of increased anxiety for a time, it was much better thanseeing him fail so steadily before her eyes. His plan promisedimprovement in their fortunes and cure of the mysterious diseasethat was slowly sapping his life. Therefore she tearfully consentedthat he should go, and if the way opened favorably it was decidedthat the family should follow him. 

The only question now was to raise the money required; and toaccomplish this they sold the household effects still in storage, and Mildred, without a word, disposed of the most of her jewelryand brought the proceeds to her father; for the gold and gems wornin days that accorded with their lustre were as nothing to hercompared with her father's life and health. 

"I would turn my blood into gold if I could, father, " she said, with swimming eyes, "if it would only make you well and strong asyou once were. "

The man's hand so trembled that he could scarcely receive themoney. When by himself he groaned, "Oh, how awful and deep will bethe curse of God if I turn this money against her by using it forthe damnedest poison the devil ever brewed!" and he wrapped it upseparately with a shudder. 

A few days later, with many tears and clinging embraces, they partedwith him, his wife whispering in his ear at the last moment, "Martin, my every breath will be a prayer for your safety and health. "

Under the influence of the powerful emotions inspired by thislast interview he threw his hypodermic syringe and morphia bottleoverboard from the deck of the steamer, saying, with a desperateresolution which only an opium slave could understand, "I'll breakthe habit for one week if I die for it, " and he sailed away intowhat seemed a region of unimaginable horrors, dying ten thousanddeaths in the indescribable anguish of his mind and body. The winterstorm that soon overtook the ship was magnified by his disorderedintellect until its uproar was appalling in the last degree. The people on the vessel thought him demented, and for a few daysthe captain kept him under a continuous guard, and consideratelysuppressed the cause of his behavior, that was soon revealed byrequests for opium that were sometimes pitiful pleadings and againirritable demands. He soon passed into a condition approachingcollapse, vomiting incessantly, and insane in his wild restlessness. Indeed he might have died had not the captain, in much doubt andanxiety, administered doses of laudanum which, in his inexperience, were appalling in their amount. 

At last, more dead than alive, with racking pains, shiverings andexhaustion from prolonged insomnia, he was taken ashore in a Southerncity and a physician summoned, who, with a promptness characteristicof the profession, administered a preparation of morphia, and theold fatal spell was renewed at once. The vitiated system that fordays had been largely deprived of its support seized upon the drugagain with a craving as irresistible as the downward rush of atorrent. The man could no more control his appetite than he couldan Atlantic tide. It overwhelmed his enervated will at once, and nowthat morphine could be obtained he would have it at any and everycost. Of course he seemingly improved rapidly under its influence, and cunningly disguising his condition from the physician, soondismissed him and resumed his old habits. He felt that it wasimpossible to endure the horrors of total abstinence, and, nowthat he was no longer under the observation of his family, he againtried to satisfy his conscience by promising himself that he wouldgradually reduce the amount used until he could discontinue itutterly--delusive hope, that has mocked thousands like himself. Ifhe could have gone to an asylum and surrounded his infirm will byevery possible safeguard, he might have been carried through theinevitable period of horrible depression; but even then the habithad become so confirmed that his chances would have been problematical, for experience sadly proves that confirmed opium-consumers are everin danger of a relapse. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

NEW YORK'S HUMANITY

Mrs. Jocelyn drooped in her husband's absence, for every year hadincreased her sense of dependence. She felt somewhat like one whois drifting on a wreck. If the sea would only remain calm, all mightbe well; but the sea never is at rest very long, and if storms, dangers, and emergencies occurred what would she do?

Each day that passed without word from her husband grew longer, and when at last a letter came it was vague and unsatisfactory. He hoped he was better; he hoped to find a foothold; and then cameagain several days of silence which were almost as oppressive toMildred as to herself. 

Meanwhile their funds were failing fast, and they both felt thatthey ought not to sell anything else for mere living expenses. More critical emergencies might arise and find them destitute. IfMr. Jocelyn should become seriously ill in the South, they must bein a position to have him cared for and brought home. Mildred withextreme reluctance was compelled to face the necessity of givingup her studies so that she might earn something at once. She hadabout decided to reveal her troubles to Miss Wetheridge, when ahasty note from her friend swept away all immediate chance of aidin that direction. "The gentleman to whom I was soon to be married, "she wrote, "has not been strong for a year past, and a few dayssince he was taken with a hemorrhage from his lungs. His physicianordered him to go immediately to Nassau. In accordance with ourmutual wishes we were married quietly in the presence of a fewrelatives, and by the time this note reaches you we shall be on ourway to the South. My heart is burdened with anxiety, and my hourlyprayer is that God will spare the life of one so dear to me. I wishI could see you before I sail, but it is impossible. I have had toleave almost everything undone. Write me often. "

This note threw Mildred on her own resources. She felt that Mr. Wentworth could do little for her beyond certifying to her character, for he was the pastor of a congregation of which a large proportionwere as poor as herself. There was naught to do but go to work likethe others in uncomplaining silence and earn her bread. 

One evening she learned from Belle that the increased trade incidentto the approaching holiday season had rendered more help necessary, and that one large shop on Sixth Avenue had already made knownthis need. When the doors opened the following morning, Mildredwas among the crowd of applicants, and her appearance was so muchin her favor that she was engaged at once on a salary of six dollarsa week. Only immediate necessity could have induced her to takethis step, for she justly doubted her ability to endure the strainof standing continuously. The shop, however, was full of girls asfrail-looking as herself, and it was the only certainty of supportwithin her reach. Her mother cried bitterly over the step, andshe, also, could not hide a few tears, brave as she tried to be;but she said resolutely, "I'm no better than hundreds of others, and if they can endure it I can and will, for a while at least. "

The first day was one that she never forgot. The bright sun andclear, bracing atmosphere brought out crowds of shoppers, but theair of the store soon became vitiated, hot, and lifeless. In thisclose, stifling place she was compelled to stand, elbowed by othergirls who were strangers to her, and too busy or too indifferentto aid materially her inexperienced efforts to learn her duties. She made blunders, for which she was scolded; she grew bewilderedand faint, and when the few moments of nooning came she could noteat the lunch her mother had prepared. If she could only have hada cup of strong coffee she might have got through the day; but heremployers were much too thrifty to furnish such a luxury, and shewas too tired, and the time allotted her much too brief to permitits quest. Therefore she tried to rest a little from the intolerablefatigue and pain of standing, and to collect her thoughts. 

The afternoon crush of customers was greater even than that whichhad crowded the counters in the morning, and she grew more andmore bewildered under the confused fire of questions and orders. If any one had had the time or heart to observe, there would havebeen seen in her eyes the pathetic, fearful look of some timidcreature of the woods when harried and driven to bay by hounds. 

Suddenly everything grew black before her eyes; the piled-up goods, the chattering throng, faded, and she sank to the floor--there wasno room for her to fall. 

When she revived she found that she had been carried to the cloak-room, in which the girls ate their lunch, and that a woman was kneelingbeside her applying restoratives. In a few moments one of the managerslooked in and asked, in an off-hand way, "How is she getting on?"

With the instinct of self-preservation Mildred sat up, and pleaded, "Indeed, sir, I'm better. It was all so strange--the air was close. I beg of you not to discharge me. I will learn soon. "

"Oh, don't be so worried, " the man replied good-naturedly. "It'snothing new to have a girl faint on the first day. You'll get usedto it by and by like the rest. Will you be well enough to walkhome, or shall I have a carriage ordered?"

"Please don't get a carriage. It would frighten mamma terribly, and she would not let me come back, and I MUST come, for we needevery penny I can earn. "

"Well, now, that's sensible, and you save the carriage hire also. You're a fine-looking, plucky girl, and I'll give you a place atthe lace counter, near the door, where the air is better and thework lighter (and where her pretty face will do us no harm, " headded mentally). 

"You are very kind, sir, and I can't tell you how much I thankyou. "

"All right, you'll get into training and do as well as the best, so don't be discouraged, " and the man had the grace or businessthrift--probably a blending of both--to send her a cup of coffee. 

She was then left to rest, and go home when she felt like it. Asearly as she dared without exciting her mother's suspicions, shecrept away, almost as the wounded slowly and painfully leave afield of battle. Her temples still throbbed; in all her body therewas a slight muscular tremor, or beating sensation, and her stepfaltered from weakness. To her delicate organization, alreadyreduced by anxiety, sedentary life, and prolonged mental effort, the strain and nervous shock of that day's experiences had beensevere indeed. 

To hide the truth from her despondent mother was now her chief hopeand aim. Her fatigue she would not attempt to disguise, for thatwould be unnatural. It was with difficulty she climbed the one flightof stairs that led to their room, but her wan face was smiling asshe pushed open the door and kissed her mother in greeting. Thenthrowing herself on the lounge she cried gayly, "Come, littlemother, give me an old maid's panacea for every ill of life--a cupof strong tea. "

"Millie, " cried Mrs. Jocelyn, bending over her with moist eyes, "you look pale and gone--like--"

"Oh no, mamma, I'm here--a good hundred and ten pounds of me, moreor less. "

"But how did you get through the day?"

"You will hardly believe it, " was the reassuring reply; "I've beenpromoted already from work that was hard and coarse to the lacecounter, which is near the door, where one can breathe a littlepure air. If the goods were as second-hand as the air they wouldnot have a customer. But come, mamma dear, I'm too tired to talk, and would rather eat, and especially drink. These surely are goodsymptoms. "

"Millie, you are a soldier, as we used to say during the war, "said Mrs. Jocelyn, hastening the preparations for supper; "but youcannot deceive a mother's eyes. You are more exhausted than youeven realize yourself. Oh, I do wish there was some other way. I'dgive all the world if I had Mrs. Wheaton's stout red arms, for I'drather wash all day and half the night than see you and Belle soburdened early in life. "

"I wouldn't have my beautiful mamma changed even by one gray hair, "was the very natural response. 

Belle nearly rendered futile all of Mildred's efforts to hide theworst from her mother; for, after her duties were over, she wenteagerly to the shop where she expected to find her sister. Havinglearned that Miss Jocelyn had fainted and had gone home some timein the afternoon, she sped almost breathlessly after her, and burstinto the room with the words, "Millie! Millie!"

Fortunately Mrs. Jocelyn was busy over the stove at the momentand did not see Mildred's strong cautionary gesture; but Belle'sperceptions were almost instantaneous, and with one significantglance of her dark eyes she entered into the loving conspiracy. 

"What is it, Belle?" was Mrs. Jocelyn's anxious query. 

"I'm wild to know how Millie has got on the first day, and whethershe has a big fight on her hands as I had. If she has, I declarewar, too, against all the powers and principalities--not of theair, for there wasn't a breath of it in our store to-day. We'vehad a crush, and I'm half dead from trying to do two days' work inone. Ten minutes for lunch. Scores of cross customers all wantingto be waited on at once, and the floor-walkers flying around likehens bereft of heads, which, after all, are never of much use toeither. In spite of all, here we are, mamma, ready for a cup ofyour good tea and other fixin's. Now, Millie, it's your turn. I'velet off enough steam to be safe till after supper. Have you madecruel enemies to-day, from whom you desire my protection?"

"No, Belle, " said Mildred, laughing; "I haven't your force andbrilliancy, and have made but a humdrum beginning. I was so stupidat one counter that they transferred me to another, and I'm gladof it, for laces are pretty, and taking care of them wouldn't seemlike drudgery at all. Best of all, it's near the door, and everycustomer will give me a sustaining breath. "

"Millie is standing it capitally for a beginner, " Belle remarked, with the air of a veteran, as Mildred eagerly drank her cup of teaand asked for more. "I was so tired the first night that it seemedas if I could scarcely swallow a mouthful. "

Thus they carried out the little ruse, careful not to exaggerate, for Mrs. Jocelyn's intuitions were quick. 

As it was she looked at her child with many misgivings, but shetried for their sakes to be cheerful, and praised the courage andspirit of both the girls, assuring them that they showed their trueSouthern blood, and that they reminded her of their father when, during his brief visits, he talked over the long, hard campaigns. 

At last they were in the privacy of their own room, and Mildred, asif she were the weaker and younger, buried her face on her sister'sshoulder and sobbed despairingly, "Oh, Belle, you are the stronger. I fear I can't stand it at all. I've suffered more to-day thanin all my life, and my feet and back still ache--oh, I can't tellyou. "

The child soothed and comforted her, and said she had suffered justthe same at first, and often still she felt that if she could notsit down for a few moments she would drop down; "but there, Millie, "she concluded, with the best philosophy the case admitted of, "youget used to it gradually--you can get used to anything. "

"I don't believe I can, " was the dejected reply, "and yet I must, if we would have shelter and bread. Oh that we might hear some goodnews from papa! Why don't he write oftener? I fear it is becausehe has nothing cheering to tell us. "

The next morning, in spite of all effort, Mildred was too ill andlame to rise, but she instructed Belie to assure her employer thatshe would come the following day. 

Mrs. Jocelyn tried hard to persuade her not to go back at all, andat last Mildred grew a little stern and said emphatically, "Pleasesay no more, mamma. We can afford none of this weak nonsense. Imust earn my bread, as do other girls, and have no time to lose. "

The following day, fortunately, was so stormy that customers werescattering, and Mildred had a chance to gain an idea of her dutiesand to rest a little from time to time, for out of consideration ofthe facts that she had been ill and was a beginner, she was permittedto sit down occasionally. She was so attractive in appearance, andhad brought such an excellent certificate of character, that theproprietors were inclined to be lenient, and smooth a little theharsh and thorny path of a beginner. 

And so the weary days dragged on, and she slowly acquired the powerto stand as did the others. They were days, however, which endedin a close approach to agony, from which the nights brought butslight and temporary relief, for so great was the pain in her feetand back that she would moan even in her sleep. Her sufferings werescarcely less than at first, but, as Belle said, she was "gettingused" to them. 

It is a well-known fact that many would persist in living in spiteof all the tortures of the Inquisition. I wonder if the old-timeinquisitors and their "familiars" were ingenious enough to compeldelicate women to stand and talk all day, and sometimes part ofthe night?

In very truth, the poor girl was earning her bread by torture, andshe soon found that she had many companions in suffering who, withwoman's capacity for the patient endurance of pain, made the bestof their lot, often trying to forget themselves in jests, laughter, and gossip, planning, meanwhile, in odd moments, for some snatch atthe few pleasures that their brief evenings permitted--pleasures, too often, in which Mildred could or would take no part. While hergentleness and courtesy to all gave no cause for hostility, herair of quiet aloofness and her recognized superiority preventedher from becoming a favorite, nor did the many admiring looks andeven open advances that she received from the young men in thestore, and occasionally from customers, add to her popularity. Themale clerks soon found, however, that beyond the line warranted bytheir mutual duties she was utterly unapproachable, and not a fewof them united in the view held by the girls, that she was "stuckup"; but since she was not in the least above her business, no onecould complain openly. 

As one long, exceedingly busy and weary day was drawing to a close, however, she received a sharp reprimand. A gentleman had agreedto meet his wife at the shop as he came up town, in order thatthey might together make provision for Christmas. The lady havingnearly accomplished her round, and having proved herself a liberalpurchaser, she was naturally accompanied toward the door by a veryamiable foreman, who was profuse in his thanks. Suddenly it occurredto her that she would look at the laces, and she approached Mildred, who, in a momentary respite, was leaning back against the shelveswith closed eyes, weary beyond all words of description. 

"Will you please wake that young woman up, " the lady remarked, alittle sharply. 

This the foreman did, in a way that brought what little blood thepoor girl had left into her face. The shopper sat down on the plushseat before the counter, and was soon absorbed in the enticing wares, while her husband stood beside her and stole sidelong glances atthe weary but beautiful face of the saleswoman. 

"Jupiter Ammon, " he soliloquized mentally, "but she is pretty!If that flush would only last, she'd be beautiful; but she's toopale and fagged for that--out to a ball last night, I imagine. Shedon't even notice that a man's admiring her--proof, indeed, thatshe must have danced till near morning, if not worse. What livesthese girls lead, if half the stories are true! I'd like to see thatone rested, fresh, and becomingly dressed. She'd make a sensationin a Fifth Avenue drawing-room if she had the sense to keep hermouth shut, and not show her ignorance and underbreeding. "

But he was growing impatient, and at last said, "Oh, come, my dear, you've bought enough to break me already. We'll be late for dinner. "

The lady rose reluctantly, and remarked, "Well, I think I'll comeand look at these another day, " and they were bowed out of thedoor. 

"You must be more alert, " said the foreman, imperatively, to Mildred. "These people are among the best and wealthiest in town. "

"I'll try, " was the meek answer. 

The gentleman had hardly reached the sidewalk, however, beforeall his chivalry and indignation were aroused. Under the press ofChristmas times a drayman had overloaded his cart, and the horse wasprotesting in his dumb way by refusing to budge an inch; meanwhilethe owner proved himself scarcely equal to the animal he drove byfurious blows and curses, which were made all the more reckless byhis recent indulgence in liquor. 

The poor beast soon found many champions, and foremost among themwas the critic of the weary shop-girl, who had suffered more thatday than the horse was capable of suffering in his lifetime. Thedistinguished citizen, justly irate, I grant, sent his wife homein their carriage, and declared that he would neither eat nor sleepuntil he had seen the brute--the drayman, not the horse--arrestedand looked up, and he kept his word. 

Much later, the wronged and tortured human creature of whom he hadsurmised evil, and on whom he had bestowed at best only a littlecynical admiration, crept home with steps that faltered, burdenedwith a heaviness of heart and a weariness of body which could bemeasured only by the pitiful eye of Him who carries the world'ssins and sorrows. 

The rescued horse munched his oats in stolid tranquillity, the womanraised to heaven her eyes, beneath which were dark, dark lines, and murmured, "O God, how long?"

CHAPTER XXIX

THE BEATITUDES OF OPIUM

At least once each week Roger took Belle to some evening entertainment, selecting places that, while innocent, were in keeping with theiryears--full of color, life, and interest. The young girl improvedat once, as the result of this moderate gratification of a cravingthat was as proper as it was natural. The sense of being restrictedand arbitrarily shut away from the pleasures belonging to her youthno longer worked like a subtle and evil ferment in her mind. Therepressed and unhappy are in tenfold more danger from temptationthan those who feel they are having their share of life's good. The stream that cannot flow in the sunshine seeks a subterraneanchannel, and in like manner when circumstances, or the inconsideratewill of others, impose unrelenting restraint upon the exuberantspirit of youth, it usually finds some hidden outlet which cannotbear the light. Until Roger came, circumstances had restrictedBelle within such a narrow and colorless life, and she was growingvery discontented with her lot--a dangerous tendency. Through allthis long ordeal her mother and Mildred had retained her sympathy, for she knew that they were not to blame, and that they were right inprotesting against all acquaintances and amusements which involveddanger. Now that she and Roger occasionally had a merry timetogether, and a confidential chat on Sunday, she accepted her longdays of toil without complaint. 

The wholesome and tonic influence of a few hours of positive andunalloyed enjoyment in a busy or burdened life is properly estimatedby a very few. Multitudes would preach better, live better, do morework and die much later, could they find some innocent recreationto which they could often give themselves up with something of thewholehearted abandon of a child. 

Belle now had pleasures to look forward to, or some bright scene tolive over again, and, were it not for her sympathy for her sisterand anxiety on her father's behalf, her brow would have been serene. 

To Mildred, however, the days were growing darker and the way morethorny. She was gaining only in the power of endurance; she wasunconsciously developing the trait that bade fair to become thekeynote of her life--fidelity. It was her absolute loyalty to herlong-cherished love that prevented her from accepting invitationsto go with Belle and Roger. Through all disguises she saw that thelatter was a lover and not a friend, and while she had learned torespect him much more, she shrank from him none the less. True, therefore, to her womanly instincts, and pathetically patient witha life full of pain and weariness, she faltered on toward a futurethat seemed to promise less and less. Roger did not need to betold by Belle of Mildred's burdened life, although the young girldid speak of it often with sad and indignant emphasis. "BeautifulMillie, who would grace the finest house in the city, " she said, "is as much out of place in this life as if a gazelle were made todo the work of a cart-horse. It's just killing her. "

"It's not the work that's harming her so much as the accursedbrutality which permits more cruelty to white women than was everinflicted on black slaves. If the shopkeepers owned these girlswho serve their counters they would provide them seats instantly, on the same principle that some of your Southern people, who hadno humanity, cared well for their human property; but these fellowsknow that when a girl breaks down they can take their pick fromtwenty applicants the next morning. If I could scalp a few of thesewoman-murderers, I'd sleep better to-night. Oh, Belle, Belle, ii youknew how it hurts me to see such advantage taken of Miss Mildred!I sometimes walk the streets for hours chafing and raging aboutit, and yet any expression of my sympathy would only add to herdistress. You must never speak to her of me, Belle, except in acasual way, when you cannot help it, for only as I keep aloof, evenfrom her thoughts, can she tolerate me at all. "

"Be patient, Roger. Millie is unlike many girls, and wants onlyone lover. Now I'd like half a dozen, more or less, generally more. She's too infatuated with that weakling, Vinton Arnold, to care forany one else. And to think he hasn't sent her one reassuring wordsince last summer! There isn't enough of him to cast a shadow. Catch me moping after such a dim outline of a man! But it's justlike Millie. If he'd only vanish into thin air she might give himup, and perhaps he has. "

"No, he's in Europe, and has been there ever since he left the hotelat Forestville. I learned the fact the other day. He's living inluxury and idleness, while the girl who loves him is earning herbread in a way that's infernal in its cruelty. "

"How did you find that out?" Belle asked quickly. 

"It was in no mean or underhand way, and no knowledge of my inquirieswill ever reach him. I thought she'd like to know, however, and youcan tell her, but give her no hint of the source of your information. "

"Who told you?" was Mildred's prompt response to Belle's news thatnight, while a sudden bloom in her pale face showed how deeply thetidings interested her. 

"No matter how I learned the fact, " replied Belle a little brusquely;'it's true. He wouldn't lift his little finger to keep you fromstarving. "

"You wrong him, " cried Mildred passionately; "and I don't wishyou ever to speak of him again. I know who told you: it was RogerAtwood, and I wish he would leave me and my affairs alone. He issingularly stupid and ill-bred to meddle in such a matter. "

"He has not meddled, " retorted Belle indignantly, and wholly offher guard; "he thought you might like to know the truth, and helearned it in a way that left no trace. When you are in the streetsyou are always looking for Mr. Arnold (it's a pity he wasn't doinga little looking, too), and now your mind can be at ease. He isn'tsick or dead; he's entirely safe and having a good time, faringsumptuously every day, while you are dying by inches for littlemore than bread and a nook in a tenement-house. I don't care whatyou say, I detest such a man. "

Mildred's overtaxed nerves gave way at Belle's harsh and prosaicwords, and throwing herself on her couch she sobbed so bitterly thatthe inconsiderate child, in deep compunction, coaxed and pleadedwith her not "to take it so hard, " and ended by crying in sympathy, almost as heartily as Mildred herself. The latter was completelydisarmed of her anger by Belle's feelings, and, indeed, as she cameto think it all over, it did not seem so like desertion on Arnold'spart, since he might have written from Europe and the letter havefailed to reach her. That he should have been in New York allthis time and have made no effort to find her would seem heartlessindeed. At any rate, with her rare fidelity and faith, she wouldbelieve nothing against him without absolute proof. 

But of Roger Atwood she thought resentfully, "He reads my verythoughts. He has seen me looking for Vinton half-unconsciously whenin the streets. He keeps himself in the background, and no doubtthinks himself very distant and considerate; but I can scarcely turnin any direction but I see his shadow, or meet with some indicationthat he is watching and waiting. "

There was more truth in her words than she half suspected. His dutiesrequired that he should be down town very early in the morning, but he was usually released in the afternoon, for his uncle tacitlyhumored his desire for study. Scarcely an evening elapsed that theyoung man did not pass and repass the shop in which Mildred wasemployed, for through the lighted windows he could see the objectof his thoughts unobserved, and not infrequently he followed heras she wearily returned homeward, and his heart ached with theimpotent desire to lighten the burdens of her life. He feared thatshe would never accept of his watchful care or thank him for it;but love is its own reward, and impels to action that does not wellstand the test of the world's prosaic judgment. Beyond this briefand furtive gratification of his passion, he lost no time in sighingor sentiment, but bent his mind to his tasks with such well-directedand persistent energy that the commission merchant occasionallynodded significantly; for, in accordance with his habit, he tookcounsel of no one except himself. 

It was Roger's hope that, eventually, Mildred, for her own sake, could be persuaded to accompany Belle on some of their pursuitsof evening recreation, and he suggested that the latter shouldpersistently try to induce her to go, saying that her health andsuccess in the future required more change and cheerfulness; butMildred always said "No, " with a quiet emphasis which admitted ofno argument. 

In truth, when evening came she was too weary to go with him orwith any one else, and the first Sunday after her duties at the shopbegan she could not be present at the chapel and meet her class. 

Mr. Wentworth called, fearing she was ill. She explained in part, andhe was quick to understand. His brow darkened in such a frown thatthe poor girl grew frightened, and began: "Indeed, Mr. Wentworth, do not judge me harshly, or think that I let a trifle keep me--"

Then he awakened to her misapprehension, and coming directly toher side he took her hand, with a face so kind, so full of deep, strong sympathy, that her eyes filled at once. 

"My poor child, " he said, "could you imagine I was frowning atyou?--brave little soldier that you are, braver and stronger in yourway and place than I in mine. God bless you, no. I felt savage tothink that in this nineteenth century, and right under the shadowof our church spires, this diabolical cruelty is permitted to goon year after year. Oh, I know all about it, Miss Mildred; you arenot the first one by hundreds and hundreds. I wish I could give youmore than sympathy, and that some other way would open--we mustfind some other way for you--but you have no idea how many areworse off in these bad times than you are--worthy people who arewilling to work, but cannot get work. If it seems to you that Icannot do very much for you, remember that there are scores who, for the time, seem to have no resources at all. I trust you maysoon hear such tidings from your father as will bring relief toboth body and mind. And now, my child, don't let a morbid conscienceadd to your burdens. When you are as greatly in need of rest as youwere last Sunday, don't come to the chapel. I'll take your class, or find a substitute. "

In a few minutes he was gone; but they were not alone, for he hadmade them conscious of One who is touched with the feeling of ourinfirmities. 

How was the absent husband and father fulfilling the hopes thatdaily turned to him, but found no reward? He was literally writhingunder chains that, to his horror, he could not break. He had foundon shipboard that sudden and complete abstinence irom the drugbrought a torture of mind and body that he could not endure, andnow he was learning, in sickening fear, that he could not graduallyreduce his daily allowance below a certain point without immediatesufferings beyond his fortitude to sustain. 

The room in the Inquisition, whose circular walls, studded withlong, sharp spikes, gradually closed upon and pierced the victim, had its spiritual counterpart in his present condition. He was shutin on every side. If he made a push for liberty by abstaining fromthe drug, he was met and driven back by many nameless agonies. Heseemed to recoil, inevitably, as if from steel barbs. Meanwhilethe walls were closing in upon him. In order to prevent life frombeing a continuous burden, in order to maintain even the semblanceof strength and manhood, so that he might have some chance of findingemployment, he had to increase the quantity of morphia daily; buteach succeeding indulgence brought nearer the hour when the drugwould produce pain--pain only, and death. After a week or two offutile and spasmodic effort he drifted on in the old way, occasionallysuffering untold agony in remorse and self-loathing, but stiflingconscience, memory, and reason, as far as possible, by continuousstimulation. 

His quest of employment was naturally unsuccessful. The South wasimpoverished. Weak from the wounds of war, and the deeper enervationof a system that had poisoned her life for generations, she hadnot yet begun to rally. There was not enough business in the cityfor the slow and nerveless hands of its citizens, therefore therewas little prospect for a new-comer, unless he had the capital andenergy to create activity in the midst of stagnation. A few wereslightly imposed upon at first by Mr. Jocelyn's exalted moods, and believed that he might do great things if he were given thechance; but they soon recognized that he was unsound and visionary, broaching plans and projects that varied widely with each succeedinginterview. The greater number of his former friends and acquaintanceswere scattered or dead, and those who remembered him had their handstoo full to do more than say a good word for him--saying it, too, more and more faintly as they saw how broken and untrustworthy hewas. The story of his behavior on the ship, and correct surmisesof the true cause of his manner and appearance, soon became currentin business circles, and the half-pitying, half-contemptuous mannerof those with whom he came in contact at last made it clear, evento his clouded mind, that further effort would be utterly useless. 

Meanwhile his habit now began to inflict a punishment that oftenseemed beyond endurance. The increased quantities of morphia withwhich he sought to sustain himself, combined with his anxiety, remorse, and solicitude for his family and his own future, filledthe hours of darkness with one long nightmare of horror. Hishalf-sleeping visions were more vivid and real than the scenes ofday. From some harrowing illusion he would start up with a groanor cry, only to relapse a few moments later into an apparentsituation more appalling and desperate. 

The earth would open and swallow him in fathomless darkness; then hewas on a ship caught in a maelstrom and whirled down with a speedimaginable only by a mind as disordered and morbid as his own. Panting, struggling, drenched with a cold perspiration, he wouldstruggle back into a brief and miserable consciousness. With scarcelyany respite his diseased imagination would seize him again, and nowthe ship, with tattered sails and broken masts, would be becalmedin the centre of a cyclone. All around him was the whirling tornadofrom which the vessel had passed into awful silence and deceptivepeace. Although viewless, a resistless volume was circling roundhim, a revolving torrent of air that might at any second make itsexistence known by wrenching the ship in some direction with suchviolence as to destroy it at once. When would the awful suspensebe over, and the cyclone, with a peal of thunder through the rigging, again lay its frenzied grasp on the ill-fated ship? In unspeakabledread he seemed to spring from the deck in the hope of ending all, and would find himself gasping on his couch, which vice had madea place of torture, nor rest. 

But the visions which most shook his soul were those connected withhis wife and children. He saw them starving; he saw them turnedinto the street, mocked and gibed at by every passer-by. He sawthem locked up in prison-cells, under the charge of jailers thatwere half brute, half fiend; he saw Fred and Minnie carried offby an Italian padrone to a den reeking with filth, and loud withoaths and obscenity. With a hoarse shout of rage he would springup to avert blows that were bruising their little forms; he sawhis wife turn her despairing eyes from heaven and curse the hour oftheir union; he saw Mildred, writhing and resisting, dragged fromher home by great dark hands that were claws rather than hands;worse than all, he saw Belle, dressed in colors that seemed wovenfrom stains of blood, stealing out under the cover of night witheyes like livid coals. 

Such are the beatific visions that opium bestows, having onceenchained its victims. Little wonder that, after spending nightsupon a poisoned rack, Mr. Jocelyn was in no condition to meet hisfellow-men and win their confidence. 

The dark thought crossed his mind more than once that he had betternever return home--that, since he had lost his manhood, life hadbetter go too; but in these darkest and most desperate moments theface of his wife would rise before him, and from her white lipscame the cry, "No! no! no!" with such agonized intensity that hewas restrained. 

Moreover, he had not given up hope altogether, and he determinedto return, and, unknown to his family, consult his old physician, who had inadvertently led him into this terrible dilemma, andadjure him to undo his work. He might aid in concealing the truthfrom those from whom, of all others, the unhappy man would hidehis shame. This seemed his one last chance. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE SECRET VICE REVEALED

On the day preceding Christmas, late in the afternoon, Roger Atwoodboarded a steamer which had just arrived from a Southern city. His uncle, the commission merchant, was expecting a consignment oftropical fruits, and as the young man stood among others waitingto see the freight clerk, he overheard one of the vessel's officersremark, "His name is Jocelyn--so papers on his person indicate--andhe must be sent to a hospital as soon as possible. "

Advancing promptly to the speaker, Roger said, "I overheard yourremark, sir, and think I know the gentleman to whom you refer. IfI am right, I will take him to his family immediately. "

The officer acted with such alacrity as to prove that he was veryglad to get the sick man off his hands, and Roger noted the fact. A moment later he saw Martin Jocelyn, sadly changed for the worse, and lying unconscious in a berth. 

"I am right, I am very sorry to say, " Roger said, after a moment, with a long, deep breath. "This will be a terrible shock to hisfamily. "

"Do you think he is dying?" the officer asked. 

"I don't know. I will bring a physician and take Mr. Jocelyn homeon one condition--that our consignment of produce is delivered atonce. I must be absent, and my employer's interests must not sufferin consequence. I am doing you a favor, and you must return it justas promptly. "

The freight clerk was summoned, and Roger was assured thathis uncle's consignment should take the precedence as fast as itcould be reached. The young man then hastened to find the nearestphysician, stopping a moment at his place of business to give ahurried explanation of his course. Mr. Atwood listened in silence, and nodded merely; but, as Roger hastened away, he muttered, "Thismixing himself up with other people's troubles isn't very shrewd, but his making capital out of it so that my consignment will allbe delivered to-night is--well, we'll call it even. He's no fool. "

The physician was rather young and inexperienced, and he pronouncedMr. Jocelyn's trouble to be congestion of the brain. He agreedto go with Roger to the old mansion and do what he could for thepatient, although holding out slight hope of recovery. 

"She is learning to associate me with misfortune, and will dread mypresence as if I were a bird of ill-omen, " Roger groaned mentally, as he recalled the several miserable occasions which, in the mindof Mildred, were inseparably connected with himself; "but someday--SOME DAY, if I have to strive for a lifetime--she shall alsolearn that it is not I who bring the trouble. "

Christmas comes at the darkest and dreariest season of the year, making short, cold days, and longer, colder nights the holidayseason, just as He, whose birth the day commemorates, comes tohuman hearts in the darkest and coldest hours of desolation. Evenin the great city there were few homes so shadowed by poverty andsorrow that they were not brightened by some indications of thehallowed time. The old mansion, that once may have been emboweredin evergreens, was again filled with the aromatic breath of theforest, for Roger had commissioned a friend in the country to sendso large a supply to Belle that she was embarrassed with riches ofhemlock, laurel, and pine, which, although given away prodigally, left enough to transform their rooms into the aspect of bowers. Sincethey had not money for toys, they could make the Christmas-tide atime of wonder and delight to Fred and Minnie in this inexpensiveway, and Mildred, who would naturally shrink from the wild mountainhome of the evergreen boughs, found in weaving and arranging theminto tasteful decorations a pleasure alloyed by only one thought--shewas indebted for it to Roger Atwood, the silent yet determinedrival of the man she loved. Though he buried his feeling in suchprofound silence, and hid all manifestation so carefully that evenher intuition could not lay hold of any one thing, and say, "Thisproves it, " she nevertheless felt the presence of his love, andsometimes thought she felt it all the more because of its strongrepression. It almost vexed her that he made no advances, and gaveher nothing to resent, while all the time he was seeking her withthe whole force of his will, or at least waiting for some possibilityof the future. When Belle proposed that he should help decorate theirliving-room, since they, at this season, had only the remnants ofevenings to give, and were wearied, too, almost beyond the powerfor extra effort, she felt that for Belle's sake she ought notto object, and that for her own sake she could not, so scrupuloushad been the quiet, distant respect with which he had treated her. When he came he seemed to anticipate her thoughts and to obey herwishes in the arrangement of the greenery, even before she spoke, so keen was his observation and quick his sympathy with her mind. 

These very facts increased her prejudice and dislike. He was tooclever, too keen-sighted and appreciative. Had he been indifferenttoward her, and not so observant, she would have soon learned tolike him and enjoy his society, for he had a bright, piquant way oftalking, and was seldom at a loss for words. In fact, he had plentyof ideas, and was fast gaining more. One reason why Mildred shrankfrom him in strengthening repulsion was because, in his absorbinginterest and his quick comprehension of her thought and feeling, he came too near. Without intending it, and in spite of himself, he intruded on her woman's privacy; for no matter how careful hemight be, or how guarded she was in words or manner, she felt thathe understood what was in her mind. Her natural impulse, therefore, was to shun his presence and suppress her own individuality whenshe could not escape him, for only an answering affection on herpart could make such understanding appreciation acceptable. 

Roger was not long in guessing quite accurately how he stood inher thoughts, and he was often much depressed. As he had said toClara Bute, he had a downright dislike to contend against, and thismight not change with his success. And now it was his misfortune tobecome associated in her mind with another painful event--perhapsa fatal one. She might thank him sincerely for his kindness andthe trouble he had taken in their behalf, but, all the same, deepin her heart, the old aversion would be strengthened. 

"That invertebrate, Arnold, " he muttered, "represents to herthe old, happy life; I, her present life, and it's my luck alwaysto appear when things are at their worst. After to-night she willshudder with apprehension whenever she sees me. What WILL becomeof them if Mr. Jocelyn dies!"

Full of forebodings and distress at the shock and sorrow impendingover those in whom he was so deeply interested, he and the physicianplaced Mr. Jocelyn in a covered express wagon that was improvisedinto an ambulance, and drove up town as rapidly as they dared. 

In response to a low knock Mrs. Jocelyn opened the door, and thewhite, troubled face of Roger announced evil tidings before a wordwas spoken. 

"My husband!" she gasped, sinking into a chair. 

The young man knelt beside her and said, "Mrs. Jocelyn, his lifemay depend on your courage and fortitude. "

He had touched the right chord, and, after a momentary andhalf-convulsive sob, she rose quietly, and said, "Tell me what todo--tell me the worst. "

"I have brought him with me, and I have a physician also. I foundhim on a steamer, by accident. They were about to send him to ahospital, but I was sure you would want him brought home. "

"Oh, yes--God bless you--bring him, bring him quick. "

"Courage. Good nursing will prevent the worst. "

Roger hastened back to the patient, stopping on the way only longenough to ask Mrs. Wheaton to go to Mrs. Jocelyn's room instantly, and then, with the physician's aid, he carried the unconscious manto his room, and laid him on his bed. 

"Oh, Martin! Martin!" moaned the wife, "how changed, how changed!Oh, God! he's dying. "

"I hope not, madam, " said the physician; "at any rate we must allkeep our self-possession and do our best. While there is life thereis hope. "

With dilated eyes, and almost fierce repression of all aid fromother hands, she took the clothing from the limp and wasted form. 

"He IS dying, " she moaned; "see how unnatural his eyes are; thepupils are almost gone. Oh, God! why did I let him go from me whenhe was so ill!"

"Would you not like Belle and Miss Mildred summoned at once?" Rogerasked. 

"Yes, yes, they ought to be here now; every moment may be precious, and he may become conscious. "

"At the same time I would like you to call on Dr. Benton inTwenty-third Street, " added the physician. "He is a friend of mine, and has had much experience. In so serious a case I would like toconsult him. "

Roger, while on his way to Dr. Benton's office, passed a livery-stablewith a coach standing just within the door, and he at once resolvedthat the weary girls should not be exhausted by flying home interror-stricken haste. He took the carriage, obtained the physician, and explained to him what had happened while on the way to the shopin which Belle was employed. It was Christmas-eve, and the storewas still crowded with eleventh-hour purchasers, on whom the wearychild was waiting in a jaded, mechanical way. Her vacant look andthe dark lines under her eyes proved how exhausted she was; butat the sight of Roger a flash of light and pleasure came into herface, and then his expression caused it to fade into extreme pallor. 

"What is it?" she asked, turning from a garrulous customer. 

"Don't be alarmed; get your things and come with me. I will makeit all right with your employer. "

"Belle, " he said, when they were by the carriage door, "you mustbe a brave woman to-night. Your father is home, and he is very ill. Perhaps his life depends on quiet and freedom from all excitement. Dr Benton, an experienced physician, is in the carriage, and willgo with us. You must tell your sister--I cannot. "

If Belle had been herself she would not have failed him; but, after the long strain of the day, she became completely unnerved athis tidings, and sobbed almost hysterically. She could not controlherself sufficiently to enter the shop where Mildred stood, unconsciousof the approaching shadow, and so the heavy task of breaking thenews fell upon Roger. "If Belle, naturally so strong, was whiteand faint from the long, toilsome day, how wan and ghost-like poorMildred will appear!" was his thought as he sprang to the sidewalk. 

They were closing up, and the discipline of the shop was over. Instead of pallor, there was an angry crimson in Mildred's cheeks, and an indignant fire in her eyes. She evidently was deeply incensed, and her companions apparently were as greatly amused. When she sawRoger the crimson deepened in her face, her brow knitted in strongvexation, and she went on with her task of putting the goods underher charge in order, as if she had not seen him; but the thoughtflashed through her mind: "Oh that he were to me what he is toBelle! Then he might punish my insolent persecutor, but he's thelast one in the world to whom I can appeal. Oh, where's papa?"

"Miss Jocelyn--"

"Don't you see you have another beau?" whispered one of her companionsas she passed out. "You won't treat this one with words and mannerthat are the same as a slap in the face, for he's too good-looking. "

She paid no heed to the gibe, for the young man's tone was significant, and she had lifted her eyes to his with eager questioning. Hisgrave, sad face banished the flush from hers instantly. 

"Miss Jocelyn, " Roger began again, in a low tone, "you have alreadylearned to associate me with painful experiences. I cannot helpit. But this, my misfortune, is nothing; you must nerve yourselffor anxiety that will test even your strength. Your father is home, and ill. I will not explain further before strangers. Belle and aphysician are awaiting you in the carriage. "

How quiet and measured were his words; but even in her distressshe was painfully conscious that the slight tremor in his voicewas the low vibration of a feeling whose repressed intensity wouldsooner or later break forth. Beyond a momentary shrinking from whatseemed to her but well-mastered vehemence, she gave him no thoughtin her overwhelming solicitude. 

Scarcely a moment elapsed before she joined him at the door. Ashe placed her in the carriage he said, "Dr. Benton will explain toyou what has happened. "

"Roger--" sobbed Belle, but he sprang on the box with the driver, and in a few moments they were at the door of the old mansion. 

"Dr. Benton, " said the young man, "will you please accompany MissJocelyn? After the fatigue of the day and the shock of this eveningshe will need your support, " and he saw that she leaned heavily onthe physician's arm. 

Having dismissed the carriage, he found Belle leaning against theside of the house, faint and trembling. The young athlete liftedher in his arms and bore her steadily and easily to the doorway, and then again up the winding stairway. "Belle, " he whispered, "ifyou lose your father you shall at least have a brother. "

She entwined her arm about his neck in mute acceptance of therelationship. Her every breath was a low sob, and she could notthen tell him how his words reassured her, taking away, in part, the almost overwhelming terror of being left unprotected in theworld. 

During Mr. Jocelyn's absence his family had tried to banish fromtheir minds the memory of his weakness, and thus they had come tothink of him again as the strong, cheerful, genial man they hadknown all their lives. The months preceding his departure were likea hateful dream. It had been a dearly cherished hope that, afterbreathing his native air for a few weeks, he would return the samefrank, clear-eyed, clear-brained man that had won his way, evenamong strangers, after the wreck and ruin of the war. To him theirthoughts had turned daily, in the hope of release from toil thatwas often torture, and from anxieties that filled every waking hourwith foreboding. 

How bitter the disappointment then, and how terrible the shock, as they now looked upon his prostrate form, meagre, shrunken, andalmost lifeless! Instead of the full, dark eyes that had beamedmirthfully and lovingly for so many years, there was an unnaturalcontraction of the pupils which rendered them almost invisible. His once healthful complexion was now livid, or rather of a leaden, bluish hue; his respirations stertorous and singularly deliberate. 

"He is dying, " Mildred moaned; "he is far, far away from us, evennow. Oh, if we could have but one look, one sign of farewell!"

Belle and Mrs. Jocelyn became almost helpless with grief, for itdid not seem possible to them that he could rally. "Oh, why did Ilet him go--why did I let him go!" was the wife's remorseful andoften-repeated question. 

The elderly and experienced physician whom Roger had brought ignoredwith professional indifference the grief-stricken household, andwas giving his whole mind to the study of the case. After examiningthe pupils of Mr. Jocelyn's eyes, taking his temperature, andcounting his pulse, he looked at his associate and shook his headsignificantly. Roger, who stood in the background, saw that Dr. Benton did not accept the young physician's diagnosis. A momentlater Dr. Benton bared the patient's arm and pointed to many smallscars, some old and scarcely visible, and others recent and slightlyinflamed. The young practitioner then apparently understood him, for he said, "This is both worse and better than I feared. "

"Worse, worse, " growled Dr. Benton. 

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Jocelyn, more dead than alive. 

"Madam, " began Dr. Benton very gravely, "have you never seen yourhusband using a little instrument like this?" and he produced fromhis pocket a hypodermic syringe. 

"Never, " was the perplexed and troubled reply. 

The physician smiled a little satirically, and remarked, in a lowaside, "I hope the drug has not affected the whole family. It'snext to impossible to get at the truth in these cases. "

"Do you think he will die?" was her agonized query. 

"No, madam, we can soon bring him around, I think, and indeed hewould probably have come out of this excess unaided; but he hadbetter die than continue his excessive use of morphia. I can scarcelyconceive how you could have remained ignorant of the habit. "

Mildred bowed her head in her hands with a low, despairing cry, fora flash of lurid light now revealed and explained all that had beenso strange and unaccountable. The terrible secret was now revealed, as far as she was able to comprehend it--her father was an opiuminebriate, and this was but the stupor of a debauch! The thoughtof his death had been terrible, but was not this worse? She liftedher face in a swift glance at Roger, and saw him looking at herwith an expression, that was full of the strongest sympathy, andsomething more. She coldly averted her eyes, and a slow, deep flushof shame rose to her face, "Never shall I endure a humiliation buthe will witness it, and be a part of it, " was her bitter thought. 

The physicians meanwhile changed their treatment, and were busy withprofessional nonchalance. Mrs. Jocelyn was at first too bewilderedby their words and manner to do more than look at them, with handsclasping and unclasping in nervous apprehension, and with eyes fullof deep and troubled perplexity. Then, as the truth grew clearer, that a reflection had been made upon her own and her husband'struth, she rose unsteadily to her feet, and said, with a patheticattempt at dignity, "I scarcely understand you, and fear that youas little understand my husband's condition. He never concealedanything from me. He has been unfortunate and in failing healthfor months, and that is all. I fear, from your cruel and unjustsurmises, that you do not know what you are doing, and that youare destroying his slender chances for life. "

"Do you wish to discharge us, then?" was Dr. Benton's brusqueresponse. He was a man of unusual skill, but blunt and unsympathetic, especially in cases wherein he suspected deception--an elementalmost inseparable from the morphia habit. The victim is almostinvariably untruthful, and the family not unfrequently hide thewhole truth in the desire to shield the disgraceful weakness. Dr. Benton was too familiar with these facts to be easily moved, butwhen the sad-hearted wife clasped her hands and cried, in tonesthat would touch the coldest heart, "I wish him to live, for hisdeath would be far worse than death to us all, " the physician saidkindly, "There, there, Mrs. Jocelyn, I have seen many cases likethis. Your husband will live, and will soon be able to speak to you. If you then can induce him to leave morphia alone, he may becomeas sound a man as ever. "

Mildred put her arm around her mother and drew her into her room, closing the door. 

A few moments later Roger heard the wife's passionate protest, "Ido not believe it--I will never believe it. " Then Dr. Benton saidto him, "Here, young man, run to my house for an electric battery. "

When he returned Mr. Jocelyn was coming slowly out of his deep coma, and his appearance was changing rapidly for the better. There wasa deep, indignant flush on Mrs. Jocelyn's face, and she took Rogeraside and said earnestly, "Never believe the lies you have heardhere to-night. I know that you will never repeat them. "

"Never, Mrs. Jocelyn. "

But Mildred was pale and almost stony in her cold, calm aspect;her heart, in her desperation, was hard toward every one. Belle hadnot comprehended the truth at all, having been too much overwhelmedby her emotions to heed the earlier remarks of the physicians, andMildred had said to them significantly and almost sternly, "Thereis no need of giving your diagnosis any further publicity. "

Dr. Benton had then looked at her more attentively, and muttered, "An unusual girl; more's the pity. "

"Mr. Atwood, " Mildred began, a few moments after his entrance, "we thank you for your aid in this painful emergency, but we needtrouble you no further. Papa is rallying fast. I will thank you toinform me of all the expense which you have incurred in our behalfat your earliest convenience. "

"Mildred, " interposed Mrs. Jocelyn, suddenly appearing from besideher husband's couch, the unwonted fire still burning in her usuallygentle eyes, "I cannot permit Mr. Atwood to be dismissed so coldly. He has been a true friend in the most terrible emergency of ourlives. I must have a strong, kind hand to sustain me now that myhusband, my life, has been foully slandered in his own home. "

Belle, in even greater terror of being left alone, clung to hisarm, and said, "He cannot leave us--he has made me a promise thisnight which will keep him here. "

With a troubled and deprecating look at Mildred, Roger replied, "Iwill not fail you, Mrs. Jocelyn, nor you, Belle; but there is nofurther need of my intruding on your privacy. I shall be withincall all night. "

"He can stay in my room, " said Mrs. Wheaton, who, although aidingthe physicians, could not help overhearing the conversation. 

"No, he shall stay here, " cried Belle passionately; "I'm so unnervedthat I'm almost beside myself, and he quiets me and makes me feelsafer. Millie has no right to show her prejudice at such a time. "

Mildred, white and faint, sank into a chair by the table and buriedher face in her arms, leaving the young fellow in sore perplexityas to what course he ought to take. He believed the physicians wereright, and yet Mrs. Jocelyn had taken it for granted that he sharedher faith in her husband's truth, and he knew she would banishhim from her presence instantly should he betray a doubt as to thecorrectness of her view. At the same time the expression of his facehad shown Mildred that he understood her father's condition evenbetter than she did. It seemed impossible to perform the difficultand delicate part required of him, but with love's loyalty hedetermined to do what he imagined the young girl would wish, andhe said firmly, "Belle, I again assure you that you can dependupon my promise to the utmost. Mrs Jocelyn, my respect for you isunbounded, and the privilege of serving you is the best reward Icrave. At the same time I feel that it is neither right nor delicatefor me to witness sorrows that are so sacred. My part is to help, and not look on, and I can help just as well if within call all thetime. Belle, " he whispered, "dear Belle, I know you are unnerved byweeks of overwork as well as by this great trouble, but be a bravelittle woman once more, and all may soon be well, " and he was aboutto withdraw when Dr. Benton appeared and said:

"Mrs. Jocelyn, your husband is now out of all immediate danger, but everything depends upon his future treatment. I wish this youngman to remain a little longer, for you must now decide upon whatcourse you will take. We have been called in an emergency. Thereis no need that I should remain any longer, for the physician whoaccompanied him here is now amply competent to attend to the case. You have, however, expressed lack of confidence in us, and maywish to send for your own physician. If so, this young man can gofor him at once. I can prove to you in two minutes that I am right, and I intend to do so; then my responsibility ceases. Everythingdepends on your intelligent and firm co-operation with whateverphysician has charge of the case, and it is no kindness to leaveyou under a delusion that does your heart more credit than yourhead or eyes. "

He stepped back through the curtained doorway, and returned with herhusband's vest, from an inner pocket of which he took a hypodermicsyringe, a bottle of Magendie's solution, and also another vial ofthe sulphate of morphia. 

"I am an old physician, " he resumed, "and know your husband'ssymptoms as well as you know his face. His possession of thesearticles should confirm my words. The slight scars upon his armsand elsewhere were made by this little instrument, as I can showyou if you will come and observe--"

His medical logic was interrupted by a low cry from the strickenwife, and then she fainted dead away. 

Mildred, on the contrary, stepped forward, with a pale, sternface, and said, "I will take charge of these, " and she, carriedthe agents of their ruin to her own room. Instantly she returned, and assisted Mrs. Wheaton in the restoration of her mother. 

To Belle, who had looked on dazed, trembling, and bewildered, Rogerwhispered, "I shall be within call all night. "

CHAPTER XXXI

AN OPIUM MANIAC'S CHRISTMAS

Beneath his brusque manner Dr. Benton masked a kind heart whenonce its sympathies were touched. He soon became satisfied that Mr. Jocelyn's family were not trying to shield his patient, but were, on the contrary, overwhelmed with dismay and shame at the truthwhich he had made clear to them. He therefore set about helpingthem, in his own prosaic but effective way, and he did not leavethem until they were all as well and quiet as the dread circumstancesof the situation permitted. Opium slaves are subject to accidentslike that which had overtaken Mr. Jocelyn, who, through heedlessnessor while half unconscious, had taken a heavy overdose, or elsehad punctured a vein with his syringe. Not infrequently habituescarelessly, recklessly, and sometimes deliberately end their wretchedlives in this manner. Dr. Benton knew well that his patient was inno condition to enter upon any radical curative treatment, and itwas his plan to permit the use of the drug for a few days, seekingmeanwhile to restore as far as possible his patient's shatteredsystem, and then gain the man's honest and hearty co-operation inthe terrible ordeal essential to health and freedom. If Mr. Jocelynhad not the nerve and will-power to carry out his treatment--whichhe much doubted--he would advise that he be induced to go to aninstitution where the will of others could enforce the abstinencerequired. He believed that Mr. Jocelyn would consent to this, whenconvinced of his inability to endure the ordeal in his own strength. Having explained his intentions and hopes to Mrs. Jocelyn andMildred, he left them cast down indeed, but not utterly devoid ofhope. 

It seemed to them that the husband and father must renouncethe fatal habit at once, in response to their appeals. They couldnot understand that it was already beyond his power to break hischains--that they must be broken by other hands, if broken at all. 

It may well be doubted if the light of Christmas day dawned on asadder household than that which was sheltered in the old mansion. Worn and exhausted to the last degree, and yet sleepless fromanxiety, grief, and shame, the two women watched beside the fitful, half-conscious man. At last he appeared to throw off his stuporsufficiently to recognize his wife; but it was with a strange look, in which were blended fear, suspicion, and shame. A cold perspirationbroke out over his whole form, for something in her expression, and especially in the aspect of Mildred's face, seemed to indicatethat they knew all, and his own guilty fears and conscience madethe surmise true for the moment; but the tender manner in whichhis wife wiped his brow and kissed him were reassuring, and withhis rallying powers grew the hope that his weakness might yet beunknown and successfully concealed until, by his physician's aid, he had thrown off the curse. Fearing above and beyond all things elsethat his wife would learn his degradation, he slowly and fitfullytried to mature plans of deception; but his enfeebled mind ralliedso slowly that he felt for a time that silence and observationwere his best allies. He would cautiously and suspiciously feel hisway, and having learned all that had transpired since he rememberedbeing on the steamer, he could then decide more clearly how toshape his course. He therefore affected to regard his condition asthe result of a severe illness, and murmured that "quiet and homelife would soon bring him round. "

Mildred kissed him also, and answered, "We cannot think otherwise, papa, for our love, our lives, and all are bound up in you. "

The morning dragged heavily away, for all except the little oneswere under the impression that dark and woful days were beforethem. Mr. Benton had not disguised the truth--that the problem withwhich they had to deal was one of great difficulty and much doubt. This prospect was depressing, but that which weighed like leadupon their hearts was the thought that one who had ever been theirideal of honor and truth had deceived them for months, and hadsteadily yielded to a habit which he knew must destroy his family'shonor and leave them friendless, penniless, and disgraced. Theweeks of pain that Mildred had endured were not the result of ahard necessity, but of a vicious indulgence of a depraved appetite. Not disease but sin had so darkened their lives and brought themto a pass where even daily bread and shelter for the future weredoubtful questions. 

A thousand times Mildred asked herself, "How can I go out and facethe world with my name blackened by this great cloud of shame?"She felt as if she never wished to step into the open light of dayagain, and the thought of Vinton Arnold made her shudder. "Thereis now a great gulf between us, " she moaned. "The truth that myfather is an opium slave can never be hidden, and even were Vintoninclined to be faithful, his family would regard me as a leper, and he will yield to their abhorrence. "

The wound in both her own and her mother's heart was deep indeed. Their confidence was shattered, their faith in human goodness andhonor destroyed. While they still hoped much, they neverthelessharbored a desperate fear, and, at best, the old serene trust couldnever return. Even if Mr. Jocelyn could rally and reform, therewould ever remain the knowledge that he had once been weak andfalse, and might be again. He would be one who must be watched, shielded, and sustained, and not one upon whom they could leanin quiet faith. The quaking earth which shatters into ruin thematerial home brings but a slight disaster compared with the vicethat destroys a lifelong trust in a husband and father. 

Mr. Jocelyn's nerves were much too weak and irritable to endurehis children's voices, and their innocence and unconsciousness ofdanger smote him with unendurable remorse; they were, therefore, sent to Mrs. Wheaton's room. There, too, Belle met Roger, and wasmuch reassured by his hopeful words. She only half comprehended thetruth concerning her father, and now, feeling the worst was past, her mercurial nature was fast regaining its cheerfulness. Shewas one who might despair one day and be joyous the next. Likeher father, she had unlimited courage, and but little fortitude. Although she did not know it, the outlook for her was more threateningthan for any of the others, for she could not patiently submit toa slow, increasing pressure of poverty and privation. As her fatherfeared, she might be driven to interpose the protest of a recklesslife. 

Mr. Jocelyn was greatly reassured when Dr. Benton called, and treatedhim with much respect; and when a liberal allowance of morphia wasinjected into his arm, he became quite cheerful, believing that notonly his family but even the physician was unaware, as yet, of hisweakness. By neither sign nor word did Dr. Benton indicate hisknowledge, for it was his design to rally his patient into the bestpossible condition, and then induce him to yield himself up whollyto medical skill, naturally believing that in his present enfeebledstate he would shrink from entering on the decisive and heroictreatment required. Promising to call in the evening, he left Mr. Jocelyn apparently very much improved. 

In the afternoon Mildred went to her room to seek a little rest. The physician thought he had given enough of the drug to satisfyhis patient until he returned, but he had not properly gauged themorbid craving with which he was trying to deal, and as the daydeclined Mr. Jocelyn became very restless. Finally, he said he feltso much better that he would rise and dress himself, and, in spiteof his wife's remonstrances, he persisted in doing so. Althoughtottering from weakness, he said, irritably, and almost imperiously, that he needed no help, and wished to be alone. With sad forebodinghis wife yielded, and waited tremblingly for his next step, for hehad become to her an awful mystery. 

Her fears were fulfilled, for he soon lifted the curtain door andlooked at her in a strange, suspicious manner. "I miss some medicinefrom my vest pocket, " he said hesitatingly. 

Her face crimsoned, and she found no words with which to reply. 

"Did you take it out?" he demanded sharply. 

"No, " she faltered. 

His manner began to grow excited, and he looked like a distortedimage of his former self. Anger, suspicion, fear, and cunning wereall blended in his face, but he so far mastered himself as to assumea wheedling tone and manner as he came toward her and said, "Nan, it was only a little tonic that I found beneficial while in theSouth. You must know where it is. Please give it to me. "

The poor woman was so overcome by her husband's appearance andfalsehood that she felt sick and faint, and knew not what to say. 

"Where is it?" he demanded angrily, for he felt that unless he had thesupport of the drug speedily, he would wholly lose his self-control. 

"Oh, Martin, " pleaded his wife, "wait till Dr. Benton comes; hewill be here this evening. "

"Why this ado about nothing? I merely wish to take a little tonic, and you look as if I proposed suicide. "

"Martin, Martin, it is suicide of body and soul. It is worse thanmurder of me and your innocent children. Oh, Martin, my heart'strue love, make me a Christmas gift that I will prize next to Himfrom whom the day is named. Give me the promise that you will nevertouch the vile poison again, " and she knelt before him and soughtto take his hand. 

For a moment he was overwhelmed. She evidently knew all! He sankinto a chair, and trembled almost convulsively. Then came theimpulse--an almost inevitable effect of the drug upon the moralnature--to lie about the habit, and to strive to conceal it, evenafter an unclouded mind would see that deception was impossible. 

"Nan, " he began, as he grew a little quieter, "you take crueladvantage of my weak nerves. You must see that I am greatly reducedby illness, and I merely wish to take a little tonic as any saneman would do, and you treat me to a scene of high tragedy. Give memy medicine, and I know that I shall soon be much better. "

"Oh, my husband, has it really come to this?" and the wretched wifeburied her face in her arms, and leaned heavily on the table. 

He was growing desperate. Through excess he had already reached apoint where ordinary life became an unendurable burden without thestimulant; but facing a harrowing scene like this was impossible. He felt that his appetite was like a savage beast on which he helda weakening and relaxing grasp. With the strange, double consciousnessof the opium maniac, he saw his wife in all her deep distress, andhe had the remorse of a lost soul in view of her agony; he was almostcertain that she knew how he had wronged her and his children, andhe had all the shame and self-loathing of a proud, sensitive man;he knew that he was false to the sacred trusts of husband andfather, and that awful thing we call a sense of guilt added itsdeep depression. It is not inability to comprehend his degradation, his danger, his utter loss of manhood, which opium imposes on itswretched slave, but an impossibility to do aught except gratify theresistless craving at any and every cost. All will-power has gone, all moral resistance has departed, and in its place is a gnawing, clamorous, ravening desire. The vitiated body, full of indescribableand mysterious pain, the still more tortured mind, sinking undera burden of remorse, guilt, fear, and awful imagery, both unite inone desperate, incessant demand for opium. 

While his wife sat leaning upon the table, her face hidden, shewas the picture of despair; and, in truth, she felt almost as ifshe were turning into stone. If her husband had been brought homea mangled, mutilated man, as she often feared he might be duringthe long years of the war, she would have bent over him with atenderness equalled only by the pride and faith that had ever foundin him their centre; but this strange apparition of a man withodd, sinister-looking eyes, who alternately threatened and coweredbefore her--this man, mutilated more horribly in the loss of truthand love, who was thus openly and shamelessly lying--oh, was hethe chivalric, noble friend, who had been lover and husband forso many years! The contrast was intolerable, and the sense of hisfalseness stung her almost to madness. She did not yet know thatopium, like the corruption of the grave, blackens that which isthe fairest and whitest. 

For a few minutes Mr. Jocelyn debated with himself. Was he strongenough to go out to the nearest drug store? After one or two turnsup and down the room he found that he was not. He might fall inutter collapse while on the way, and yet his system, depleted byhis recent excess, demanded the drug with an intensity which hecould not restrain much longer without becoming wild and reckless. He therefore said to his wife, in a dogged manner, "Nan, I musthave that medicine. "

The gentle creature was at last goaded into such a burst ofindignation that for a few moments he was appalled, and trembledbefore her. The fire in her blue eyes seemed to scorch away hertears, and standing before him she said passionately, "As you area man and a Southern gentleman, tell me the truth. I never concealed athought from you; what have you been concealing from us for weeksand months? I wronged you in that I did not think and plan. Day andnight how to save instead of how to spend, and I can never forgivemyself, but my fault was not deliberate, not intentional. There wasnever a moment when I tried to deceive you--never a moment when Iwould not have suffered hunger and cold that you and the childrenmight be warmed and fed. What is this tonic for which you arebartering your health, your honor and ours, your children's breadand blood? Mildred sold her girlhood's gifts, the few dear mementoesof the old happy days, that you might have the chance you craved. That money was as sacred as the mercy of God. For weeks the poorchild has earned her bread, not by the sweat of her face, but inagony of body and unhappiness of heart. If it were disease thathad so cast us down and shadowed our lives with fear, pain, andpoverty, we would have submitted to God's will and watched overyou with a patient tenderness that would never have faltered ormurmured; but it's not disease, it's not something that God sent. It is that which crimsons our faces with shame. "

He sat cowering and trembling before her, with his face buried inhis hands. 

In a sudden revulsion of tenderness she sank again on her kneesbefore him, and pleaded in tones of tenderest pathos: "Martin, Iknow all; but I am ready to forgive all if you will be true fromthis time forward. I know now the cause of all your strange moodswhich we attributed to ill-health; I know the worst; but if, inhumble reliance upon God, you will win back your manhood, the pastevil days shall be blotted out, even as God blots out our sinsand remembers them no more against us. We will sustain your everyeffort with sympathy and loving faith. We will smile at cold andhunger that you may have time--Great God!" and she sprang to herfeet, white, faint, and panting. 

Her husband had taken his hands from his face, and glared at herlike a famished wolf. In his desperate, unnatural visage there wasnot a trace of manhood left. 

"Give me the bottle of morphia you took from my pocket, " hedemanded, rising threateningly. "No words; you might as well readthe Ten Commandments to an unchained tiger. Give it to me, orthere is no telling what may happen. You talk as if I could stopby simply saying, coolly and quietly, I will stop. Ten thousanddevils! haven't I suffered the torments of the damned in tryingto stop! Was I not in hell for a week when I could not get it? Doyou think I ask for it now as a child wants candy? No, it's thedrop of water that will cool my tongue for a brief moment, and asyou hope for mercy or have a grain of mercy in your nature, giveit to me NOW, NOW, NOW!"

The poor wife tottered a step or two toward her daughter's room, and fell swooning at the threshold. Mildred opened the door, andher deep pallor showed that instead of sleeping she had heard wordsthat would leave scars on memory until her dying day. 

"The poison you demand is there, " she said brokenly, pointing toher bureau. "After mamma's appeal I need not, cannot speak, " andshe knelt beside her mother. 

Her father rushed forward and seized the drug with the aspect ofone who is famishing. Mildred shuddered, and would not see morethan she could help, but gave her whole thought and effort to hermother, who seemed wounded unto death. After a few moments, to herunbounded surprise, her father knelt beside her and lifted her motherto a lounge, and, with a steady hand and a gentle, considerate manner, sought to aid in her restoration. His face was full of solicitudeand anxiety--indeed he looked almost the same as he might havelooked and acted a year ago, before he had ever imagined that sucha demon would possess him. 

When at last Mrs. Jocelyn revived and recalled what had occurred, she passed into a condition of almost hysterical grief, for hernervous system was all unstrung. Mr. Jocelyn, meanwhile, attendedupon her in a silent, gentle, self-possessed manner that puzzledMildred greatly, although she ascribed it to the stimulant he hadtaken. 

After a few minutes a strange smile flitted across his face, andhe disappeared within his own apartment. A little later, Mildred, returning from a momentary absence, saw him withdraw his syringefrom the arm of her half-conscious mother. 

"What have you done?" she asked sternly, and hastening to his side. 

Secreting the instrument as a miser would his gold, he answered, with the same strange smile, "She shall have a merry Christmas yet;I have just remembered the day. See how quiet she is becoming; seethat beautiful flush stealing into her pale face; see the lightdawning in her eye. Oh, I gauged the dose with the skill of the bestof them; and see, my hand is as steady as yours. I'm not a wreckyet, and all may still be well. Come, this is Christmas night, andwe will keep it in good old Southern style. Where are Belle andthe children? Ah! here they are. Where have you been, Belle?"

"In Mrs. Wheaton's room, " she replied, looking at her father inmuch surprise. "I was trying to keep the children quiet, so thatyou, mamma, and Millie might have a little rest. "

"That was very kind and good of you, and you now see that I am muchbetter; so is mamma, and with your help and Mildred's we shall havea merry Christmas night together after all. "

"Papa is right, " Mrs. Jocelyn added with vivacity. "I DO feel muchbetter, and so strangely hopeful. Come here, Belle. I've scarcelyseen you and the children all day. Kiss me, darlings. I believethe worst is now past, that papa will soon be well, and that allour troubles will end in renewed prosperity and happiness. I havebeen looking on the dark side, and it was wrong in me to do so. Ishould have had more faith, more hope, more thankfulness. I shouldbless God for that sight--Fred and Minnie on their father's kneesas in old times. Oh, what a strange, bright turn everything hastaken. "

"Mamma dear, " said Belle, who was kneeling and caressing her, "canI not ask Roger in to see you? He has looked like a ghost all day, from anxiety about you. "

"Oh, no, no, " gasped Mildred. 

"Now, Millie, " began Mrs. Jocelyn in gentle effusion, "you carryyour prejudice against Roger much too far. He has been the worldand all to Belle since he came to town. Belle was like a prisonedbird, and he gave her air and room to fly a little, and alwaysbrought her back safe to the nest. Think of his kindness last night(suddenly she put her hand to her brow as if troubled by somethinghalf forgotten, but her serene smile returned). Papa, thanksto Roger's kindness, is here, and he might have been taken to ahospital. I now feel assured that he will overcome all his troubles. What we need is cheerfulness--the absence of all that is depressing. Roger is lonely away from his home and people, and he shall shareour Christmas cheer; so call him, Belle, and then you and Millieprepare as nice a supper as you can;" and the girl flew to makegood a prospect so in accordance with her nature. 

Mildred almost as precipitately sought her room. A moment laterRoger was ushered in, and he could scarcely believe his eyes. Theunconscious man, whom he at this time on the previous day believeddying, had his children on his lap, and was caressing them withevery mark of affection. Although he still appeared to be very muchof an invalid, and his complexion had a sallow and unnatural hue, even in the lamplight, it was difficult to believe that twenty-fourhours before he had appeared to be in extremis. When he arose andgreeted Roger with a courtesy that was almost faultless, the youngfellow was tempted to rub his eyes as if all were a dream. Mrs. Jocelyn, too, was full of cheerfulness and hope, and made him sitbeside her while she thanked him with a cordiality and friendlinessthat seemed even tinged with affection. If memory could be silencedthere would be nothing to dispel the illusion that he looked upona humble but happy home, unshadowed by any thought or trouble. Asit was, the illusion was so strong that he entered into the apparentspirit of the occasion, and he chatted and laughed with a freedomand ease he had never yet known in their presence. 

"Where is Millie?" Mrs. Jocelyn suddenly asked. "We must be alltogether on this happy occasion. Minnie, call her, for I do notwish a moment of this long-deferred hour marred or clouded. "

"Millie, " cried the child, opening the door, "mamma wants you tocome right away. We are having a lovely time. "

"Don't mind Millie's ways, " said Mrs. Jocelyn, touching Roger'sarm and giving him a little confidential nod. "You understand eachother. "

These words, with her manner, struck Roger as peculiar in one whohad ever seemed to him the embodiment of delicacy, but he was tooinexperienced to gauge them properly. When he turned, however, tobow to Mildred, who entered and took a seat in a distant corner, hewas startled by her extreme pallor, but acting on Mrs. Jocelyn'sadvice he tried to act as before, resolving, nevertheless, thatif his presence continued to be a restraint on one for whom he wasever ready to sacrifice himself, he would speedily depart. Bellewas radiant in her reaction from the long, miserable day, and, witha child's unconsciousness, gave herself up to her happiness. 

"Millie shall rest as well as yourself, mamma, for she was up allnight, and I'll get supper and prove what a housewife I am. Roger, if you do not swallow everything I prepare without a wry face, and, indeed, with every appearance of relish, I shall predict foryou the most miserable old bachelorhood all your days. "

"I am afraid you will put Roger's gallantry to a very severe test, "cried Mrs. Jocelyn gayly. "Indeed, I fear we have not very muchfor supper except the warmest good-will. Our poverty now, however, will not last long, for I feel that I can so manage hereafter asto make amends for all the past. I can see that I am the one whohas been to blame; but all that's past, and with my clearer, fullerknowledge and larger opportunities I can do wonders. "

Roger was much struck by the peculiar smile with which Mr. Jocelynregarded his wife as she uttered these words. 

"Lemme show you what Aunty Wheaton gave me dis mornin', " lispedFred, pulling Roger up. 

As he rose he caught a glimpse of Mildred's face, and saw that shewas regarding her mother and father in undisguised horror. Somethingwas evidently wrong--fearfully wrong. There was a skeleton in thatcheerful lighted room, and the girl saw it plainly. Never would heforget her terrible expression. He trembled with apprehension ashe stood over the child's toy and tried to imagine what it was thathad suddenly filled the place with a nameless dread and foreboding. So quick and strong was his sympathy for Mildred, so unmistakablehad been the expression of the girl's face, that he was suresomething must soon occur which would explain her fears. 

He was right, for at this moment Dr. Benton knocked, entered, and took the chair he had vacated. The physician looked with somesurprise at his patient and Mrs. Jocelyn's flushed, smiling face. As he felt her pulse her sleeve fell back, and he saw the ominouslittle red scar, and then he understood it all, and fixed apenetrating glance on the face of her husband, who would not meethis eye. 

"I have done you wrong, Dr. Benton, " Mrs. Jocelyn began volubly, "for we all are indebted to your skill that my husband is so muchbetter. This day, which promised to pass so sadly, has a brightending, thanks to your timely remedies. We are once more a unitedhousehold, and I can never thank our dear young friend here, Mr. Atwood, enough that he discovered my husband and brought him to usand to your able treatment. Surely, Millie, your prejudice againsthim must vanish now, for--"

"Mother, " cried Mildred, "if you have a grain of reason or self-controlleft, close your lips. Oh, what a mockery it all is!"

When Belle took her astonished eyes from Mildred's face, Roger, who stood near the door, was gone. 

"You had better follow your daughter's advice, Mrs. Jocelyn, " saidthe physician quietly and soothingly; "you are a little feverish, and I prescribe quiet. May I see you alone a moment or two, Mr. Jocelyn?"

"Yes, here in my room, " added Mildred eagerly. 

It was with the aspect of mingled fear and haughtiness that Mr. Jocelyn followed Dr. Benton into the apartment, and the door wasclosed. 

"Mother, you are ill, " said Mildred, kneeling beside her. "For mysake, for yours, pray keep quiet for a while. "

"Ill! I never felt better in my life. It's all your unreasonableprejudice, Millie. "

"I think so too, " cried Belle indignantly. "We were just beginningto have a little sunshine, and you have spoiled everything. "

"I am the only one who knows the truth, and I shall take theresponsibility of directing our affairs for the next few hours, "replied Mildred, rising, with a pale, impassive face. "Belle, mycourse has nothing to do with Roger Atwood. I exceedingly regret, however, that he has been present. Wait till you hear what Dr. Benton says;" and there was something so resolute and almost sternin her manner that even Mrs. Jocelyn, in her unnatural exaltation, yielded. Indeed, she was already becoming drowsy from the effectsof the narcotic. 

"You are not yourself, mamma. I'll explain all to-morrow, " theyoung girl added soothingly. 

"Mr. Jocelyn, " said the physician, with quiet emphasis, "you haveinjected morphia into your wife's arm. "

"I have not. "

"My dear sir, I understand your case thoroughly, and so do yourwife and daughter, as far as they can understand my explanations. Now if you will cease your mad folly I can save you, I think; thatis, if you will submit yourself absolutely to my treatment. "

"You are talking riddles, sir. Our poverty does not warrant anyassumption on your part. "

"I know the insane and useless instinct of those in your conditionto hide their weakness; but can you not control it, and permit meas your friend and physician to help you? I am seeking your interests, not my own. "

"Curse you!" cried Mr. Jocelyn, in a burst of uncontrollable anger;"if you had been my friend you would have let me die, but insteadyou have said things to my wife that have blasted me forever inher eyes. If she had not known, I could have made the effort yourequire; but now I'm a lost man, damned beyond remedy, and I'drather see the devil himself than your face again. These are myrooms, and I demand that you depart and never appear here again. "

The physician bowed coldly, and left the ill-fated family to itself. 

Mildred, who overheard her father's concluding words, felt that itwould be useless then to interpose. Indeed she was so dispiritedand exhausted that she could do no more than stagger under theheavy burden that seemed crushing her very soul. 

She assisted her mother to retire, and the latter was soon sleepingwith a smile upon her lips. Mr. Jocelyn sat sullenly apart, staringout into the bleak, stormy darkness, and Mildred left him for thefirst time in her life without giving him his good-night kiss. Asshe realized this truth, she sank on her couch and sobbed so bitterlythat Belle, who had been meditating reproaches, looked at her withtearful wonder. Suddenly Mildred arose in strong compunction, andrushed back to her father; but he started up with such a desperatelook that she recoiled. 

"Don't touch me, " he cried. "Put your lips to the gutter of thestreets, if you will, but not to such pitch and foulness as I havebecome. "

"Oh, papa, have mercy!" she pleaded. 

"Mercy!" he repeated, with a laugh that froze her blood, "there isno mercy on earth nor in heaven, " and he waved her away, and againturned his face to the outer darkness. 

"Millie, oh, Millie, what IS the matter?" cried Belle, shocked ather sister's horror-stricken face. 

"Oh, Belle, is there any good God?"

"Millie, I'm bewildered. What does it all mean? The evening thatbegan so brightly seems ending in tragedy. "

"Yes, tragedy in bitter truth. Hope is murdered, life poisoned, hearts made to bleed from wounds that can never heal. Belle, papaloves opium better than he does you or me, better than his wifeand little helpless children, better than heaven and his own soul. Would to God I had never lived to see this day!"

CHAPTER XXXII

A BLACK CONSPIRACY

On the following morning Mrs. Jocelyn was ill and much depressedfrom the reaction of the drug that had been given without herknowledge, and after learning all that had transpired she sankinto an almost hopeless apathy. Mildred also was unable to rise, and Belle went to their respective employers and obtained a leaveof absence for a day or two, on the ground of illness in the family. Mrs. Wheaton now proved herself a discreet and very helpful friend, showing her interest by kindly deeds and not by embarrassing questions. Indeed she was so well aware of the nature of the affliction thatoverwhelmed the family that she was possessed by the most dismalforebodings as well as the deepest sympathy. 

Mr. Jocelyn had departed at an early hour, leaving a note whereinhe stated that he might be absent some days seeking employment ina neighboring city. He had felt that it would be impossible to meethis family immediately after the experiences of the previous day. Indeed he had gone away with the desperate resolve that he wouldbreak his habit or never return; but alas for the resolves of anopium slave!

Time dragged heavily on, the family living under a nightmareof anxiety, fear, and horrible conjectures. What might he not do?What new phase of the tragedy would hereafter be developed?

Now that the busy season was over, the girls found that they couldretain their position as saleswomen only by accepting whatevertheir employers chose to pay, and the thrifty shopkeepers satisfiedtheir consciences with the thought that they could obtain scoresof others at even lower prices. Mr. Schriven, in the multiplicityof other interests, had almost forgotten Belle, and she had becomein his mind merely a part of the establishment. Her dejected faceand subdued manner excited some remark among her companions whenshe again appeared, but her explanation, "Mother is ill, " quietedall curiosity. 

For a few days Mildred looked as white and crushed as a brokenlily, and then the reserve strength and courage of the girl beganto reassert themselves. With a fortitude that was as heroic as itwas simple and unostentatious, she resolutely faced the truth andresolved to do each day's duty, leaving the result in God's hands. With a miser's care she husbanded her strength, ate the mostnourishing food they could afford, and rested every moment herduties permitted. The economy they were now compelled to practiceamounted almost to daily privation. Belle and the children wereoften a little petulant over this change, Mrs. Jocelyn apathetic, but Mildred was inflexible. "We must not run in debt one penny, "she would often remark with compressed lips. 

Although frequently unoccupied at the shop, she was neverthelesscompelled to stand, and in spite of this cruel requirement sherallied slowly. Thanks, however, to her wise carefulness, she didgain steadily in her power to endure and to fight the hard battleof life. 

One of the saddest features of their trouble was the necessityof reticence and of suffering in silence. Their proud, sensitivespirits did not permit them to speak of their shame even to Mrs. Wheaton, and she respected their reserve. Indeed, among themselvesthey shrank from mentioning the sorrow that oppressed every wakingmoment and filled their dreams with woful imagery. 

Daring an absence of nearly two weeks Mr. Jocelyn occasionally wrotea line, saying that he was as well as they could expect, and thatwas all. Then he reappeared among them and began leading a desultorykind of life, coming and going in an aimless way, and giving butlittle account of himself. They saw with a deeper depression thathe had not improved much, although apparently he had avoided anygreat excesses. Occasionally he gave Mildred a little money, buthow it was obtained she did not know. It was well he was reticent, for had she known that it was often part of a small loan from somehalf-pitying friend of former days, and that it would never berepaid, she would not have used a penny of it. They were simplycompelled to recognize the awful truth, that the husband and fatherwas apparently a confirmed opium inebriate. At first they pleadedwith him again and again, unable to understand how it was possiblefor him to continue in so fatal a course, but at last they despairinglydesisted. He would at times weep almost hysterically, overwhelmedwith remorse, and again storm in reckless anger and unreasoningfury. As in thousands of other homes wherein manhood and honor havebeen destroyed, they found no better resource than silent endurance. Under such inflictions resignation is impossible. For Mrs. Jocelynand Mildred it was simply a daily martyrdom, but in her companionshipwith Roger, Belle had much to sustain, cheer, and even brightenher life. 

He was in truth a loyal friend, and daily racked his brain foropportunities to show her and Mrs. Jocelyn some reassuring attention;and his kindness and that of Mrs. Wheaton were about the onlyglints of light upon their darkening way. Mildred was polite andeven kind in her manner toward the young man, since for Belle'ssake and her mother's she felt that she must be so. His course, moreover, had compelled her respect; but nevertheless her shrinkingaversion did not diminish. The fact that an evil destiny had seeminglydestroyed her hope of ever looking into the face of Vinton Arnoldagain made the revolt of her heart all the more bitter againstan unwelcome love of which she was ever conscious when Roger waspresent. But he had won her entire respect; he knew so much, andhe worked on and waited. The grasp of his mind upon his studiesdaily grew more masterful, and his industry and persistence wereso steady that the old commission merchant began to nod to himselfapprovingly. 

The current of time flowed sluggishly on, bringing only changes forthe worse to the Jocelyns. Early spring had come, but no spring-tidehope, and in its stead a bitter humiliation. The pressure of povertyat last became so great that the Jocelyns were in arrears for rentand were compelled to move. In this painful ordeal Mrs. Wheatonwas a tower of strength, and managed almost everything for them, since no dependence could be placed on Mr. Jocelyn. The reader'sattention need not be detained by a description of their new shelter--forit could not be called a home. They had a living-room and two verysmall bedrooms in a brick tenement wedged in among others of likeunredeemed angularity, and belonging to the semi-respectable, commonplace order. It was occupied by stolid working-people ofvarious nationalities, and all engaged in an honest scramble forbread, with time and thought for little else. The house was simplya modern, cheap shelter, built barely within the requirementsof the law, and, from its newness, unsoiled as yet with the grimeof innumerable crowded families. Everything was slight, thin, andmoney-saving in the architecture; and if a child cried, a shrill-tonguedwoman vociferated, or a laborer, angry or drunk, indulged in thegeneral habit of profanity, all the other inmates of the abodewere at once aware of the fact. By the majority, such sounds wereno more heeded than the rumble in the streets, but to poor Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred, with natures like AEolian harps, the discordsof such coarse, crowded life were often horrible. There was naughtto do but exist from day to day, to win what bread they couldwherewith to sustain a life that seemed to promise less and less. Mr. Jocelyn was steadily sinking, and Belle, at last, growing bitterand restless under the privations of her lot, in spite of Roger'sunfaltering friendship. 

Mr. Jocelyn was not one who could sin in a conservative, prudentway. He seemed utterly unable to rally and be a man in hisown strength, and his remorse over his conduct was so great thathe sought a refuge in almost continuous excess. The greater theheight, the more tremendous the fall, and he had now reached therecklessness of despair. He had many stolid, slouching neighborsin the tenements, who permitted life to be at least endurable fortheir families because of the intervals between their excesses;but an interval to Mr. Jocelyn was a foretaste of perdition. Nevertheless, if the wretched man, by a kindly violence, couldhave been shut up and away for weeks, perhaps months, from allpossibility of obtaining the poisons that were destroying him, and treated with scientific skill, he might have been saved evenat this late hour. When the world recognizes that certain vicessooner or later pass from the character of voluntary evil into thephase of involuntary disease, and should be treated rigorously andradically under the latter aspect, many lives and homes will besaved from final wreck. 

No principles are better known than the influences of soil, climate, darkness, and light upon a growing plant. If the truth could beappreciated that circumstances color life and character just assurely, marring, distorting, dwarfing, or beautifying and developing, according as they are friendly or adverse, the workers in the moralvineyard, instead of trying to obtain fruit from sickly vines, whose roots grope in sterility, and whose foliage is poisoned, would bring the richness of opportunity to the soil and purify thesocial atmosphere. Immature Belle, in spite of all the influencesfor good from her mother, her sister, and Roger, could scarcely residewhere she did and grow pure and womanly. She was daily compelledto see and hear too much that was coarse, evil, and debasing. 

She knew that Roger was a friend, and nothing more--that his wholeheart was absorbed in Mildred--and her feminine nature, stimulatedby the peculiarities of her lot, craved warmer attentions. In herimpoverished condition, and with her father's character becominggenerally known, such attentions would not naturally come from youngmen whom those who loved her best could welcome. She was growingrestless under restrictions, and her crowded, half-sheltered lifewas robbing her of womanly reserve. These undermining influencesworked slowly, imperceptibly, but none the less certainly, and sherecognized the bold, evil admiration which followed her more andmore unshrinkingly. 

Mr. Jocelyn's condition was no longer a secret, and he often, in common with other confirmed habitues, increased the effects ofopium by a free use of liquor. He therefore had practically ceasedto be a protector to his daughters. Fred and Minnie, in spite ofall the broken-hearted and failing mother could do, were becominglittle street Arabs, learning all too soon the evil of the world. 

Since the revelation of her father's condition Mildred had finallyrelinquished her class at the mission chapel. Her sensitive spiritwas so shadowed by his evil that she felt she would be speechlessbefore children who might soon learn to associate her name witha vice that would seem to them as horrible as it was mysterious. Bread and shelter she must obtain, but she was too fear-haunted, too conscious of the shame to which she was linked, to face thepublic on any occasion not connected with her daily toil. 

The pride characteristic of American people who have lapsedfrom a better condition was intensified by her Southern birth andprejudices. More than hunger, cold, and even death, she feared beingrecognized, pointed out, stared at, and gossiped about, while thethought of receiving charity brought an almost desperate look intoher usually clear blue eyes. Therefore she shrank from even Mr. Wentworth, and was reticent on all topics relating to their domesticaffairs. She knew that there were many families whom he was almostsustaining through crises of illness and privation; she also knewthat there were far more who sought to trade upon his sympathies. While she could take aid from him as readily as from any one, shealso believed that before she could receive it she must be frankconcerning her father. Rather than talk of his shame, even to herpastor, it might well be believed that the girl would starve. Whatshe might do for the sake of the others was another question. 

Mr. Wentworth in sadness recognized the barrier which Mildred'spride was rearing between them, but he was too wise and experiencedto be obtrusively personal. He sought earnestly, however, to guardthe young girl against the moral danger which so often results fromdiscouragement and unhappiness, and he entreated her not to partwith her faith, her clinging trust in God. 

"A clinging trust is, indeed, all that I have left, " she had repliedso sadly that his eye suddenly moistened; "but the waves of troubleseem strong and pitiless, and I sometimes fear that my handsare growing numb and powerless. In plain prose, I'm just ploddingon--God knows whither. In my weary, faltering way I am trying totrust Him, " she added, after a brief silence, "and I always hopeto; but I am so tired, Mr. Wentworth, so depressed, that I'm likethe soldiers that have been described to me as marching on withheavy eyes and heavy feet because they must. There is no usein my coming to the chapel, for I haven't the heart to say a wordof cheer to any one, and hollow words would hurt me, while doingno good. I am trying your charity sorely, but I can't help it. Ifear you cannot understand me, for even your Christian sympathy isa burden. I'm too tired, too sorely wounded to make any response;while all the time I feel that I ought to respond gratefully andearnestly. It seems a harsh and unnatural thing to say, but my chiefwish is to shrink away from everybody and everything not essentialto my daily work. I think I shall have strength enough to keep upa mechanical routine of life for a long time, but you must not askme to think or give way to feeling, much less to talk about myselfand--and--the others. If I should lose this stolid self-controlwhich I am gaining, and which enables me to plod along day by daywith my eyes shut to what may be on the morrow, I believe I shouldbecome helpless from despair and grief. "

"My dear child, " the clergyman had replied, in deep solicitude, "Ifear you are dangerously morbid; and yet I don't know. This approachto apathy of which you speak may be God's shield from thoughts thatwould be sharp arrows. I can't help my honest sympathy, and I hopeand trust that I may soon be able to show it in some helpful way--Imean in the way of finding you more remunerative and less cruelwork, " he added quickly, as he saw a faint flush rising in the younggirl's face. Then he concluded, gravely and gently, "Miss Mildred, I respect you--I respect even your pride; but, in the name of ourcommon faith and the bonds it implies, do not carry it too far. Good-by. Come to me whenever you need, or your conscience suggestsmy name, " and the good man went away wholly bent on obtaining somebetter employment for Mildred; and he made not a little effortto do so, only to find every avenue of labor suited to the girl'scapacity already thronged. Meanwhile the needs and sorrows ofothers absorbed his time and thoughts. 

Belle, because of her thorough liking and respect for Mr. Wentworth, and even more for the reason that he had obtained her promise tocome, was rarely absent from her class, and the hour spent at thechapel undoubtedly had a good and restraining influence; but overand against this one or two hours in seven days were pitted themoral atmosphere of the shop, the bold admiration and advancesin the streets, which were no longer unheeded and were scarcelyresented, and the demoralizing sights and sounds of a tenement-house. The odds were too great for poor Belle. Like thousands of othergirls, she stood in peculiar need of sheltered home life, andcharity broad as heaven should be exercised toward those exposedas she was. 

As Mr. Jocelyn sank deeper in degradation, Mildred's morbid impulseto shrink, cower, and hide, in such poor shelter as she had, grewstronger, and at last she did little more than try to sleep throughthe long, dreary Sabbaths, that she might have strength for the almosthopeless struggle of the week. She was unconsciously drifting intoa hard, apathetic materialism, in which it was her chief effort notto think or remember--from the future she recoiled in terror--butsimply to try to maintain her physical power to meet the dailystrain. 

It is a sad and terrible characteristic of our Christian city, thatgirls, young, beautiful, and unprotected like Mildred and Belle, are the natural prey of remorseless huntsmen. Only a resoluteintegrity, great prudence and care, can shield them; and these notfrom temptation and evil pursuit, but only from the fall which suchsnares too often compass. 

Of these truths Mildred had a terrible proof. A purer-hearted girlthan she never entered the maelstrom of city life; but those wholooked upon her lovely face looked again, and lingeringly, andthere was one who had devoured her beauty daily with wolfish eyes. In charge of the department of the shop wherein she toiled, therewas a man who had long since parted with the faintest trace ofprinciple or conscience. He was plausible, fine-looking, after acertain half-feminine type, and apparently vigilant and faithfulin his duties as a floor-walker; but his spotless linen concealeda heart that plotted all the evil his hands dared to commit. Forhim Mildred had possessed great attractions from the first; and, with the confidence bestowed by his power, and many questionablesuccesses, he made his first advances so openly that he receivedmore than one public and stinging rebuff. A desire for revenge, therefore, had taken entire possession of him, and with a serpent'scold, deadly patience he was waiting for a chance to uncoil andstrike. Notwithstanding his outward civility, Mildred never metthe expression of his eyes without a shudder. 

From frank-tongued Belle, Roger had obtained some hints of thisman's earlier attentions, and of his present ill-concealed dislike--alatent hostility which gave Mildred no little uneasiness, since, by some pretext, he might cause her dismissal. She knew too wellthat they were in such straits now that they could not afford onehour's idleness. Roger therefore nursed a bitter antipathy againstthe fellow. 

One evening, late in March, the former was taking his usual briefwalk before sitting down to long hours of study. He was at libertyto go whither he pleased, and not unnaturally his steps, for thehundredth time, perhaps, passed the door through which he couldcatch a glimpse of the young girl, who, with apparent hopelessness, and yet with such pathetic patience, was fighting a long battlewith disheartening adversity. He was later than usual, and theemployees were beginning to leave. Suddenly the obnoxious floor-walkerappeared at the entrance with a hurried and intent manner. Then hepaused a second or two and concealed himself behind a show-case. Roger now saw that his eyes were fixed on a girl who had justpreceded him, and who, after a furtive glance backward, hastenedup the avenue. Her pursuer--for such he evidently was--followedinstantly, and yet sought to lose himself in the crowd so that shecould not detect him. Partly in the hope of learning something tothe disadvantage of one who might have it in his power to injureMildred, and partly from the motive of adding zest to an aimlesswalk, Roger followed the man. 

The girl, with another quick glance over her shoulder, at last turneddown a side street, and was soon walking alone where passengerswere few and the street much in shadow; here her pursuer joinedher, and she soon evinced violent agitation, stopping suddenly witha gesture of indignant protest. He said something, however, thatsubdued her speedily, and they went on together for some littledistance, the man talking rapidly, and then they turned into along, dark passage that led to some tenements in the rear of thosefronting on the street. About midway in this narrow alley a singlegas jet burned, and under its light Roger saw them stop, and thegirl produce from beneath her waterproof cloak something white, thatappeared like pieces of wound lace. The man examined them, made amemorandum, and then handed them back to the girl, who hesitatedto take them; but his manner was so threatening and imperious thatshe again concealed them on her person. As they came out together, Roger, with hat drawn over his eyes, gave them a glance which fixedthe malign features of the man and the frightened, guilty visageof the girl on his memory. They regarded him suspiciously, but, as he went on without looking back, they evidently thought him acasual passer-by. 

"It's a piece of villany, " Roger muttered, "but of what nature Ihave no means of discovering, even were it any affair of mine. I amsatisfied of one thing, however--that man's a scoundrel; seeminglyhe has the girl in his power, and it looks as if she had beenstealing goods and he is compounding the felony with her. "

If he had realized the depth of the fellow's villany he would nothave gone back to his studies so quietly, for the one nearest tohis heart was its object. The scene he had witnessed can soon beexplained. Goods at the lace counter had been missed on more thanone occasion, and it had been the hope of Mildred's enemy that hemight fasten the suspicion upon her. On this evening, however, hehad seen the girl in question secrete two or three pieces as shewas folding them up, and he believed she had carried them away withher. Immediately on joining her he had charged her with the theft, and in answer to her denials threatened to have her searchedbefore they parted. Then in terror she admitted the fact, and wasin a condition to become his unwilling accomplice in the diabolicalscheme suggested by his discovery. 

He had said to her, in effect, that he suspected another girl--namely, Mildred Jocelyn--and that if she would place the goods in the pocketof this girl's cloak on the following afternoon he would by thisact be enabled to extort a confession from her also, such as he hadreceived in the present case. He then promised the girl in returnfor this service that he would make no complaint against her, butwould give her the chance to find another situation, which she mustdo speedily, since he could no longer permit her to remain in theemploy of the house for whom he acted. She was extremely reluctantto enter into this scheme, but, in her confusion, guilt, and fear, made the evil promise, finding from bitter experience that one sin, like an enemy within the walls, opens the gate to many others. Shetried to satisfy such conscience as she had with the thought thatMildred was no better than herself, and that the worst which couldhappen to the object of this sudden conspiracy was a quiet warningto seek employment elsewhere. The man himself promised as much, although he had no such mild measures in view. It was his designto shame Mildred publicly, to break down her character, and renderher desperate. He had learned that she had no protector worthyof the name, and believed that he could so adroitly play his partthat he would appear only as the vigilant and faithful servant ofhis employers. 

Mildred, all unconscious of the pit dug beneath her feet, was passingout the following evening into the dreary March storm, when theforeman touched her shoulder and said that one of the proprietorswished to see her. In much surprise, and with only the fear of onewhose position meant daily bread for herself and those she lovedbetter than self, she followed the man to the private office, whereshe found two of the firm, and they looked grave and severe indeed. 

"Miss Jocelyn, " began the elder, without any circumlocution, "laceshave been missed from your department, and suspicion rests on you. I hope you can prove yourself innocent. "

The charge was so awful and unexpected that she sank, paie andfaint, into a chair, and the appearance of the terror-stricken girlwas taken as evidence of guilt. But she goon rallied sufficientlyto say, with great earnestness, "Indeed, sir, I am innocent. "

"Assertion is not proof. Of course you are willing, then, to besearched?"

She, Mildred Jocelyn, searched for stolen goods! Searched, alone, in the presence of these dark-browed, frowning men! The act, theindignity, seemed overwhelming. A hot crimson flush mantled herface, and her womanhood rose in arms against the insult. 

"I do not fear being searched, " she said indignantly; "but a womanmust perform the act. "

"Certainly, " said her employer; "we do not propose anythingindecorous; but first call an officer. "

They were convinced that they had found the culprit, and weredetermined to make such an example of her as would deter all othersin the shop from similar dishonesty. 

Mildred was left to herself a few moments, faint and bewildered, a whirl of horrible thoughts passing through her mind; and then, conscious of innocence, she began to grow calm, believing that theordeal would soon be over. Nevertheless she had received a shockwhich left her weak and trembling, as she followed two of the mosttrusty women employed in the shop to a private apartment, at whosedoor she saw a bulky guardian of the law. The majority, unawareof what had taken place, had departed; but such as remained hadlingered, looking in wonder at the hasty appearance of the policeman, and the intense curiosity had been heightened when they saw himstationed near an entrance through which Mildred was speedily led. They at once surmised the truth, and waited for the result of thesearch in almost breathless expectation. The girl who had doneMildred so deep a wrong had hastened away among the first, and sowas unaware of what was taking place; the chief conspirator, froman obscure part in the now half-lighted shop, watched with crueleyes the working of his plot. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

MILDRED IN A PRISON CELL

Not from any sense of guilt, but rather from the tremblingapprehensiveness of one whose spirit is already half broken byundeserved misfortune, Mildred tottered to a chair within the smallapartment to which she had been taken. With an appealing glance tothe two women who stood beside her she said, "Oh, hasten to provethat I am innocent! My burden was already too heavy, and this ishorrible. "

"Miss Jocelyn, " replied the elder of the women, in a matter-of-facttone, "it's our duty to search you thoroughly, and, if innocent, you will not fear it. There will be nothing 'horrible' about theaffair at all, unless you have been stealing, and it seems to methat an honest girl would show more nerve. "

"Search me, then--search as thoroughly as you please, " cried Mildred, with an indignant flush crimsoning her pale, wan face. "I'd soonerstarve a thousand times than take a penny that did not belong tome. "

Grimly and silently, and with a half-incredulous shrug, the woman, whose mind had been poisoned against Mildred, began her search, first taking off the young girl's waterproof cloak. "Why is thebottom of this side-pocket slit open?" she asked severely. "Whatis this, away down between the lining and the cloth?" and she drewout two pieces of valuable lace. 

Mildred looked at the ominous wares with dilated eyes, and for amoment was speechless with astonishment and terror. 

"Your words and deeds are a trifle discordant, " began the woman, in cold satire, "but your manner is more in keeping. "

"I know nothing about that lace, " Mildred exclaimed passionately. "This is a plot against--"

"Oh, nonsense!" interrupted the woman harshly. "Here, officer, "she continued, opening the door, "take your prisoner. These goodswere found upon her person, concealed within the lining of hercloak, " and she showed him where the lace had been discovered. 

"A mighty clear case, " was his grinning reply; "still you must beready to testify to-morrow, unless the girl pleads guilty, whichwill be her best course. "

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Mildred, in a hoarsewhisper. 

"Oh, nothing uncommon, miss--only what is always done under suchcircumstances. We'll give you free lodgings to-night, and time tothink a bit over your evil ways. "

One of the seniors of the firm, who had drawn near to the door andhad heard the result of the search, now said, with much indignation, and in a tone that all present could hear, "Officer, remove yourprisoner, and show no leniency. Let the law take its full course, for we intend to stamp out all dishonesty from our establishment, most thoroughly. "

"Come, " said the policeman, roughly laying his hand on the shoulderof the almost paralyzed girl. 

"Where?" she gasped. 

"Why, to the station-house, of course, " he answered impatiently. 

"Oh, you can't mean THAT. "

"Come, come, no nonsense, no airs. You knew well enough thatthe station-house and jail were at the end of the road you weretravelling. People always get found out, sooner or later. If youmake me trouble in arresting you, it will go all the harder withyou. "

"Can't I--can't I send word to my friends?"

"No, indeed, not now. Your pals must appear in court to-morrow. "

She looked appealingly around, and on every face within the circleof light saw only aversion and anger, while the cruel, mocking eyesof the man whose coarse advances she had so stingingly resentedwere almost fiendish in their exultation. 

"It's of no use, " she muttered bitterly. "It seems as if allthe world, and God Himself, were against me, " and giving way to adespairing apathy she followed the officer out of the store--outinto the glaring lamplight of the street, out into the wild Marchstorm that swept her along toward prison. To her morbid mindthe sleet-lad en gale seemed in league with all the other maligninfluences that were hurrying her on to shame and ruin. 

"Hi, there! Look where you are going, " thundered the policeman toa passenger who was breasting the storm, with his umbrella pointedat an angle that threatened the officer's eye. 

The umbrella was thrown back, and then flew away on the gale fromthe nerveless hands of Roger Atwood. Dumb and paralyzed with wonder, he impeded their progress a moment as he looked into Mildred'swhite face. At last a time had come when she welcomed his presence, and she cried, "Oh, Mr. Atwood, tell them at home--tell them I'minnocent. "

"What does this outrage mean?" he demanded, in a tone that causethe officer to grasp his club tightly. 

"It means that if you interfere by another word I'll arrest youalso. Move on, and mind your business. "

"Miss Jocelyn, explain, " he said earnestly to her, without budgingan inch, and the comparatively few passers-by began to gather aroundthem. 

"You can have no communication with the prisoner on the street, "said the arm of the law roughly; "and if you don't get out of myway you'll be sorry. "

"Please don't draw attention to me, " entreated Mildred hurriedly. "You can do nothing. I'm falsely accused--tell them at home. "

He passed swiftly on her side, and, as he did so, whispered, "Youshall not be left alone a moment. I'll follow, and to-morrow proveyou innocent, " for, like a flash, the scene he had witnessed theevening before came into his mind. 

"Quit that, " warned the officer, "or I'll--" but the young man wasgone. He soon turned, however, and followed until he saw Mildredled within the station-house door. The storm was so severe as tomaster the curiosity of the incipient crowd, and only a few streetgamins followed his example. He was wary now, and, having regainedhis self-control, he recognized a task that would tax his bestskill and tact. 

Having watched until he saw the officer who had made the arrestdepart, he entered the station-house. To the sergeant on duty behindthe long desk he said, with much courtesy, "I am a friend of MissJocelyn, a young woman recently brought to this station. I wish todo nothing contrary to your rules, but I would like to communicatewith her and do what I can for her comfort. Will you please explainto me what privileges may be granted to the prisoner and to herfriends?"

"Well, this is a serious case, and the proof against her is almostpositive. The stolen goods were found upon her person, and heremployers have charged that there be no leniency. "

"Her employers could not have wished her treated cruelly, and ifthey did, you are not the man to carry out their wishes, " Rogerinsinuated. "All that her friends ask is kindness and fair play withinthe limits of your rules. Moreover, her friends have informationwhich will show her to be innocent, and let me assure you thatshe is a lady by birth and breeding, although the family has beenreduced to poverty. She has influential friends. "

His words evidently had weight with the sergeant, and Roger's bearingwas so gentlemanly that the official imagined that the young manhimself might represent no mean degree of social and politicalinfluence. 

"Yes, " he said, "I noticed that she wasn't one of the common sort. "

"And you must have observed also that she was delicate and fraillooking. "

"Yes, that, too, was apparent, and we have every disposition to behumane toward prisoners. You can send her some supper and bedding, and if you wish to write to her you can do so, but must submit whatyou write to the captain of the precinct. I'm expecting him everyminute. "

Roger wrote rapidly:

"Miss JOCELYN--Your friends fully believe in your innocence, and Ithink I can say without doubt that they have the means of provingit. Much depends on your maintaining strength and courage. Beddingwill be sent to make you comfortable, and, for the sake of yourmother and those you love at home, I hope you will not refuse thesupper that shall soon be sent also. I have ever believed that youwere the bravest girl in the world, and now that so much dependson your fortitude and nerve, I am sure you will second the effortsof those who are trying to aid you. With the strongest respect andsympathy, ROGER ATWOOD. "

The captain, who soon appeared, saw no objection to this note, andpromised that it should be sent to Mildred. 

Roger then went to the nearest restaurant, and procured a delicateand inviting supper, which, with a generous pot of coffee, hecarried so swiftly through the storm that it was sent smoking hotto the cell in which Mildred was confined. 

He then hastened to a livery-stable, and, having obtained a carriage, was driven rapidly to the tenement in which the Jocelyns had theirrooms. Mr. Jocelyn, fortunately, was absent; for Mildred's naturalprotector would only have made matters far worse. If the guardiansof the law had looked upon the wrecked and fallen man they would havefelt that the daughter's alleged crime was already half explained. But a visit from Mrs. Jocelyn would make a far different impression, andhe determined that she alone should accompany him to the station-house. 

It would be useless to pain the reader with Mrs. Jocelyn's distress, and for a time Roger thought the tidings would crush the alreadystricken woman; but in answer to his appeal she soon rallied in defenceof her child. At his request she assumed, as far as possible, thegarb of a lady--the appearance and bearing of one was inseparablefrom her. It was with much difficulty that he persuaded the weepingand indignant Belle to remain with the children, for he well knewthat she was far too excitable to deal with the police. Having madeevery provision possible for Mildred's comfort, they soon reachedthe station-house, and the sergeant in charge greeted them politely;but on learning their errand he frowned, and said to Mrs. Jocelyn, "No, you can't see her till she is brought into court to-morrow. "

In answer to the mother's appeals and Roger's expostulations heremarked impatiently, "Do you think I'm going to disobey orders?Either take my answer or wait till the captain comes in again. "

They had no other resource, and sat down to weary waiting, themother weeping silently, and Roger, with sternly knit brows, deepin thought. 

At last the captain returned, and the sergeant rose and said, "Here's the mother of the girl who was taken with stolen goods onher person. She wishes to speak with you. "

"Well, what is it?" demanded the police-captain a little harshly, turning toward Mrs. Jocelyn; but his manner softened as he lookedupon the thin, delicate features which had not yet lost their old, sweet charm, and which now were eloquent with a mother's unspeakablegrief and solicitude. "Don't be frightened, madam, " he added, somewhat kindly, as he saw the poor woman's ineffectual effortsto rise and speak. "I'm human, and not more hard-hearted than myduties require. "

At last Mrs. Jocelyn burst forth: "If you have a heart at all, sir, save mine from breaking. My child is innocent--it will be provedto-morrow. A year ago we had a happy, beautiful home, and my girla father whom all men respected. We've had misfortunes, that, thankGod, fall to the lot of few, but my child has kept herself spotlessthrough them all. I can prove this. She is in prison to-nightthrough no fault of hers. Oh, sir, in the name of mother-love, canyou keep me from my child? Can I not see her even for a moment, and say to her one reassuring word? She may go mad from fear andshame. She may die. Oh, sir, if you have the heart of a man, letme see her, let me speak to her. You, or any one, may be presentand see that I mean no harm. "

"There certainly has been some dreadful mistake, " Roger put inhastily, as he saw the man was irresolute, and was regarding thesuppliant sympathetically. "People who must command your respectwill be glad to testify that Miss Jocelyn's character is such asto render impossible anything dishonorable on her part. "

"Let me warn you, " said the officer keenly, "that any such negativetestimony will have but little weight against the positive factsin the case. "

"Oh, let me see my child, " cried Mrs. Jocelyn, in tones of suchpassionate pathos that his scruples gave way, and he said to thesergeant, "Let her see the girl! I'd be a brute to deny her, evenif it is against our rules. The doorman need not stand near enoughto embarrass them. "

As Mrs. Jocelyn eagerly descended to the cells in the basement, thecaptain remarked to Eoger, "The girl's friends will have to bestirthemselves if they clear her. The evidence is so strong that she'llbe committed for further trial, without doubt. "

"I think she'll be discharged to-morrow, " replied Roger quietly. "I thank you for your kindness to Mrs. Jocelyn. "

"Mere statements as to the girl's previous character will not clearher, " resumed the captain emphatically. "You are a relative, lover, or something, I suppose. This poor woman has knocked my routinemethods a little out of gear. One rarely sees a face like hers ina station-house. She evidently comes of no common stock, and I'dlike to hear that the charge is all a mistake, as you claim; but, young man, you can't meet criminal charges with generalities. You'vegot to show that she didn't steal that lace. I wish you success, for the mother's sake at least, " and he passed into his privateroom. 

As Mildred was about to enter the station-house she had lookedback, hoping, for the first time in her life, that Roger Atwoodwas near. The eager and reassuring wave of his hand satisfied herthat he would know the place of her imprisonment, and that he woulddo for her all within his power. Again he had appeared in the hourof misfortune and bitter humiliation. But, inspite of her heart, she now did justice to his sturdy loyalty, and she was comforted andsustained by the thought that not quite all the world was againsther. She also knew that he would relieve her mother and Belle fromunendurable anxiety on account of her absence, and that he wouldsummon Mr. Wentworth to her aid. His promise to prove her innocenthad meant nothing to her more than that he would inform and rallyall of her friends. That he could know anything that would throwlight on the evil mystery did not seem possible. She was thentoo miserable and depressed to do much more than wait, in a sortof stunned torpor, for what might next occur. Mechanically sheanswered such questions as were put to her in order that a recordof the case might be made, and then was led to the cells below. She shuddered as she saw the dimly lighted stairway, and it seemedto her morbid fancy that she was to be thrust into a subterraneandungeon. Such, in a certain sense, it was; for in some of the olderstation-houses the cells are located in the basement. At the endof the corridor, nearest the street, she saw several women, and, unkempt and disgusting as these station-house tramps appeared, thefact that some of her own sex were near was reassuring. A prisonwas to her a place full of nameless horrors, for the romances shehad read in brighter days gave to it the associations of medievaldungeons. Of the prosaic character of a modern jail she knew nothing, and when she was placed within a bare cell, and the grated irondoor was locked upon her, the horrible desolation of her positionseemed as complete and tragic a fate as had ever overtaken theunfortunate in the cruel past. She sat down upon the grimy woodenbench, which was the only provision made for rest or comfort, and the thought of spending a lonely night in such a place wasoverpowering. Not that she could hope for sleep, even if there weredowny pillows instead of this unredeemed couch of plank on whichsome beastly inebriate may have slept off his stupor the nightbefore, but she felt weak and faint, and her overtaxed physicalnature craved some support and rest. 

Distress of mind, however, soon made her forget all this, as herfaculties slowly rallied from the shock they had received, and shebegan to realize that she was charged with a crime of which it mightbe difficult--perhaps impossible--to prove her innocence. At best, she feared she would always be so clouded with suspicion that allwould refuse to employ her, and that her blighted life and undeservedshame, added to her father's character, would drag the family downto the lowest depths. The consequences to them all, and especiallyto Belle, seemed so threatening and terrible that she wrung herhands and moaned aloud. 

At every sound she started up, nervous and morbidly apprehensive. The grating of the key in the iron door had given her a sense ofrelief and refuge. The massive bars that shut her in also shut outthe brutal and criminal, who were associated with a prison in hermind; the thoughts of whom had filled her very soul with terror, when she was first arrested. As it was early in the evening shehappened to be the first prisoner, and she prayed that there mightbe no others, for the possibility that some foul, drunken man mightbe thrust into an adjoining cell made her flesh creep. How manylong, sleepless hours must pass before morning could bring anyhope of release! And yet she dreaded the coming day unspeakably, for her path to freedom lay through a police court, with all itshorrible publicity. Her name might get into the papers, and proudMrs. Arnold treasure up every scrap of such intelligence about her. The tidings of her shame might be sent to her who as Miss Wetheridgehad been her friend, and even she would shrink from one around whomclung such disgraceful associations. Again and again she askedherself, How could the charge against her be met? How could thefamily live without her? What would become of them? Belle, alas, would be rendered utterly reckless, because hopeless. The unhappyprisoner was far beyond tears. Even her faith in God failed her, for, seemingly, He had left her the victim of cruel wrong andunredeemed misfortune. With her hot, dry eyes buried in her handsshe sat motionless and despairing, and the moments passed likehours. 

At this crisis in her despair Roger's note was handed to her, and it was like the north star suddenly shining out on one who isbenighted and lost. It again kindled hope, without which mind andbody give way in fatal dejection. She kissed the missive passionately, murmuring, with eyes heavenward, "If he can clear my name fromdishonor, if he will rescue my loved ones from the poverty andshame which are now threatening such terrible evils, I will makeany sacrifice that he can ask. I will crush out my old vain love, if I die in the effort. My heart shall not prove a traitor to thosewho are true and loyal at such a time. He can save mamma, Belle, and the children from hopeless poverty, and perhaps destruction. If he will, and it is his wish, I'll give all there is left of myunhappy self. I will be his loyal wife--would to God I could behis loving wife! Oh, would to God he had loved Belle instead of me!I could be devotion itself as his sister. But surely I can banishmy old fond dream--which was never more than a dream--when one sodeserving, so faithful, is willing to give me his strong, helpfulhand. We are both very young; it will be years before--before--and, surely, in so long a time, I can conquer my infatuation for onewho has left me all these dreary months without a word. A woman'sheart cannot be proof against reason, gratitude, and the sacredduty owed to those she loves best. At any rate, mine shall not be, and if he still craves the loyalty and--and--yes, the love of oneso shamed and impoverished as I am, he shall have all-ALL, " and herface grew stern with her purpose of self-mastery. She forced downsome of the food he sent, and drank the coffee. "I will be brave, "she murmured. "I will try to second his efforts to clear my name, for death were better than shame. I shall, at least, try to deservehis respect. "

Then musingly she added, "How can my friends have gained anyinformation that would prove me innocent? Mother and Belle cannotknow anything definite, nor can Mr. Wentworth. He promised in thatbrief whisper when he passed me in the street that he would proveit. Can he have learned anything in his strange vigilance? It seemsimpossible. Alas, I fear that their best hope is to show that Ihave hitherto borne a good character, and yet if my present homeand our poverty are described, if--worse than all--papa appears inthe court-room, I fear they will think the worst, " and something ofher old despair began to return when she heard approaching footsteps. 

"Millie!" cried a loved and familiar voice. The key grated in thelock, and in another moment she was sobbing on her mother's breast, and her bruised heart was healed by the unutterable tendernessof a mother's love. It filled the dark cell with the abounding, undoubting, unquestioning spirit of unselfish devotion, which wasakin to the fragrance diffused from the broken box of alabaster. 

When sufficiently calm, Mildred told her mother what had happened, and she in turn whispered that Roger had strong hopes that he couldprove her innocence on the following day, though how she did notknow. "And yet, Millie, " she concluded, "for some reason he inspiresme with confidence, for while he feels so deeply, he is quiet andthoughtful about the least thing. Nothing seems to escape his mind, and he says he has some information of which he does not think itbest to speak at present. He entreats you to take courage, and saysthat if you will 'keep up and be your brave, true self, gentle andstrong, ' you can do much to aid him. We will all stand by you, and Mr. Wentworth will be with us. "

"Where--where is papa?" faltered Mildred, with a slight flush. "Idon't know, " responded the wife, with a deep sob. 

"Alas, mother, it's cruel to say it, but it will be best that heshould not appear at all. Keep him away if possible. I hope he maynever know anything about it, unless you think this terrible resultof his course may awaken him to a final struggle to do right. Iwould gladly suffer anything to save him. "

"No, Millie, he would not be his old self if he came into court, "said her mother dejectedly, "and his appearance and manner mightturn the scale against you. Our best hope is to let Roger manageeverything. And now, good-by, my darling. God sustain you. Do notfear anything to night. Roger says you are safe, and that his onlydread is that you may become nervously prostrated, and he relies onyour help to-morrow. I can't stay any longer. Oh, God, how glad Iwould be if I could hold you in my arms all night! Belle is stronglyexcited, and says she will never believe a word against you, norwill any of your true friends--alas! I wish we had more. "

"Time is up, " warned the doorman. 

"Tell Mr. Atwood that I am deeply grateful for his aid, and moregrateful for his trust, " said Mildred. 

"Courage, Millie; you can sustain me by keeping up yourself. Youwill find us in the court-room waiting for you. "

With an embrace in which heart throbbed against heart they separated, andthe poor girl was comforted and more hopeful in spite of herself, for while she would shrink from Roger, her confidence in hisshrewdness and intelligence had made such growth that she halfbelieved he would find some way of proving her innocent, althoughhow he had obtained any evidence in her favor she could not imagine. The bedding brought by her mother transformed the cellbunk intoa comfortable couch, and she lay down and tried to rest, so asto be ready to do her part, and her overtaxed nature soon broughtsomething like sleep. She was startled out of her half-consciousnessby a shrill cry, and sprang to her feet. There was a confused soundof steps on the stairs, and then again the same wild cry that almostmade her heart stand still. A moment later two policemen appeared, dragging a woman who was resisting and shrieking with demoniacalfury. 

The sight was a horrible one. The faces of the great, stalwartmen were reddened by exertion, for the woman seemed to possesssupernatural strength, and their familiarity with crime was not sogreat as to prevent strong expressions of disgust. Little wonder, for if a fiend could embody itself in a woman, this demented creaturewould leave nothing for the imagination. Her dress was wet, torn, and bedraggled; her long black hair hung dishevelled around a white, bloated face, from which her eyes gleamed with a fierceness likethat of insanity. 

With no little difficulty they thrust her into a cell opposite theone in which Mildred was incarcerated, and as one of the men turnedthe key upon her he said roughly, "Stay there now, you drunkenshe-devil, till you are sober, " and breathing heavily from theirefforts they left the poor wretch to the care of the jailer. 

Mildred shrank away. Not for the world would she encounter thewoman's frenzied eyes. Then she stopped her ears that she mightnot hear the horrid din and shameful language, which made the placetenfold more revolting. The man in charge of the cells sat dozingstolidly by the stove, some distance away. His repose was not tobe disturbed by such familiar sounds. 

At last the woman became quiet, and Mildred breathed more freely, until some mysterious sounds, suggesting that her terrible neighborwas trying to open her door, awakened her fears, for even thethought of her coming any nearer made her tremble. She thereforesprang up and looked between the iron bars. At first she was perplexedby what she saw, and then her heart stood still, for she soon madeout that the woman was hanging by the neck, from the highest barof her cell door. "Help, " Mildred shrieked; "quick, if you wouldsave life. "

The man by the stove sprang up and rushed forward. 

"There, see--oh, be quick!"

The jailer comprehended the situation at once, unlocked the door, and cut the parts of her clothing which the woman had improvisedinto a halter. She soon revived, and cursed him for his interference. He now watched her carefully, paying no heed to her horrible tongue, until the crazed stage of her intoxication passed into stupor. [Footnote: The writer saw the cell in which, on the evening before, the woman described tried twice to destroy herself. He also sawthe woman herself, when brought before the police justice. She hadseen twenty-five years, but in evil she seemed old indeed. Accordingto her story, she was a daughter of the uritans. ] To Mildred hesaid, reassuringly, "Don't be afraid; you're as safe as if you wereat home. "

"Home, home, home!" moaned the poor girl. "Oh, what a mockery thatword has become! My best hope may soon be to find one in heaven. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

"A WISE JUDGE"

When the interminable night would end Mildred could not guess, forno dawning was visible from her basement cell. The woman oppositegradually became stupid and silent. Other prisoners were broughtin from time to time, but they were comparatively quiet. A younggirl was placed in a cell not far away, and her passionate weepingwas pitiful to hear. The other prisoners were generally intoxicatedor stolidly indifferent, and were soon making the night hideouswith their discordant respiration. 

The place had become so terrible to Mildred that she even welcomedthe presence of the policeman who had arrested her, and who atlast came to take her to the police court. Must she walk with himthrough the streets in the open light of day? She feared she wouldfaint on what, in her weakness, would be a long journey, and herheart gave a great throb of gratitude as she saw Eoger awaitingher in the large general room, or entrance, to the station-house. Nor was her appreciation of his kindness diminished when she sawa man in attendance--evidently a waiter from a restaurant--with aplate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee. Roger came forward, eagerlygrasping her hand, and there was so much solicitude and sympathyin his dark eyes that her tears began to gather, and a faint colorto suffuse the pallor that at first had startled him. 

"Mr. Atwood, " she murmured, "you are kindness itself, and I havenot deserved it. Forgive me. I will try not to fail you to-day, for your respect sustains me, and I would not lose it. "

"I knew your brave spirit would second all our efforts, " hesaid in like low tones, and with a bright, grateful look. "Here, waiter--come, Miss Jocelyn, it's by just such prosaic means thatsoldiers sustain the fight. You'll dine at home. "

"Yes, hurry up, " added the officer; "we have no time now for wordsor ceremony. "

She ate a few mouthfuls, and drank some coffee. "I cannot take anymore now, " she said to Roger. 

Oh, how plainly her womanly instinct divined his unbounded loyalty;and, with bitter protest at her weakness, she knew with equalcertainty that she shrank from his love with her old, unconquerablerepugnance. With a dissimulation which even he did not penetrate, she looked her thanks as the officer led the way to the street, and said, "Since your friends provide the carriage, you can ride, miss; only we can't part company. "

She stepped into the coach, the policeman taking the opposite seat. 

"Oh, God, how pale and wan she is! This will kill her, " Rogergroaned, as she sprang up on the box with the driver. 

It was so early that few were abroad, and yet Mildred would not lookup. How could she ever look up again! The leaden clouds seemed torest upon the steeples of the churches. Churches! and such scenesas she had witnessed, and such a wrong as hers, were taking placeunder the shadow of their spires!

Roger had passed as sleepless a night as had fallen to Mildred'slot, and bitterly he regretted that he had been able to accomplishso little. Mr. Wentworth was out of town, and would not be back fora day or two. Then he sought the judge before whom Mildred wouldappear the following morning, and learned, with dismay, that he, too, had gone to a neighboring city, and would return barely intime to open court at the usual hour! He had hoped that, by tellinghis story beforehand, the judge would adopt his plan of discoveringthe real culprit. This was still his hope, for, after long thought, he determined not to employ counsel, fearing it would lead to aprolongation of the case. His strong characteristic of self-relianceled him to believe that he could manage the affair best alone, andhe was confident from his own inexperience. The rain had ceased, and for hours he paced the wet pavement near the station-house, finding a kind of satisfaction in being as near as possible to theone he loved, though utterly unable to say a reassuring word. 

Having learned that the prisoners might ride to court if the meanswere provided, he had a carriage ready long before the appointedtime, and his presence did much to nerve Mildred for the ordealshe so much dreaded. 

On reaching the entrance at which the prisoners were admitted, he sprang down to assist Mildred to alight; but the officer saidgruffly, "Stand back, young man; you must have your say in thecourt-room. You are a little too officious. "

"No, sir; I'm only most friendly. "

"Well, well, we have our rules, " and he led the trembling girlwithin the stony portals, and she was locked up in what is termed"the box, " with the other female prisoners, who were now arrivingon foot. 

This was, perhaps, the worst experience she had yet endured, andshe longed for the privacy of her cell again. Never before hadshe come in contact with such debased wrecks of humanity, and sheblushed for womanhood as she cowered in the furthest corner andlooked upon her companions--brutal women, with every vice stampedon their bloated features. The majority were habitual drunkards, filthy in person and foul of tongue. True to their depraved instincts, they soon began to ridicule and revile one who, by contrast, provedhow fallen and degraded they were. And yet, not even from thesedid the girl recoil with such horror as from some brazen harpieswho said words in her ear that made her hide her face with shame. The officer in charge saw that she was persecuted, and sternlyinterfered in her behalf, but from their hideous presence andcontact she could not escape. 

By some affinity not yet wholly obliterated, the girl she had heardweeping in the night shrank to her side, and her swollen eyes andforlorn appearance could not hide the fact that she was very young, and might be very pretty. Mildred knew not what to say to her, butshe took her hand and held it. This silent expression of sympathyprovoked another outburst of grief, and the poor young creaturesobbed on Mildred's shoulder as if her heart were breaking. Mildredplaced a sustaining arm around her, but her own sustaining truthand purity she could not impart. 

A partition only separated her from the "box"--which was simply alarge wooden pen with round iron bars facing the corridor--to whichthe male prisoners were brought, one after another, by the policemenwho had arrested them. The arrival of the judge was somewhat delayed, and may the reader never listen to such language as profaned herears during the long hour and a half before the opening of thecourt. 

Fortunately her turn came rather early, and she at last was usheredto the doorway which looked upon the crowded court-room, and herheart throbbed with hope as she singled out her mother, Belle, Mrs. Wheaton, and Roger, from among long lines of curious and repulsivefaces. The former kissed their hands to her, and tried to give wan, reassuring smiles, which their tears belied. Roger merely bowedgravely, and then, with an expression that was singularly alert andresolute, gave his whole attention to all that was passing. Afterrecognizing her friends, Mildred turned to the judge, feeling thatshe would discover her fate in his expression and manner. Was hea kindly, sympathetic man, unhardened by the duties of his office?She could learn but little from his grave, impassive face. She soonfeared that she had slight cause for hope, for after what seemedto her an absurdly brief, superficial trial, she saw two of hercompanions of the "box" sentenced to three months' imprisonment. The decision, which to her had such an awful import, was pronouncedin an off-hand manner, and in the matter-of-fact tone with whichone would dispose of bales of merchandise, and the floods of tearsand passionate appeals seemingly had no more effect on the arbiterof their fates than if he had been a stony image. She could notknow that they were old offenders, whose character was well knownto the judge and the officers that had arrested them. Such apparenthaphazard justice or injustice had a most depressing effect uponher and the weeping girl who stood a little in advance. 

The next prisoner who appeared before the bar received very differenttreatment. He was a middle-aged man, and had the appearance andwas clothed in the garb of a gentleman. With nervously tremblinghands and bowed head, he stood before the judge, who eyed himkeenly, after reading the charge of intoxication in the streets. 

"Have you ever been arrested before?" he asked. 

"No indeed, sir, " was the low, emphatic reply. "Come up here; Iwish to speak with you. "

The officer in attendance took the half-comprehending man by theelbow and led him up within the bar before the long desk which ranthe whole width of the court-room, and behind which the judge satwith his clerks and assistants. 

"Now tell me all about it, " said the judge, and the man in a fewwords told his story without any palliation. With a gleam of hopeMildred saw the expression of the judge's face change as he listened, and when at last he replied, in tones so low that none could hearthem save he to whom they were addressed, she saw that look whichwins all hearts--the benignant aspect of one who might condemn forevil, but who would rather win and save from evil. The man slowlylifted his eyes to the speaker's face, and hope and courage beganto show themselves in his bearing. The judge brought his extortationto a practical conclusion, for he said, "Promise me that with God'shelp you will never touch the vile stuff again. "

The promise was evidently sincere and hearty. "Give me your handon it, " said his Honor. 

The man started as if he could scarcely believe his ears, thenwrung the judge's hand, while his eyes moistened with gratitude. "You are at liberty. Good-morning, sir;" and the man turned andwalked through the crowded court-room, with the aspect of one towhom manhood had been restored. 

Hope sprang up in Mildred's heart, for she now saw that her fatewas not in the hands of a stony-hearted slave of routine. She lookedtoward her relatives, and greeted their tearful smiles with a wanglimmer of light on her own face, and then she turned to watch thefortunes of the weeping girl who followed next in order. She didnot know the charge, but guessed it only too well from the judge'sface, as the officer who had arrested her made his low explanation. She, too, was summoned within the rail, and the judge began toquestion her. At first she was too greatly overcome by her emotionsto answer. As she cowered, trembled, and sobbed, she might wellhave been regarded as the embodiment of that shame and remorsewhich overwhelm fallen womanhood before the heart is hardened andthe face made brazen by years of vice. Patiently and kindly thejudge drew from her faltering lips some pitiful story, and then hetalked to her in low, impressive tones, that seemed to go straightto her despairing soul. A kind, firm, protecting hand might thenhave led her back to a life of virtue, for such had been her bitterforetastes of the fruits of sin that surely she would have gladlyturned from them, could the chance have been given to her. Thejudge mercifully remitted her punishment, and gave her freedom. Who received her, as she turned her face toward the staring throngthat intervened between her and the street? Some large-heartedwoman, bent on rescuing an erring sister? Some agent of one of themany costly charities of the city? No, in bitter shame, no. Onlythe vile madam who traded on the price of her body and soul, andwho, with vulture-like eyes, had watched the scene. She only hadstood ready to pay the fine, if one had been imposed according tothe letter of the law. She only received the weak and friendlesscreature, from whom she held as pledges all her small personaleffects, and to whom she promised immediate shelter from theintolerable stare that follows such victims of society. The girl'sweak, pretty face, and soft, white hands were but too true anindex to her infirm will and character, and, although flutteringand reluctant, she again fell helpless into the talons of the harpy. Hapless girl! you will probably stand at this bar again, and fullsentence will then be given against you. The judge frowned heavilyas he saw the result of his clemency, and then, as if it were anold story, he turned to the next culprit. Mildred had been muchencouraged as she watched the issue of the two cases just described;but as her eyes followed the girl wistfully toward the door offreedom she encountered the cold, malignant gaze of the man whohad charge of her department at the shop, and who she instinctivelyfelt was the cause of her shameful and dangerous position. By his sidesat the two women who had searched her and the leading foreman ofthe store. Sick and faint from apprehension, she turned imploringlytoward Roger, who was regarding the floor-walker with such vindictivesternness that she felt the wretch's hour of reckoning would sooncome, whatever might be her fate. This added to her trouble, forshe feared that she was involving Roger in danger. 

No time was given for thoughts on such side issues, for the prisonerpreceding her in the line was sentenced, after a trial of threeminutes--a summary proceeding that was not hope-inspiring. 

The name of Mildred Jocelyn was now called, and there was a murmurof expectant interest in the court-room, for she was not by anymeans an ordinary prisoner in appearance, and there were not a fewpresent who knew something of the case. The young girl was pushedbefore the bar, and would gladly have clung to it, in order tosupport her trembling form. But while she could not infuse vigorinto her overtaxed muscles, her brave spirit rallied to meet theemergency, and she fixed her eyes unwaveringly upon the judge, who now for the first time noticed her attentively, and it did notescape her intensely quickened perceptions that his eyes at oncegrew kindly and sympathetic. Sitting day after day, and year afteryear, in his position, he had gained a wonderful insight intocharacter, and in Mildred's pure, sweet face he saw no evidence ofguilt or of criminal tendencies. It was, indeed, white with fear, and thin from wearing toil and grief; but this very pallor madeit seem only more spiritual and free from earthliness, while everyfeature, and the unconscious grace of her attitude, bespoke highbreeding and good blood. 

First, the officer who arrested her told his story, and then theelder of the two women who searched her was summoned as the firstwitness. The judge looked grave, and he glanced uneasily at theprisoner from time to time; but the same clear, steadfast eyesmet his gaze, unsullied by a trace of guilt. Then the second womancorroborated the story of her associate, and the judge asked, "Howcame you to suspect the prisoner so strongly as to search her?"and at this point the floor-walker was summoned. 

The vigilant magistrate did not fail to note the momentary glanceof aversion and horror which Mildred bestowed upon this man, andthen her eyes returned with so deep and pathetic an appeal to hisface that his heart responded, and his judgment led him also tobelieve that there was error and perhaps wrong in the prosecution. Still he was compelled to admit to himself that the case looked verydark for the girl, who was gaining so strong a hold on his sympathy. 

"I must inform your Honor, " began the witness plausibly, afterhaving been sworn, "that laces had been missed from the departmentin which this girl was employed, and I was keenly on the alert, as it was my duty to be. Some suspicious circumstances led me tothink that the prisoner was the guilty party, and the search provedmy suspicions to be correct. "

"What were the suspicious circumstances?"

The man seemed at a loss for a moment. "Well, your Honor, she wentto the cloak-room yesterday afternoon, " he said. 

"Do not all the girls go to the cloak-room occasionally?"

"Yes, but there was something in her face and manner that fastenedmy suspicions upon her. "

"What evidences of guilt did you detect?"

"I can scarcely explain--nothing very tangible. The evidences ofguilt were found on her person, your Honor. "

"Yes, so much has been clearly shown. "

"And she was very reluctant to be searched, which would not havebeen the case had she been conscious of innocence. "

The woman who searched her was now asked, "Did she shrink fromsearch, in such a manner as to betoken guilt?"

"I can't say that she did show any fear of being searched by us, "was the reply. "She refused to be searched in the private officeof the firm. "

"That is, in the presence of men? Quite naturally she did. " Then tothe floor-walker, "Have your relations with this girl been entirelyfriendly?"

"I am glad to say I have no relations with her whatever. My relationsare the same that I hold to the other girls--merely to see thatthey do their duty. "

"You are perfectly sure that you have never cherished any ill-willtoward her?"

"So far from it, I was at first inclined to be friendly. "

"What do you mean by the term friendly?"

"Well, your Honor" (a little confusedly), "the term seems plainenough. "

"And she did not reciprocate your friendship?" was the keen query. 

"After I came to know her better, I gave her no occasion to reciprocateanything; and, pardon me, your Honor, I scarcely see what bearingthese questions have on the plain facts in the case. "

A slight frown was the only evidence that the judge had noted theimpertinent suggestion that he did not know his business. 

"Are you perfectly sure that you cherish no ill-will toward theprisoner?"

"I simply wish to do my duty by my employers. I eventually learnedthat her father was an opium-eater and a sot, and I don't fancythat kind of people. That is my explanation, " he concluded, witha large attempt at dignity, and in a tone that he evidently meantall should hear. 

"Her father is not on trial, and that information was uncalled for. Have you any further testimony?" the judge asked coldly. 

"No, sir, " and he stepped down amid a suppressed hiss in thecourt-room, for the spectators evidently shared in the antipathywith which he had inspired the keen-eyed but impassive and reticentmagistrate, who now beckoned Mildred to step up close to him, andshe came to him as if he were her friend instead of her judge. He was touched by her trust; and her steadfast look of absoluteconfidence made him all the more desirous of protecting her, if hecould find any warrant for doing so. She said to him unmistakablyby her manner, "I put myself in your hands. "

"My child, " the judge began seriously, yet kindly, "this is a verygrave charge that is brought against you, and if it is your wishyou can waive further trial before me at this stage of proceedings, for unless you can prove yourself innocent at this preliminaryexamination, your case must be heard before a higher court. Perhapsyou had better obtain counsel, and have the whole matter referredat once to the grand jury. "

"I would rather be tried by you, sir, " Mildred replied, in avibrating voice full of deep, repressed feeling; "I am innocent. It would be like death to me to remain longer under this shamefulcharge. I have confidence in you. I know I am guiltless. Pleaselet me be tried now, NOW, for I cannot endure it any longer. "

"Very well, then;" and he handed her a small, grimy Bible, that, no doubt, had been kissed by scores of perjured lips. But Mildredpressed hers reverently upon it, as she swore to "tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "

After a few preliminary questions as to age, etc. , the justicesaid, reassuringly, "Now tell your story briefly and clearly. "

It was indeed a brief story, and it had the impress of truth; buthis Honor looked very grave as he recognized how little there wasin it to refute the positive testimony already given. "Have youwitnesses?" he asked. 

"My mother and sister are present, and--and--a young man who thinkshe knows something in my favor. "

"I will hear your mother first, " said the judge, believing that inher he would find the chief source of character; and when the sad, refined gentlewoman stood beside her daughter, he was all the moreconvinced that the girl ought to be innocent, and that all hisinsight into character and its origin would be at fault if she werenot. In low, eager tones, Mrs. Jocelyn spoke briefly of theirmisfortunes, and testified as to Mildred's conduct. "She hasbeen an angel of patience and goodness in our home, " she said, inconclusion; "and if this false charge succeeds, we shall be lostand ruined indeed. My daughter's pastor is out of town, and in ourpoverty we have few friends who could be of any service. An oldneighbor, Mrs. Wheaton, is present, and will confirm my words, ifyou wish; but we would thank your Honor if you will call Mr. RogerAtwood, who says he has information that will aid my child. "

"Very well, madam, " responded the judge kindly, "we will hear Mr. Atwood. "

Roger was now sworn, while Mrs. Jocelyn returned to her seat. Inthe young fellow's frank, honest face the judge found an agreeablecontrast with the ill-omened visage of the floor-walker, whose goodlooks could not hide an evil nature. 

"I must beg your Honor to listen to me with patience, " Roger beganin a low tone, "for my testimony is peculiar, and does not go farenough unless furthered by your Honor's skill in cross-questioning;"and in eager tones, heard only by the judge, he told what hehad seen, and suggested his theory that if the girl, whom he hadfollowed two evenings before, could be examined previous to anycommunication with her accomplice, she would probably admit thewhole guilty plot. 

The judge listened attentively, nodding approvingly as Rogerfinished, and said, "Leave me to manage this affair. I wish you togo at once with an officer, point out this girl to him, and bringher here. She must not have communication with any one. Nor mustanything be said to her relating to the case by either you or theofficer. Leave her wholly to me. "

A subpoena was made out immediately and given to a policeman, witha few whispered and emphatic injunctions, and Roger was told toaccompany him. 

"This case is adjourned for the present. You may sit with yourmother within the railing, " he added kindly to Mildred. 

The floor-walker had been watching the turn that the proceedingswere taking with great uneasiness, and now was eager to depart, in order to caution the girl that Roger was in pursuit of againstadmitting the least knowledge of the affair; but the judge was tooquick for him, and remarked that he was not through with him yet, and requested that he and the representative of the firm should remain. The two women who had testified against Mildred were permitted todepart. Then, as if dismissing the case from his mind, he proceededto dispose of the other prisoners. 

Belle joined her sister, and greeted her with great effusiveness, looking ready to champion her against the world; but they at lastquieted her, and waited with trembling impatience and wonder forthe outcome of Roger's mission. 

The girl who had been led to wrong Mildred so greatly returned to theshop that morning with many misgivings, which were much increasedwhen she learned what had occurred. She also felt that her accomplicehad dealt treacherously in allowing such serious proceedings againstMildred, for he had promised that she should be merely taxed withtheft and warned to seek employment elsewhere. "If he deceives inone respect he will in another, and I'm not safe from arrest either, "she said to herself, and she made so many blunders in her guiltypreoccupation that she excited the surprise of her companions. Asshe was waiting on a customer she heard a voice remark, "That's thegirl, " and looking up she grew faint and white as she saw, standingbefore her, a policeman, who served his subpoena at once, saying, "You must go with me immediately. "

Frightened and irresolute, she stammered that she knew nothingabout the affair. 

"Well, then, you must come and tell his Honor so. "

"Must I go?" she appealed to one of the firm, who happened to benear. 

"Certainly, " he replied, examining the subpoena; "go and tell allyou know, or if you don't know anything, say so. "

"I don't see why I should be dragged into the case--" she beganbrazenly. 

"There's the reason, " said the officer impatiently; "that subpoenahas the power of bringing any man or woman in the city. "

Seeing that resistance was useless, she sullenly accompanied themto a street-car, and was soon in readiness to be called upon forher testimony. The judge having disposed of the case then on trial, Mildred was again summoned to the bar, and the unwilling witnesswas sent for. She only had time to cast a reproachful glance atthe man who, she feared, had betrayed her, and who tried, by hismanner, to caution her, when the judge demanded her attention, hehaving in the meantime noted the fellow's effort. 

"Stand there, " he said, placing her so that her back was towardthe man who sought to signal silence. "Officer, swear her. Now, "he resumed severely, "any deviation from the truth, and the wholetruth, will be perjury, which, you know, is a State-prison offence. I can assure you most honestly that it will be better for you, inall respects, to hide nothing, for you will soon discover that Iknow something about this affair. "

After the preliminary questions, which were asked with impressivesolemnity, he demanded, "Did you not leave the shop on Tuesdayevening, and pass up the Avenue to----Street?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Did you not look back twice, to see if you were followed?"

"I may have looked back. "

"You don't deny it, then?"

"No, sir. "

"Did not Mr. Bissel, the floor-walker, join you in----Street, beforeyou had gone very far?"

"Ye--yes, sir, " with a start. 

"Did he not say something that agitated you very much?"

"He may have frightened me, " she faltered. 

"Yes, he probably did; but why? Did you not make a strong gestureof protest against what he said?"

"Yes, sir, " with a troubled stare at the judge. 

"Did you not go on with him very quietly and submissively, aftera moment or two?"

"Yes, sir, " and her face now was downcast, and she began to tremble. 

"Did you not enter a covered alley-way, that led to tenements inthe rear?"

"Yes, sir, " with increasing agitation. 

"Well, what did you do there?"

"Has he told on me, your Honor?" she gasped, with a sudden floodof tears. 

"What he has done is no concern of yours. You are under oath totell the whole truth. There was a single gas-jet burning in thecovered passage-way, was there not?"

"Yes, sir, " sobbing violently. 

"Has Miss Mildred Jocelyn ever wronged you?"

"N--no, sir, not that I know of. "

"Now tell me just what occurred under that gas-jet. "

"I'll tell your Honor the whole truth, " the girl burst out, "ifyour Honor'll let me off this time. It's my first offence, andwe're poor, and I was driven to it by need, and he promised me thatMiss Jocelyn wouldn't suffer anything worse than a warning to findanother place. "

Believing that her accomplice had betrayed her, she told the wholestory without any concealment, fully exonerating Mildred. Althoughthe judge maintained his stern, impassive aspect throughout thescene, he hugely enjoyed the floor-walker's dismay and confusion, and his tortured inability to warn the girl to deny everything. 

"Please, your Honor, forgive me this time, " sobbed the tremblingwitness in conclusion, "and I'll never do wrong again. "

"I have no right or power to punish you, " replied the judge; "itrests wholly with your employers whether they will prosecute youor not. Send that floor-walker here" (to an officer). "Well, sir, what have you to say to this testimony?" he asked, as the fellowshuffled forward, pale and irresolute. "Remember, you are stillunder oath. "

The wily villain, caught in his own trap, hesitated. He was temptedto deny that the plot against Mildred was at his instigation; but, like the girl, he saw that the judge had mysterious information onthe subject, and he could not tell how far this knowledge went. Ifhe entered on a series of denials he might be confronted by anotherwitness. The young man who had been sent to identify the girl, andwhose unexpected presence had brought such disaster, might havebeen concealed in the passage-way, and so have seen and heard all. With the fear of an indictment for perjury before his eyes thefellow began to whine. 

"I was only trying to protect the interests of my employers. I hadsuspected the Jocelyn girl--" At this there arose from the court-rooma loud and general hiss, Which the judge repressed, as he sternlyinterposed, "We have nothing to do with your suspicions. Do you deny thetestimony?"

"No, sir; but--"

"That's enough. No words; step down. " Then turning to Mildred, hesaid kindly and courteously, "Miss Jocelyn, it gives me pleasureto inform you that your innocence has been clearly shown. I shouldalso inform you that this man Bissel has made himself liableto suit for damages, and I hope that you will prosecute him. I amsorry that you have been subjected to so painful an ordeal. Youare now at liberty. "

"I thank--oh, I thank and bless your Honor, " said Mildred, withsuch a depth of gratitude and gladness in her face that the judgesmiled to himself several times that day. It was like a burst ofJune sunshine after a storm. While the witness was admitting thefacts which would prove her guiltless, Mildred was scarcely lessagitated than the wretched girl herself; but her strong excitementshowed itself not by tears, but rather in her dilated eyes, nervouslytrembling form, and quickly throbbing bosom. Now that the tensionwas over she sank on a bench near, and covering her eyes, fromwhich gushed a torrent of tears, with her hands, murmured audibly, "Thank God! oh, thank God! He has not deserted me after all. "

Looks of strong sympathy were bent upon her from all parts of theroom, and even the judge himself was so much affected that he tookprompt refuge in the duties of his office, and summoning the foremanof the shop, said, "You may inform your employers how mattersstand. " This functionary had been regarding the later stage of theproceedings in undisguised astonishment, and now hastened to departwith his tidings, the floor-walker following him with the aspectof a whipped cur, and amid the suppressed groans and hisses of thespectators. The girl, too, slunk away after them in the hope ofmaking peace with her employers. 

The judge now observed that Roger had buttonholed a reporter, whohad been dashing off hieroglyphics that meant a spicy paragraph thefollowing day. Summoning the young man, he said, as if the affairwere of slight importance, "Since the girl has been proved innocent, and will have no further relation to the case, I would suggestthat, out of deference to her friends and her own feelings, therebe no mention of her name, " and the news-gatherer good-naturedlyacceded to the request. 

A new case was called, and new interests, hopes, and fears agitatedthe hearts of other groups, that had been drawn to the judgment-seatby the misfortunes or crimes of those bound to them by variousties. 

Mrs. Jocelyn would not leave the place, which she had so dreaded, until Roger could accompany them, and they chafed at every momentof delay that prevented their pouring out their thanks. But Mildred'sheart was too full for words. She fully understood how greata service he had rendered her. She bitterly reproached herself forall her prejudice in the past, and was in a mood for any self-sacrificethat he would ask. Tears of deep and mingled feeling fell fast, and she longed to escape from the staring crowd. Not before suchwitnesses could she speak and look the gratitude she felt. 

With downcast eyes and quivering lips she followed her mother--towhom Roger had given his arm--from the court-room. A carriage stoodat the door, into which Mrs. Jocelyn was hurried before she couldspeak; then turning so promptly that there was no chance even forexuberant Belle or the effervescing Mrs. Wheaton to utter a syllable, Roger seized Mildred's hand, and said earnestly, "Thanks for youraid, Miss Jocelyn. I thought you were the bravest girl in the world, and you have proved it. I am as glad as you are, and this is thehappiest moment in my life. I've just one favor to ask--please rest, and don't worry about anything--not ANYTHING. That's all. Good-by, for I must be off to business;" and before she or any of them couldspeak he caught a swiftly passing street-car and disappeared. 

CHAPTER XXXV

"I AM SO PERPLEXED"

The little group that Roger left on the sidewalk looked after himin a dazed manner for a moment, and then Belle exclaimed, a trifleindignantly, "Well, I declare, if he hasn't thanked you, insteadof you thanking him. "

Mildred sprang into the carriage, feeling that she must have somerefuge at once, and, burying her face on her mother's shoulder, burst into another passion of tears. 

"There, there, " said Mrs. Wheaton, as they were driven toward theirhome; "the poor child's 'eart is too full for hany neat speechesnow. Ven they meets hagain she'll thank him with heyes an' 'and, better than hany vords 'ere hon the street. He vas too bright achap to take his thanks in this 'ere public place. "

To their surprise, Mildred raised her head, and replied, in strongprotest, "You do him wrong, Mrs. Wheaton. He was so modest and manlythat he wished to escape all thanks. He has taken a noble revengeon me for all my stupid prejudice. "

"That's right, " cried ecstatic Belle. "Honest confession isgood for the soul. I'll admit that most men and women are made ofdust--street dust at that--but Roger Atwood is pure gold. He hasthe quickest brain and steadiest hand of any fellow in the world, and he'll stand up at the head before he's gray. "

Fortunately, Mr. Jocelyn was not at home when they returned, and theyhad a chance to take a quiet breath after their strong excitement. Mrs. Wheaton, with many hearty congratulations and words of cheer, took her departure. Mrs. Jocelyn was justly solicitous aboutMildred, fearing that the reaction from an ordeal that would taxthe strongest might bring utter prostration to her delicate andsensitive organism. Mildred's manner soon threatened to realize herworst fears. She had passed a sleepless night, and was faint fromfatigue, and yet, as the hours lapsed, she grew more nervouslyrestless. Her eyes were hot and dry, sometimes so full of resolutionthat they were stern in their steadfastness, and again her faceexpressed a pathetic irresoluteness and sadness that made themother's heart ache. 

"Millie, " she whispered, as she came to the bed on which the girlwas tossing restlessly, "there's something on your mind. Mother'seyes are quick in reading the face of her child. You are thinking--youare debating something that won't let you rest, when you need restso much. Oh, Millie darling, my heart was growing apathetic--itseemed almost dead in my breast. I've suffered on account of yourfather, till it seemed as if I couldn't suffer any more; but yourperil and your troubled face teach me that it is not dead, and thatmy best solace now is devotion to my children. What is it, Millie, that you are turning over in your mind, which makes you look sodesperately sad and fearful, and again--and then your expressionfrightens me--so determined as if you were meditating some step, which, I fear, you ought not to take? Oh, Millie, my child, theworst that I know about is bad enough, God knows, but your facemakes me dread that you may be led by your troubles to do somethingwhich you would not think of were you less morbid and overwrought. I may have seemed to you a poor, weak woman in all of our troubles, but mother's love is strong, if her mind and body are not. "

"Mamma, mamma, do not judge me or yourself so harshly. You havealways been my ideal, mamma, and I was thinking of nothing worsethan how to rescue you and the others from your desperate straits. How can we go on living in this way, your heart breaking, yourpoor, frail body overtaxed with coarse labor, and Belle, Minnie, and Fred becoming contaminated by our dreadful surroundings. Theshock I've received has awakened me from my old apathy. I see thatwhile I just toiled for daily bread, and a little of it too, wewere drifting down, down. Papa grows worse and worse. Belle is indanger; and what will become of Fred and Minnie if they remain longamid such scenes? Only yesterday morning I heard Fred quarrellingwith another little boy on the landing, and lisping out oaths inhis anger. Oh, mamma, we must be able to look forward to some escapefrom all this, or else you will soon give way to despair, and theworst will come. Oh that I were a man! Oh that I knew how to dosomething, through which I could earn enough to put papa into aninstitution, such as I have read of, and give you a home worthyof the name. But I cannot. I can only do what thousands of otherscan do, and take my chances with them in getting work. And nowI seem so broken down in body and soul that I feel as if I couldnever work again. There seems to be one way, mamma, in which Ican help you. " And then she hesitated, and a deep, burning flushcrimsoned the face that was so pale before. "Well, " she said, atlast, in a kind of desperation, "I might as well speak plainly, ifI speak at all. It's no secret to you how Roger Atwood feels towardme, and also, mamma, you know my heart. While I could kiss hishand in gratitude, while I would not shrink from any suffering forhis sake, to show how deeply I appreciate the priceless servicehe has rendered me, still, mamma, mamma, I'm only a woman, and amcursed with all the perversity of a woman's heart. Oh, what a loyalfriend, what a devoted sister I could be to him! Mamma, can't youunderstand me?"

"Yes, Millie, " sadly answered her mother. 

"Well, mamma, I'm so perplexed. It seems for his sake, since we havebecome so poor and disgraced, that I ought to refuse his suit. Tothe world, and especially to his friends, it will appear dreadfullyselfish that we should link our wretched fortunes to his, and socloud his prospects and impede his progress. I can't tell you howI dread such criticism. And yet, mamma, you know--no, mamma, evenyou cannot understand how great would be my self-sacrifice, whento others it will appear that I am only too glad to cling to onewho gives some promise of better days. But the turning point has nowcome. Hitherto my manner toward Mr. Atwood has been unmistakable, and he has understood me; and were he obtuseness itself he couldnot fail to understand me. But after what has happened I cannottreat him so any longer. It would be shameful ingratitude. Indeed, in my cell last night I almost vowed that if he would prove meinnocent--if he would save you and Belle and the children, I wouldmake any sacrifice that he would ask. If I feel this way he willknow it, for he almost reads my thoughts, he is so quick, and hisfeeling for me is so deep. And yet, mamma, now that I have thoughtmore I fear that in sacrificing my own heart I am also sacrificinghim. His friends will think so, at least. He is so young, chivalric, and unworldly that he may think it a noble thing to help us fightout our battle; but will he think so in coming years? Will he thinkso if the struggle is long and hard? Will he think so if we impedeand retard him? Alas, will he think so if he finds that I can givehim only gratitude and respect? Oh, mamma, I am so perplexed. Idon't want to wrong him; I can't see you suffer on hopelessly andhelplessly, and therefore it seems I ought to give him the rightto help us should he seek for it, as I feel sure he will if I showany relenting. We could not be married for a long time; but if wewere engaged he could do much to shield and protect us all; andnow, alas, we have no protector. Belle needs one--oh, how sorelyshe needs one--and what would have been my fate had he not come tomy aid? It would seem heartless in me to say simply, Thank you, sir;and yet, what heart have I to give in exchange for his devotion? Hedeserves so much, and I can give so little. Oh, mamma, will an oldlove die and a new one grow because they--because you wish it, andpray for it? I am so perplexed, so tossed and torn by my conflictingthoughts and feelings that my poor brain reels, and it seems asif I should lose my reason. And yet I must decide upon some course, for if, after his loyalty to me, I give him hope, I'll not disappointhim if I died a thousand times--no, not if Vinton Arnold came andlaid all his wealth at my feet; I can see his love in every glanceof his eye, still more can I feel it when he is near me; and if Ioffer him friendship or a sister's affection, it will seem to himlike giving a stone for bread. But I must offer him only theseor else give him hope--a hope that it would now be dishonor todisappoint. Mamma, mamma, what shall I do--what ought I to do?"

During this outpouring of her child's soul Mrs. Jocelyn was muchagitated, and wiped tear after tear from her eyes. The impulse ofher loyal, unworldly heart was first to take sides with Mildred'sfaithfulness to her earliest love, but her reason condemned sucha course so positively that she said all she could against it. "Millie, " she began, falteringly at first, "I feel with you andfor you deeply. I know your rare quality of fidelity--of constancy. You are an old-fashioned Southern girl in this respect. While Iwould not have you wrong your heart, you must not blindly followits impulses. It is often said that women have no reason, thoughsome are calculating enough, Heaven knows. Surely, Millie, this isa case in which you should take some counsel of your reason, yourjudgment; and believe me, darling, I speak more for your sake thanours. While I admit that Roger has become very dear to me, I wouldnot sacrifice you, my love, even in our sore straits. It is of youI think chiefly. I cannot endure the thought that the future of mydarling child may be utterly blighted. I cannot bear to think ofyour settling down into a weary working-woman, with nothing to lookforward to but daily drudgery for daily bread. "

"I do not dread that so much, mamma--oh, nothing like so much--asa long and perhaps a vain effort to love one who has a sacred rightto love as well as loyalty. "

"Millie, you don't know how lonely and desolate your life mightbecome. Millie--forgive me for saying it--your old love is utterlyvain. "

"I know it, mamma, " said Mildred, with a low sob. 

"Therefore, my darling, the sweetness and goodness of your younglife ought not to be wasted on that which is vain and empty. IfMr. Arnold were worthy of your affections he would not have leftyou all this time without even a word. And, Millie, we may as wellface the truth: we never belonged to the Arnolds' world, and it waswicked folly, for which I suffer hourly remorse, that we ever triedto approach it. If, instead of attempting to live like our richneighbors, I had saved a goodly portion of your father's income, all might have been so different; but I was never taught to save, and I was just blind--blind. I never see your father but the thoughtcomes, like a stab in the heart, I might have prevented it. Oh, if I had only stayed with him! It was during that fatal separationthat he formed the habit which will cause his death and mine. "(Poor Mrs. Jocelyn always remained under this illusion. )

"Oh, mamma, mamma, don't talk that way: I can't bear it. "

"I must prepare you, Millie, darling, for what I clearly foresee. Martin is destroying himself, and I shall not long survive him. Oh, Millie, it's a terrible thing to love a weak man as I love yourfather. I love him so that his course is killing me. It could notbe otherwise, for I am much to blame. Don't interrupt me; I amspeaking these bitter words for your ultimate good. Your life isbefore you--"

"Mamma, how can my life be before me if you die broken-hearted?"

"Because you are young. You know that it would add tenfold bitternessto my already overflowing cup if I saw no chance for you, Belle, and the little ones. You may soon have to be mother and sister both. I forewarn you, because, as Roger says, you are strong as well asgentle, and you must not just drift helplessly toward we know notwhat. Oh, Millie, my poor crushed heart must have one consolationbefore it is at rest. Roger is not, and never will be, a weak man. It is not in his nature to give way to fatal habits. I, too, witha woman's eye, have seen his deep, strong affection for you, andwith a mother's jealous love I have studied his character. He isa young giant, Millie, whom you unconsciously awoke to manhood. Hecomes of a sturdy, practical race, and unites to their shrewdnessa chivalric Southern heart and large brain. He doesn't begin toknow, himself, how much of a man he is, but the experience of lifewill fast develop him. He is one who will master circumstances, and not be molded by them. Obstacles will only stimulate his will. Your prejudice and dislike have not made him falter a moment. Inthe heart of a girl like you, Millie, I truly believe that a newlove for such a man will surely spring up, and grow and strengthenwith each succeeding year, and you would be worthy of him. Youcould make him happy, and eventually add greatly to his success. He is sure to become eminent, and be burdened with many largeaffairs, and the home you could make for him would be a refugeand a resting-place from which he would go out daily, strong andrefreshed. Let his friends say what they please at first. He hashis own career to make, and in his choice of you he has shown howunerring and sound his instincts are, and you can prove them so, and will, I think, when time has given your morbid and unhappyheart its healthful tone. Mrs. Wheaton has done much work at hisuncle's house, and Mrs. Atwood talks to her quite freely. Mrs. Wheaton says they are wealthy, although they live so plainly, andthat Mr. Atwood, Roger's uncle, is wonderfully taken with the youngman, and means to give him a chance to climb among the highest, ifhe continues to be so steady and persevering. Of course you knowthat Roger will never be anything else than steady. And Mrs. Wheatonalso says that Mr. Atwood will, no doubt, leave everything to him, for he has no children. "

"I am sorry you have told me this, " sighed Mildred; "it would havebeen hard enough at best, but I should feel almost mercenary now. "

"Oh, Millie, you are too morbid and proud for anything, " expostulatedMrs. Jocelyn, in whom no misfortune or sorrow could wholly blot outher old, mild passion for making good matches for her daughters--goodmatches in the right sense of the word--for she would look forworth, or what seemed worth to her, as well as the wealth that istoo often considered solely. She had sought to involve Vinton Arnoldby innocent wiles, and now, in pathetic revival of her old trait, she was even more bent on providing for Mildred by securing a manafter her own heart. Love for her daughter, far more than ambition, was the main-spring of her motive, and surely her gentle schemes werenot deserving of a very harsh judgment. She could not be blamedgreatly for looking with wistful eyes on the one ray of lightfalling on her darkening path. 

After a brief, troubled silence Mrs. Jocelyn resumed, with pathosand pleading in her voice, "Millie, darling, if this could all be, it would brighten my last days. "

"There, there, mamma; as far as I CAN carry out your wishes, it shallbe. I had already virtually promised it, and I should be perverseindeed could I not do all--all in my power to brighten your sad life. But, darling mamma, you must promise to live in return. A palacewould be desolate if you were not seated in the snuggest corner ofthe hearth. I'll try to love him; I know I ought to give my wholeheart to one who is so worthy, and who can do so much to brightenyour life. "

"Blessings on you, Millie. You will soon learn to return all hisaffection. You are both young, and it will probably be years beforeyou can be married. In the meantime you will have a protector andfriend who will have the right to aid you. You were slowly dyingfor want of air and change and hope. You worked all day, and shutyourself up in this miserable place at night, and it could notlast; as your affianced he can take your part against the world, and protect Belle; and during the years while he is making his wayupward, you will learn to love him. You will become interested inhis studies, hopes, and prospects. You will encourage, and at thesame time prevent undue application, for no man knows how to takecare of himself. He can be our deliverer, and you his good angel. Your relations and long engagement may not be exactly conventional;but he is not conventional, neither is your need nor our sad fortunes. Since God has put within our reach this great alleviation of oursorrow, ought we to refuse it?"

"Set your mind at rest, mamma; you have made duty plain. I will domy best, and it now all rests with Roger. "

"Millie, you are a dear, good child, " said the mother brokenly, and with smiles shining like light through her tears; and after aclose embrace she went out, closing the door that the weary girlmight rest at last. 

When alone, Mildred turned her face to the wall and breathed, likethe lowest and saddest note of a wind-touched harp, "Vinton, VintonArnold, farewell forever. I must look for you no more--I must thinkof you no more. Oh, perverse heart, be still!"

But a decision had been reached, and her perplexed mind had at lastfound the rest of a fixed resolve. Then nature asserted her right, and she slept long and heavily. When she awoke, the lamp was lightedin the one living-room, from which came the sounds of an unsteadystep and a thick, rough voice. She trembled, for she knew that herfather had come home again intoxicated--an event that was becomingterribly frequent of late. She felt too weak and nerveless to goout and look upon their living disgrace, and lay still with long, sighing breaths. "Even Mr. Atwood will turn from us in disgust, when he realizes papa's degradation, " she thought. "Alas! can itbe right to cloud his bright young life with such a shameful stain!Oh, if it were not selfish, I could wish to die and escape from itall. "

At last the heavy, shuffling step passed into the adjoining bedroom, and soon the wretched man was in stupor. As Mildred came out shesaw Belle, who had returned from her work, looking toward the roomin which her father slept, with a lowering, reckless expressionthat made her sister shudder. 

Mildred tried to banish evil thoughts by putting her arm aroundthe young girl's neck and kissing her between the eyes. "Don't lookso, Belle, " she whispered. 

"Where is that to end?" Belle asked, in a strange, harsh voice, pointing toward the room. "Millie, I can't stand this life muchlonger. "

"Oh, Belle, don't forget there is a heaven beyond this life. "

"It's too far beyond. Look here, Millie; since God don't answermamma's prayers, I haven't much faith in anything. See whatundeserved trouble came upon you too. If it hadn't been for Rogeryou would have been in prison to-night, and we'd have been alonehere with a drunken father. How can one have faith and try to begood when such things happen?"

"Belle, " said Mildred, with a solemnity that made the reckless, discouraged girl turn pale, "you had better take a knife from thattable and stab mamma than do anything wrong. "

"Oh, hush!" whispered Belle, for Mrs. Jocelyn now entered with thechildren, whom she was glad to have away when the unnatural fatherreturned, even though she knew they were with the wild young Arabsof the tenement. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

A WOMAN'S HEART

Mrs. Jocelyn and her daughters were silent and depressed duringtheir meagre supper, for they never could become accustomed to theterrible skeleton in their household. When Mr. Jocelyn confinedhimself solely to opium he was not so revolting, but common, beastlyintoxication was unendurable. They felt that it was brutalizing hisvery soul, and becoming a millstone around their necks which mustdrag them down to some unknown abyss of infamy. Mechanicallythey went through the motions of eating, the mother and daughtersforcing down the little food they could afford, and the childrenravenously devouring all that was given to them. As Mildred sawthe mother trying to slip unnoticed her almost untasted supper fromher plate to Fred's, she laid a hand upon her arm and said:

"No, mamma; remember you are to live, " she added in a low whisper, and the poor creature tried to smile and was submissive. 

With a pathetic maintenance of their old-time habits, they hadscarcely cleared away the supper-table, put the children to rest, and made the poor little place as neat and inviting as possible, when Mr. Wentworth appeared, followed by Roger. Mildred had beenexpecting the latter with trepidation, Belle with impatience; andthe hard, lowering look on the face of the young girl gave way toone of welcome and pleasure, for if Belle's good moods were aptto be transient, so were her evil ones, and the hearty, healthyspirits of the young fellow were contagious. Mildred was greatlyrelieved to see Mr. Wentworth, for while she had fully resolved toyield to Roger's suit, her heart, despite her will, welcomed delay. She was also glad that her pastor was present, for she could nowshow her strong gratitude without fear of immediate and embarrassingresults. She was therefore more prompt even than Belle, and, takingthe young man's hand in both of her own, she said, with tears inher eyes:

"Why didn't you let me thank you this morning? My gratitude hasbeen growing every moment, and you must take it all or I shallsink under it. Mr. Wentworth, I should have been in some horribleprison to-night, with my heart breaking from sorrow and shame, if it were not for this kind, generous friend, Mr. Atwood. I longcherished an unreasoning prejudice against you, and showed it openly. You have taken a strange revenge. No Southern gentleman could haveacted more nobly, and a Southern girl could not use stronger praisethan that. "

Roger's hand, usually so strong and steady, trembled. These words, warm from the heart of the girl who had hitherto been so distantand unapproachable, almost took away his breath. "Please don't, "he faltered. "Such gratitude--such words--from you oppress me. Idon't deserve such thanks. Any decent man would have been glad tosave one who was so good and so wronged, and I shall always regardit as the luckiest event of my life that I happened to be the oneto aid you. Oh, you don't know, you never can know what immensegood-fortune it was. " Then, as if fearing he might lose his self-control, he broke hastily away to greet Mrs. Jocelyn, but Belle caught himwith the impulse of the warm-hearted sister she had become, andthrowing her arm around his neck exclaimed, "I'm going to pay youwith the best coin I have. " And she kissed him again and again. 

"Oh, Jupiter!" gasped the blushing youth. "Bless that floor-walkerand all his deviltry! I shall let him off just a little for this. "

"No, don't. I'll give you another kiss if you'll get even withhim, " Belle whispered. 

"It's a bargain, " he said in her ear, and Belle ratified the compactimmediately. 

"Oh, " thought Mildred, in the depths of her heart, "if it were onlyBelle instead of me!"

Mrs. Jocelyn's greeting was scarcely less demonstrative than Belle's, but there was a motherly tenderness in it that brought tears intothe young fellow's eyes. "Blessings on you, my dear good boy, " shemurmured, "and a mother's blessing will do you no harm. "

"Look here, " said Roger brusquely, "if you don't let up on a fellowI shall make a confounded fool of myself. " And his lip quivered asif he were a boy in truth. 

Mr. Wentworth, who in their strong feeling had been quite ignored, at first looked on with smiling sympathy. Mildred had given him thehand that Roger released, and holding it in a warm clasp he did notspeak at first, but watched a scene that had for him the attractionsof a real drama. He now did not help Roger much by saying, in hishearty way, "That's right; lay it on strong; he deserves all, andmore. Miss Mildred, I have been yellow with envy for the last twohours because I was absent. I would have eulogized you so in courtthat the judge would have addressed you as Saint Mildred, and yetit's but honest to say that you would have gone to jail like manya saint before you had not Roger got hold of the facts which enabledthe judge to prove you innocent. The law is awfully matter-of-fact, and that lace on your person had to be accounted for. "

"Yes, yes, " cried Belle, "tell us everything. We've been dying withcuriosity all day, and you've been so mysterious and important, andhave put on such airs, that you quite awed me. Seems to me thatfor a country boy you are blossoming fast. "

"It isn't necessary for a country boy to be a fool, especially whenhe has eyes, " replied Roger in an off-hand way. "It's all simpleenough. I happened to be passing the store where Miss Mildred--"

"Happened to be passing! How often did you happen to pass?" Belleinterrupted, with a face full of mischief. 

"You are not a judge, ma'am, and so can't cross-question, " he answered, with a quick blush but a defiant little nod, "and if you were, noone is obliged to incriminate himself. I was merely passing, andthe movements of that scamp, Bissel, slightly awakened my curiosity, and I followed him and the girl. I was exceedingly fortunate, andsaw enough to enable the judge to draw from the girl the whole story. Now you see what a simple, prosaic part I played. Miss Jocelyn, in keeping up so bravely through scenes and experiences that wereperfectly horrible to her, is the heroine of the piece. By Jove!--begyour pardon, Mr. Wentworth--it was as good as a play to see how shelooked her innocence into the heart and mind of the judge. I sawthe judicial frost in his eyes melting like two icicles on the southside of a barn. Oh, the judge could see as far into a millstone asthe next man, " he continued, laughing, as if he relished the memoryhugely. "After those horrid old hags were sent along so fast to wherethey belonged, he looked when Miss Jocelyn appeared as if a wholepicture gallery were before him. He could keep up his officialregulation manner, but his eyes paid a certain prisoner manycompliments. "

"Roger, you've got the eyes of a lynx, " said Belle, and Mildredwas human enough to show the pleasure she felt at his words. 

"Nonsense, " replied the young fellow in sudden confusion. "Any onewho has learned to hunt well gets a quick eye. "

"The judge's eyes at least were not at all to blame, " added Mr. Wentworth, laughing, and looking at Mildred so kindly and admiringlythat the color which was stealing into her face deepened rapidly. "Well, to come down to business. Roger and I have been to see youremployers, and we talked to them rather strongly. While they insistthat they were misled and not to blame, they felt remorseful, andwe struck while they were in their regretful mood. They give youa week's vacation, and send you twenty-five dollars as a smallcompensation for what you have suffered. "

"I don't want it, " cried Mildred indignantly. 

"Oh yes, you do; besides it's only spoiling the Philistines. Theyhad already discharged that scoundrel Bissel, and they intendprosecuting the girl. They apologize to you, and promise to raiseyour wages, but I think I can obtain enough sewing and fancy workto render it unnecessary for you to go back unless you prefer it. I don't want to think of your being subjected to that barbarousrule of standing any longer. I know of a lady on Fifth Avenue whois a host if she once becomes interested in any one, and throughher I think I can enlist enough people to keep you busy. I feelsure she will be our ally when she knows all. "

"Oh, if I could only stay with mamma and work at home, I should beso glad, " was the young girl's response. 

"Well, I must have one promise first, and your conscience shouldlead you to make it honestly. You must give me your word that youwill not shut yourself up from light, air, and recreation. You musttake a walk every day; you must go out with your sister and Roger, and have a good time as often as possible. If I find you sewing andmoping here all the time, I shall feel hurt and despondent. MissMillie, the laws of health are just as much God's laws as the TenCommandments. "

"I feel you are right, " she faltered. Then she covered her facewith her hands and sobbed, "But papa, papa. Mr. Wentworth, sinceall know it now, you must know the truth that is worse than deathto us. I feel as if I wanted to hide where no one could ever seeme again; I fear we do Mr. Atwood a wrong in permitting him to beso friendly. "

Roger towered up until he "looked six feet six, " as Belle remarkedafterward, and, coming straight to the speaker, he took her handand said, "Miss Jocelyn, when I'm ashamed to be seen with you andBelle, I'll strike hands with Bissel in the sneak-thieving line. Iask for no prouder distinction, than to be trusted by your motherand by you. "

"Roger has settled that question, and shown himself a sensiblefellow, " resumed Mr. Wentworth, with an emphatic and approvingnod. "Since you have spoken of a subject so deeply painful, I willspeak plainly too. There are plenty of people, I admit, who treatthe family of wrong-doers as if their unspeakable misfortune weretheir fault; and in a certain sense this tendency is wholesome, for it has a great restraining influence on those tempted to giveway to evil. But this tendency should not be carried to cruellengths by any one, and there are those who are sufficiently justto discriminate and feel the deepest sympathy--as I do. While itwould be in bad taste for you and Miss Belle to ignore this trouble, and flaunt gayly in public places, it would be positively wickedto let your trouble crush out health, life, and hope. You are bothyoung, and you are sacredly bound to make the best and the mostof the existence that God has bestowed upon you. You have as gooda right to pure air and sunshine as I have, and as good a rightto respect while you maintain your present character. It would doyour father no good, it would break your mother's heart, if youfollowed your morbid impulses. It would only add to your father'sremorse. I fear his craving for the poisons that are destroying himhas become a disease, and that it is morally impossible for him torefrain. "

"Do you think--would it be possible to put him into an institution, "Mildred faltered. 

"Well, it would be expensive, and yet if he will go to one and makean honest effort to be cured, perhaps the money might be raised. "

"Oh, " cried Mildred, "we'd starve almost, we'd work night and dayto give him a chance. "

"The money shall be raised, " said Roger quietly. "I've saved nearlyall my wages, and--"

"Oh, Mr. Atwood, " burst out Mildred impetuously, "this would befar better than saving me from prison. I would pay you back everypenny if I toiled all my life, and if papa could be his old selfonce more we would soon regain all that we have lost. " Then a suddenpassion of sobs shook her slight form. "Oh, " she gasped brokenly, "I could die--I could suffer anything to save papa. "

"Mr. Wentworth, " said the wife, with a look in her large tearlessblue eyes which they never forgot, "we will live in one room, we'llspend only enough for bare existence, if you'll help us in thismatter. " Then putting her arms around Roger's neck she buried herface on his breast and murmured, "You are like a son to me, and allthere is left of my poor crushed heart clings to you. If I couldsee Martin the man he was, I could die in peace. "

"He shall have the chance of the best and richest, " said Rogerbrokenly. "I ask nothing better than to have a hand in saving sucha man as Mr. Jocelyn must have been. "

Then was Roger's hour and opportunity, and he might at that timehave bound Mildred to him by vows that the girl would sooner perishthan break. Indeed in her abounding gratitude, and with everygenerous, unselfish chord in her soul vibrating, even his eyes couldhave been deceived, and he might easily have believed that he hadwon her heart. But there was neither policy nor calculation in hisyoung enthusiasm. His love truly prompted his heart, but it was aheart abounding in good, unselfish impulses, if sufficient occasioncalled them forth. He loved Mrs. Jocelyn and Belle scarcely lessthan his own mother and sister, and yet with a different affection, a more ideal regard. They appealed to his imagination; theirmisfortunes made them sacred in his eyes, and aroused all theknightly instincts which slumber in every young, unperverted man. Chief of all, they belonged to Mildred, the girl who had awakenedhis manhood, and to whom he had felt, even when she was so cold andprejudiced, that he owed his larger life and his power to win aplace among men. Now that she was so kind, now that she was willingto be aided by him in her dearest hopes, he exulted, and life grewrich in tasks for which the reward seemed boundless. The hope wouldcome to him, as Mildred rose to say good-by with a look that hehad never seen on any human face before, that she might soon givehim something warmer and better than gratitude; but if she couldnot soon, he would wait, and if she never could return his love, he proposed to be none the less loyal as a friend. 

Indeed the young girl's expression puzzled him. The old pride wasall gone, and she gave him the impression of one who is conqueredand defenceless, and who is ready to yield anything, everything tothe victor. And this ill-defined impression was singularly true, for she was in a passion of self-sacrifice. She felt that one whohad been so generous and self-forgetful had a right to all thata true man could ask, and that it would be base in her to refuse. The greater the sacrifice the more gladly she would make it, inorder that she too might prove that a Southern girl could not besurpassed in noblesse oblige by a Northern man. She was in one ofthose supreme moods in which men and women are swayed by one dominantimpulse, and all other considerations become insignificant. Thefact that those she loved were looking on was no restraint uponher feeling, and the sympathizing presence of the clergyman addedto it. Indeed her emotion was almost religious. The man who hadsaved her from prison and from shame--far more: the man who wasready to give all he had to rescue her fallen father--was beforeher, and without a second's hesitation she would have gone into atorture-chamber for the sake of this generous friend. She wantedhim to see his absolute power. She wanted him to know that he hadcarried her prejudice, her dislike by storm, and had won the rightto dictate his terms. Because she did not love him she was so frankin her abandon. If he had held her heart's love she would have beenshy, were she under tenfold greater obligations. She did not meanto be unmaidenly--she was not so, for her unconscious delicacysaved her--but she was at his feet as truly as the "devotee" isprostrate and helpless before the car of Juggernaut. But Roger wasno grim idol, and he was too inexperienced, too modest to understandher. As he held her throbbing palm he looked a little wonderinglyinto her flushed face and tear-gemmed eyes that acknowledged himlord and master without reserve; then he smiled and said in a low, half-humorous tone, "I shan't be an ogre to you--you won't be afraidof me any longer, Miss Mildred?"

"No, " she replied impetuously; "you are the truest and best frienda woman ever had. Oh, I know it--I know it now. After what you saidabout papa, I should despise myself if I did not know it. "

She saw all his deep, long-repressed passion leap into his faceand eyes, and in spite of herself she recoiled from it as from ablow. Ah, Mildred, your will is strong, your gratitude is boundless, your generous enthusiasm had swept you away like a tide, but yourwoman's heart is stronger and greater than all, and he has seenthis truth unmistakably. The passion died out of his face like aflame that sinks down to the hidden, smouldering fire that producedit. He gave her hand a strong pressure as he said quietly, "I amindeed your friend--never doubt it;" then he turned away decidedly, and although his leave-taking from Mrs. Jocelyn and Belle wasaffectionate, they felt rather than saw there was an inward strugglefor self-mastery, which made him, while quiet in manner, anxiousto get away. 

Mr. Wentworth, who had been talking with Mrs. Jocelyn, observednothing of all this, and took his leave with assurances that theywould see him soon again. 

Mildred stood irresolute, full of bitter self-reproach. She tookan impulsive step toward the door to call Roger back, but, checkingherself, said despairingly, "I can deceive neither him nor myself. Oh, mamma, it is of no use. " And indeed she felt that it would beimpossible to carry out the scheme that promised so much for thoseshe loved. As the lightning flash eclipses the sun at noonday, soall of her gratitude and self-sacrificial enthusiasm now seemed butpale sickly sentiment before that vivid flame of honest love--thatdivine fire which consumes at touch every motive save the one forthe sacred union of two lives. 

"I wish I could see such a man as Roger Atwood look at me as helooked at you, " said Belle indignantly. "I would not send him awaywith a heartache. "

"Would to Heaven it had been you, Belle!" replied Mildred dejectedly. "I can't help it--I'm made so, and none will know it better thanhe. "

"Don't feel that way, " remonstrated Mrs. Jocelyn; "time and thethought of what Roger can do for us will work great changes. Youhave years before you. If he will help us save your father--"

"Oh, mamma, I could shed for him all the blood left in my body. "

"Nonsense!" cried the matter-of-fact Belle. "He doesn't wantyour blood; he only wants a sensible girl who will love him as hedeserves, and who will help him to help us all. "

Mildred made a despairing gesture and went to her room. She soonreappeared with a quilt and a pillow, and placing them on the floorbeside the low bed in which the children slept, said, "I'll stayhere, and you take my place with Belle, mamma. No, " she addedresolutely, as her mother began to remonstrate; "what I resolveupon I intend to do hereafter, even to the least thing. You shallnot go near the room where papa is to-night. "

Throughout the evening, while love, duty, and generous sympathyplanned for his redemption; throughout the long night, while thesad-hearted wife prayed for success in their efforts, the husbandand father lay shrouded in the heavy, rayless darkness of a drunkenstupor. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

STRONG TEMPTATION

Well, I must admit that I have rarely been so touched and interestedbefore, " said Mr. Wentworth, as he and Roger walked homeward together;"and that is saying much, for my calling brings human life beforeme in almost every aspect. Mildred Jocelyn is an unusual girl. Until to-day I thought her a trifle cold, and even incapable ofvery deep feeling. I thought pride--not a common pride, you know, but the traditional and proverbial pride of a Southern woman--herchief characteristic, but the girl was fairly volcanic with feelingto-night. I believe she would starve in very truth to save herfather, though of course we won't permit any such folly as theyare meditating, and I do not believe there is any sacrifice, notinvolving evil, at which she would hesitate. She's a jewel, Atwood, and in winning her, as you will, you will obtain a girl for whoma prince might well sue. She's one of a thousand, and beneath allher wonted self-control and reserve she has as true and passionatea heart as ever beat in a woman's breast. "

"Good-night, " said Roger, a little abruptly. "I agree with all youcan say in regard to Miss Jocelyn's nobility, and I shall not failher, nor shall I make bargains or conditions in my loyalty. Theprivilege of serving such a woman is enough. I will see you againsoon, " and he walked rapidly down the street on which his uncleresided. 

Roger and Mr. Wentworth had become very good friends, and thelatter had been of much service to the young fellow by guiding himin his reading and study. The clergyman had shown his usual tact indealing with Roger. Never once had he lectured or talked religionat him, but he preached interestingly, and out of the pulpit wasthe genial, natural, hearty man that wins the respect and goodwillof all. His interviews with Roger were free from the faintest traceof religious affectation, and he showed that friendly appreciationand spirit of comradeship which young men like. Roger felt thathe was not dealing with an ecclesiastic, but with a man who was ashonest, earnest, and successful in his way as he ever hoped to bein his. He was therefore being drawn by motives that best accordedwith his disposition toward the Christian faith--by a thorough respectfor it, by seeing its practical value as worked out in the usefulbusy life of one who made his chapel a fruitful oasis in whatwould otherwise have been a moral desert. In his genuine humanityand downright honesty, in his care of people's bodies as well assouls, and temporal as well as spiritual interests, the minister wasa tower of strength, and his influence for good over the ambitiousyouth, now fast developing the character which would make or marhim for life, was most excellent. While Roger spoke freely to himof his general hopes and plans, and gave to him more confidencethan to any one else, there was one thing that, so far as wordswere concerned, he hid from all the world--his love for Mildred. The sagacious clergyman, however, at last guessed the truth, butuntil to-night never made any reference to it. He now smiled tothink that the sad-hearted Jocelyns might eventually find in Rogera cure for most of their troubles, since he hoped that Mr. Jocelyn, if treated scientifically, might be restored to manhood. 

Mr. Ezra Atwood, Roger's uncle, sat in his small parlor far beyondhis usual hour for retiring, and occasionally he paced the floor soimpatiently as to show that his mind was deeply perturbed. Whilehis nephew had studied books he had studied his nephew, and in theprocess the fossilization of his heart had been arrested, and thestrong, steady youth had suggested hopes of something like a filialrelation to the childless man. At first he had growled to himself, "If the boy were only mine I'd make a man of him, " and then graduallythe idea of adopting and making a man of him, had presented itselfand slowly gained full possession of his mind. Roger was capable, persevering, and tremendously ambitious--qualities that were afterthe old man's heart, and, after maintaining his shrewd furtiveobservation for months, he at last muttered to himself, "I'll doit, for he's got the Atwood grit and grip, and more brains than anyof us. His father is shrewd and obstinate enough, but he's narrow, and hasn't breadth of mind to do more than pinch and save what hecan scratch out of that stony farm of his. I'm narrow, too. I canturn an honest penny in my line with the sharpest in the market, and I'm content; but this young fellow is a new departure in thefamily, and if given a chance and kept from all nonsense he canclimb to the top notch. There's no telling how high a lawyer canget in this country if he has plenty of brains and a ready tongue. "

Thus the old man's dominant trait, ambition, which he had satisfiedin becoming known as one of the most solid and wealthy men of hiscalling, found in his nephew a new sphere of development. In returnfor the great favors which he proposed to confer, however, he feltthat Roger should gratefully accept his wishes as absolute law. With the egotism and confidence of many successful yet narrow men, he believed himself perfectly capable of guiding the young fellow'scareer in all respects, and had little expectation of any fortunateissue unless he did direct in all essential and practical matters. Mr. Atwood worshipped common-sense and the shrewd individuality ofcharacter which separates a man from his fellows, and enables himto wrap himself in his own interests and pursuits without babblingto others or being impeded by them. Influenced by his wife, he waskind to the poor, and charitable in a certain methodical way, butboasted to her that in his limited circle he had no "hangers-on, "as he termed them. He had an instinctive antipathy to a class thathe called "ne'er-do-weels, " "havebeens, " and "unlucky devils, " andif their misfortunes and lack of thrift resulted from causes likethose destroying Mr. Jocelyn he was sternly and contemptuouslyimplacable toward them. He was vexed that Roger should have botheredhimself with the sick man he had discovered on shipboard the daybefore Christmas. "It was no affair of his, " he had grumbled; butas the young fellow had been steady as a clock in his business andstudies after Mr. Jocelyn had recovered, he had given no furtherthought to these friends, nor had it occurred to him that they weremore than passing acquaintances. But a letter from Roger's father, who had heard of Mr. Jocelyn's condition and of his son's intimacywith the family, awakened the conservative uncle's suspicions, andthat very afternoon the well-meaning but garrulous Mrs. Wheaton hadtold his wife all about what she regarded as brilliant performances onthe part of Roger at the police court. Mrs. Atwood was a kind-heartedwoman, but she had much of her husband's horror of people who werenot respectable after her strict ideal, and she felt that she oughtto warn him that Roger's friends were not altogether desirable. Of course she was glad that Roger had been able to show that theyoung girl was innocent, but shop-girls living in low tenementswith a drunken father were not fit companions for their nephewand possible heir. Her husband indorsed her views with the wholeforce of his strong, unsympathetic, and ambitious nature, and wasnow awaiting Roger with the purpose of "putting an end to suchnonsense at once. " The young man therefore was surprised to find, as he entered the hallway, that his uncle was up at an hour latefor him. 

"I wish to see you, " was the prompt, brief greeting from Mr. Atwood, who was uneasily tramping up and down the small stiff parlor, whichwas so rarely used that it might almost have been dispensed withas a part of the residence. Roger came forward with some anxiety, for his uncle lowered at him like a thunder-cloud. 

"Sit there, where I can see your face, " was the next curt direction. There was neither guilt nor fear in the frank countenance that wasturned full upon him. "I'm a man of few words, " he resumed morekindly, for Roger's expression disarmed him somewhat. "Surely, " hethought, "when the boy gets a hint of what I can do for him, he'llnot be the fool to tangle himself up with people like the Jocelyns. "

"Where have you been to-night?" he asked bluntly. Roger told him. "Where were you last night and this morning?" Roger briefly narratedthe whole story, concluding, "It's the first time I've been lateto business, sir. "

The old man listened grimly, without interruption, and then said, "Of course I'm glad you got the girl off, but it's bad managementto get mixed up in such scrapes. Perhaps a little insight intocourt-room scenes will do you no harm since you are to be a lawyer. Now that the affair is over, however, I wish you to drop theseJocelyns. They are of no advantage to you, and they belong to aclass that is exceedingly disagreeable to me. I suppose you knowwhat kind of a man Mr. Jocelyn is?"

"Yes, sir; but you do not know what kind of a woman Mrs. Jocelynis. She is--"

"She is Jocelyn's wife, isn't she?"

"Certainly; but--"

"And the girl is his daughter. They live in a dowdy tenement, andare as poor as crows. "

"Misfortune and the wrong of others might make all this true ofus, " began the youth impetuously; "and yet if old friends shouldturn their backs--"

"You are not an old friend, " his uncle again interrupted, in hishard, business-like tones. "They are merely accidental acquaintances, who happened to board at your father's house last summer. Theyhaven't the ghost of a claim upon you. It looks far more as ifyou were in love with the girl, and were making a romantic fool ofyourself. "

Roger's face grew very white, but he controlled himself, and asked, "Uncle, have I ever treated you with disrespect?"

"Certainly not; why should you?"

"With some right I may also ask why you treat me with such disrespect?"

The old man opened his eyes, and was somewhat taken aback by thisunexpected question, and yet a moment's reflection showed him thathe had given cause for it. He also misunderstood his nephew, andresumed, with a short conciliatory laugh, "I guess I'm the fool, tobe imagining all this nonsense. Of course you are too much of anAtwood to entangle yourself with such people and spoil your prospectsfor life. Look here, Roger. I'll be frank with you, and then we'llunderstand each other. You know I've neither chick nor child, andI've turned a good big penny in business. When you first came Ithought you were a rattle-pated country boy that wanted a lark inthe city, and I took you more to keep you out of mischief than forany other cause. Well, I've watched you closely, and I was mistaken. You've got the stuff in you to make a man, and I see no reason whyyou should not be at the top of the heap before you reach my years, and I mean to give you a chance. You've got a little soft place inyour head and heart, or you wouldn't be getting yourself mixed upin other people's troubles. I tell you what it is, my boy, a manwho gets ahead in these times must strike right out for himself, and steer clear of all fouling with 'ne'er-do-weels, ' as if theyhad a pestilence. Hook on to the lucky ones, the strong ones, andthey'll help you along. Now if you'll take this course and followmy advice right along, I'll give you a chance with the first. Youshall go to the best college in the land, next to the law-school, and then have money enough to enable you to strike high. By thetime you are thirty you can marry an heiress. But no more Jocelynsand shop-girls who have been at stationhouses, if you please. Thegirl may have been innocent of that offence; but, plain man as I am, I don't like this style of people at all, and I know human naturewell enough to be sure that they'll try to tie themselves on to youif they can. I've thought it all out in my slow way, and, sinceyou've got it in you, I'm going to give you a chance to put theAtwood name where I can't, with all my money. "

Roger was deeply moved, for he had no idea that his uncle wascherishing such far-reaching plans in his behalf. While he hadlittle sympathy with the cold, selfish side of the programme, hisstrong ambition responded powerfully to the prospect held out tohim. He knew that the hopes inspired were not vain, for his unclewas a man whose deeds always outstripped his words, and that hisfortunes were practically assured if he would follow the worldly-wisepolicy to which he had listened. His ambition whispered, "MildredJocelyn does not love you, and never will. Even now, after you havedone so much for her, and her gratitude is boundless, her heartshrinks from you. She may not be able to help it, but it is truenevertheless. Why should you throw away such prospects for the sakeof one who loves another man, and who, until in a time of desperateneed, treated you with undisguised coldness and dislike? Besides, by yielding to your uncle's will you can eventually do more forthe family than if thrown on your own resources. " It was indeedthe great temptation of his life, and he wavered. 

"Uncle, " he said irresolutely, "you have indeed opened a veryalluring prospect, and I am grateful that you think So well of me, and that you are willing to do so much. Since you have been sofrank with me, I will be equally so with you, " and he told him allabout his relations with the Jocelyns, and tried to make the shrewdold merchant understand that they were not common people. 

"They are the most dangerous people of all, " he interruptedimpatiently. "Having once been up in the world, they think theyare still as good as anybody, and are wild to regain their oldposition. If they had always been poor and commonplace, they wouldnot be so likely to presume. What you say about the girl's not caringfor you is sheer nonsense. She'd marry you to-morrow if she could. The one idea of such people is to get out of the slough into whichthey have fallen, and they'll marry out of it the first chance theyget, and like enough they'll do worse if they can't marry. I tellyou they are the most dangerous kind of people, and Southern atthat. I've learned all about them; the father has gone to the devilfor good and all, and, with your feeling and weakness toward them, you'll never be safe a moment unless you drop them completely andfinally. Come, young man, let this affair be the test between us. I've worked hard for nearly a lifetime, and have a right to imposesome conditions with what has been earned by forty years of toil, early and late. I never speculated once. Every dollar I had tospare I put in paying real estate and governments, and, Roger, I'mworth to-day a good half a million. Ha, ha, ha! people who lookat the plain old man in the plain little house don't know that hecould afford a mansion on the Avenue better than most of them. Thisis between ourselves, but I want you to act with your eyes open. If you are such a soft-headed fool as to let that girl, who youadmit does not like you or care a rap for you personally, standbetween you and such prospects, then I'm mistaken in you, and thesooner I find it out the better. Come, now, I'll be good-naturedand liberal in the matter, for young men will be a little addle-patedand romantic before they cut their wisdom teeth. Through thatEnglish woman who works for your aunt occasionally you can see toit that these people don't suffer, but beyond that you must dropthem once for all. What is more, your father and mother take thesame view that I do, and your filial duty to them requires what Iask. While we naturally refuse to be mixed up with such people, weare seeking chiefly to promote your welfare; for the worst thingthat can happen to a young man starting in life is to have a helplesslot of people hanging on him. So, come, give me your promise--thepromise of an Atwood--and it will be all right. "

Eoger was not a self-sacrificing saint by any means. Moreover, he had inherited the Atwood characteristics sufficiently to feelall the worldly force of his uncle's reasoning, and to be temptedtremendously by his offers. They promised to realize his wildestdreams, and to make the path to fame and wealth a broad, easy trackinstead of a long, steep, thorny path, as he had expected. He wasvirtually on the mountain-top, and had been shown "all the kingdomsof the world and the glory of them. "

But against this brilliant background he saw the thin, pale faceof Mrs. Jocelyn, as she looked up to him with loving trust andgratitude, and the motherly kiss that she had imprinted on his cheekwas a seal to her absolute faith. He felt the pressure of Belle'sarm about his neck, and remembered his promise to give her a brother'sregard and protection, and justly he feared that if deserted nowthe impulsive, tempted girl would soon meet shipwreck. She wouldlose faith in God and man. But that which touched him most nearlywere his words to Mildred--words spoken even when she showed himmost plainly that her heart was not his, and probably never couldbe--"I am your friend; never doubt it. " How false he would seemto them; how false and selfish to his friend, the great-heartedclergyman, who was like Christ himself in his devoted labors; howfalse and base he would ever feel himself to be in his own soul!

For a time there was a terrible conflict in his breast as he pacedthe floor in long strides, with hands clenched and brow heavilycontracted. His uncle watched him curiously and with displeasedsurprise, for that he could hesitate at all seemed to the worldlyman an evidence of fatal weakness. 

Roger fought it out like a genuine Atwood, and was nearer akinto his uncle than the old merchant would ever suspect. His heartcraved the kingdoms of the world unspeakably, but he now realizedthat he must barter for them his honor, his manhood, and love. Thus far he had a right to love Mildred, and it was not her faultshe could not return it. But, poor and shamed as she was, he knewthat she would despise him if he yielded now, even though he roseto be the foremost man of the nation. Not with any chivalric, uncalculating impulse did he reach his conclusion, but by the slow, deliberate reasoning of a cool-headed, sturdy race that would holdto a course with life-long tenacity, having once chosen it. 

Turning to his uncle, he asked quietly. "What did you mean by 'thepromise of an Atwood'?"

"You ought to know. Our family, for generations, have lived upamong the granite hills of Forestville, and, although poor, ourpromises, whether spoken or written, are like them. "

"I'm glad to hear you say that--I'm glad to be reminded of it, " hisnephew replied. "Well, my promise has already been given. I havepromised that poor broken-hearted woman, Mrs. Jocelyn, that I'dtry to help her through her terrible misfortunes. I've promised herdaughter Belle that I'd give her a brother's care and affection. I've promised the girl I love that I would at least be her friend, since I cannot be more. I'll prove myself a true Atwood, worthy tosustain the family name and honor by keeping my promises, and ifI break them, you yourself, deep in your heart, would despise me. "

For a moment the old merchant was nonplussed, so adroitly andunexpectedly had Roger turned his words against him. Then, like mostmen suddenly put in a false position, he grew angry, and blurtedout, "Nonsense! It doesn't apply at all. These artful women havecome it over you--have entrapped you. " The young man here made astrong gesture of protest. "Oh, don't try to deceive me, " his uncleproceeded, more loudly and passionately; "I know the world. If I'dblindly made promises to adventurers who would compass my ruin, ought I to keep them? If I find I've indorsed a forged check, oughtI not to stop its payment? In the name of your parents and as youruncle, I protest against this folly, for I see well enough whereit will end. Moreover, I tell you plainly that you must choosebetween me and my offers, and that old sot of a Jocelyn and hisscheming wife and daughters. If you can be carried away by suchabsurdity, you are weaker than water, and the sooner you learnby bitter experience the better, for you certainly belong to thatclass which only hard experience can teach. But I'd like to seethose brazen-faced creatures and give them a piece of--"

"Stop!" thundered Roger; "beware how you say another word againstthose whom sorrow should render sacred. You know less about themthan about heaven. Do you forget that I am of age? You made me anoffer, and I thanked you for it honestly and gratefully. What'smore, I was base enough to be tempted by it. Oh, yes"--with a bitterlaugh--"I was an Atwood enough for that. If you had not coupledit with the condition that I should, like a coward, desert helplessand unfortunate women to whom my word is given, I would have fulfilledyour best hopes and ambitions, and have made your age glad withmy grateful love and service. In your cold-hearted worldliness youhave overreached yourself, and you wrong yourself more than me, even though I perish in the streets. But I won't starve. Mark mywords: I'll place the Atwood name where you can't, with all yourmoney, and I shall not make broken faith with those who trust me, the foundation of my fortunes. "

"Very well, then, " said his uncle, who had quieted down into ananger of white heat; "since you prefer those disreputable strangersto your family, go to them. I wash my hands of you, and shall writeto your father to this effect to-night. I'm a prompt man and don'tdilly-dally. "

"Mrs. Jocelyn and her daughters are no more disreputable than youare, sir, and calling me 'soft-headed fool' doesn't make me one. I know the duty I owe my parents, and shall perform it. I shallwrite to them also. They shall hear both sides, and were your fortunemultiplied a thousand times, I won't sell my manhood for it. Am Ito have shelter another night, or do you wash your hands of me hereand now?"

"Oh, stay by all means, or you may find yourself in the same cellin which your paragon spent last night, " replied his uncle, whoserage now passed all bounds. 

"Those words are brutal, " said Roger sternly, "and if you are notashamed of them after thinking them over, you are not the man I tookyou to be, " and he stalked out of the room and out of the house, slamming the door after him. 

The old merchant sank into a chair, trembling with both anger andchagrin, for he felt that he had been worsted in the encounter. Hedid regret the words as soon as spoken, and a certain rude senseof justice made him feel, even in his excitement, that his nephew, although an egregious fool of course, had been true to his senseof right and honor. He was assuredly the victim of a designing lotof women, but believing them to be true, his course had been manly, and the thought would come, "Since he was so faithful to them, he would have been equally so to me, and he might have found thehussies out in time to prevent trouble. " And now he had said wordswhich in effect turned his brother's son out of doors at midnightWith something like a groan and an oath he resolved not to writethat night, and to see how he felt in the morning. His nephew onprovocation had proved as great a Tartar as he knew himself to be, and he now remembered that the former had some excuse in his hotyoung blood, and that he had a right to choose against his offer, if fool enough to do it, without being reviled and insulted. 

After a wretched night he found on the breakfast-table a brief, cold note from Roger, saying that he would inform him in a day ortwo where to send his effects and such part of his salary as remainedunpaid. The old man frowned, and the Atwood pride and obstinacy tookpossession of him like evil spirits. In grim reticence he resumedhis old routine and life, and again gave himself up to the mechanicalaccumulation and saving of money. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

NO "DARK CORNERS"

From his uncle's house Roger went to a small hotel and obtained aroom in which to spend a sleepless night. After the excitement ofanger passed, he recognized the difficulties of his position. Hewas worse than friendless in the great city, for when he soughtemployment and gave an account of his antecedents, people wouldask suspiciously why he left his uncle. The reasons were of toodelicate a nature to be babbled about in business offices. 

At first he was much depressed, and complained that "luck was deadagainst him. " Moreover he felt that he had responded too harshlyto his uncle, who, after all, was only trying to aid him in hiscold-blooded way. Nevertheless he, too, had his share of the Atwoodpride and obstinacy, and he resolved that the man who had called hima "soft-headed fool" for sacrificing himself to his sense of honorand duty must apologize before there could be any reconciliation. His good sense led him to make one wise resolution, and early inthe morning he carried it out by making a clean breast of it to Mr. Wentworth. The good man listened with deep interest, and heartenedthe young fellow wonderfully by clapping him on the shoulder andsaying, "You are made of the right stuff, Atwood, and although thematerial is yet a little raw and crude, experience and Christianprinciple will temper it in time into the finest metal. "

"Don't ascribe Christian principle to me, " growled Roger, "for I'mtempted to swear like a pirate. "

"Very likely, and not without some reason. I occasionally feel alittle that way myself, but I don't do it; neither have you. "

Roger stared. "You're not a bit like a minister, " he burst out. 

"Sorry to hear it. "

"That isn't what I mean. You are a MAN. Our dominie up at Forestvillewas only a minister. "

"I have my share of human nature, Roger, and am glad of it, for Iknow from experience just how you young fellows feel. But it involvesmany a big fight. Christian principle doesn't mean a cotton-and-woolnature, or a milk-and-water experience, to put it in a homely way. It's Christian principle that makes Mildred Jocelyn, as you say, one of the bravest and best girls in the world. She's worth morethan all your uncle's money, and you needn't be discouraged, foryou'll win her yet. A young fellow with your pluck can make hisway unaided, and thousands have done so without your motives oryour ability. I'll stand by you, for you are the kind of man thatI believe in. To make your course completely blameless, you mustwrite a long filial letter to your mother, explaining everything;and if you'll take my advice you will send something like this toyour uncle;" and sitting down he scratched off the following words:

"On calmer reflection I perceive that your intentions toward mewere kindly and friendly. I should have remembered this, and therespect due to your years, and not have spoken so harshly. For allthat it was not right for me to say, I apologize. At the same timeit is my undoubted right and unwavering purpose to be guided by myown conscience. Our views of life and duty vary so widely that itwill be best for me to struggle on alone, as I can. This, however, is no reason why we should quarrel, or forget the ties of bloodwhich unite us, or our characters as gentlemen. "

"Such a note will put you right with your own conscience and yourpeople at home, " resumed Mr. Wentworth, "and there's nothing likestarting right. "

Roger complied at once, for the clergyman's "human nature" hadgained his unlimited confidence. 

"Now I'm going out, " said his friend. "You stay and make my studyyour own. There is paper, etc. I think I know of a room that youcan obtain for a small sum from a nice, quiet family, and perhapsit will just suit you. I'll see; but don't take it if you don'tlike it. You'll stay and lunch with us, and we'll drink to yoursuccess in generous cups of coffee that only my wife knows how tomake, " and he left Roger cheered, hopeful, and resolute. What wasbetter still, the young man was starting right, as was well provedby the long, affectionate, yet firm and manly letter written tohis mother. 

After a genial lunch, at which he was treated with a respect andkindness which did him a world of good, he went with Mr. Wentworthto see the room, and was well pleased with it, and he added hisfuture address to the note to his uncle. He then said:

"I keep my promise about Mr. Jocelyn, and the sooner that man isput under treatment the better. "

"Why, Roger!" exclaimed his friend, "you can't do anything now. "

"I can do just what I promised. I have a hundred dollars in thebank, and there is about twenty-five still due me. With the lattersum I can get along until I can find employment. "

"Hold on, Roger; it seems to me that your generosity is gettingthe better of you now. Circumstances have greatly changed sinceyou made your promise. "

"I've not changed, and my promises don't change with circumstances. It may be some time before you can raise the money, even if you canget it at all in these bard times, and it's something that oughtto be done at once. "

"Give me your hand again, old fellow. The world would say we werea pair of fools, but we'll wait and see who's right. Come to me atnine to-morrow morning. "

Mr. Wentworth had several things on hand that he meant to do, buthe dropped everything and started for the offices of some lawyerswhom he knew, determined to find a foothold at once for his pluckyprotege. Roger went to call on Mrs. Jocelyn, feeling that he wouldlike to get the matter relating to her husband settled, so thathe might give all his thought and energy to the problem of makinghis way unaided. In response to his knock a light step crossed thefloor, and the door was opened a little, revealing Mildred's face, then it was thrown open hospitably. "Oh, Mr. Atwood, " she exclaimed, "I am very glad to see you. Forgive me that I opened the door sosuspiciously, but you have never lived in a tenement, and do notknow what awful neighbors are often prowling around. Besides, I was alone, and that made me more timid. I am so troubled aboutsomething, and perhaps you can help me, for you seem to be ableto help every one, " Mildred continued hastily, for she dreaded anembarrassing silence between them unspeakably. "I've been to seemy employers in the hope they would forgive that poor girl who putthe lace in my cloak, and they won't. They were polite and kindto me, and offered me better wages if I would come back, but wererelentless toward the girl, saying they 'meant to break up that kindof thing once for all. ' Don't you think something might be done?"

"If you failed there would be no use of my trying, " said Roger, smiling. "I think it was wonderfully good of you to go on such anerrand. "

"I've had some lessons in goodness lately, " she replied, with alittle friendly nod. "As I talked with those stern men, I realizedmore than ever what an escape I've had, and I've thanked you in myheart a thousand times. "

The young fellow looked as if he had been repaid a thousand times, and wondered that he could have been so tempted by his uncle'sterms, for it now seemed impossible that he could ever do aughtelse than serve the sweet, sad girl who looked into his eyes withthe trust and friendliness which he had sought for so long in vain. His face became so expressive of his feelings that she hurried onto speak of another matter weighing on her mind. 

"Mr. Atwood, " she said hesitatingly, "I have another trouble. Youlooked so vindictively at that Mr. Bissel in the court-room that Ihave feared you might do something that you would afterward regret. I know how one with your honorable spirit would feel toward such awretch, but, believe me, he is beneath your notice. I should feelso badly if you got into any trouble on my account. Indeed itseems that I couldn't stand it at all, " and she said it with somuch feeling that he was honestly delighted. His spirits were risingfast, for this frank, strong interest in his welfare, in contrastwith her old constraint and coldness, was sweet to him beyond allwords. 

With a mischievous and rather wicked look in his dark eyes, he said, "You must leave that fellow to me. I'm not a saint as you are. "

Mildred proved that she was not altogether a saint by inwardlyrelishing his spirit, for she never could overcome some of thetraits of her Southern blood; but she said, honestly and anxiously, "I should feel very badly if you got into any trouble. "

"That thought will make me prudent, " he replied gratefully. "Youwould never feel badly again about anything, if I had my way. "

"I believe you, Mr. Atwood, and I can't see why I did not understandyou better before, " said Mildred, the words slipping out almostbefore she knew it. 

"I don't think you understand me yet, " he answered, very gently. 

She did not reply, but he saw her fingers trembling with nervousapprehension as she tried to go on with her sewing; he also sawthat she was growing very pale. Indeed she had almost the sick, faint look of one who is about to submit to some painful operation. 

"Don't be frightened, Miss Mildred, " he remarked, after watchingher keenly for a moment or two. She looked up and saw him smilingbroadly at her. In answer to her perplexed look he continuedquietly, "I can tell you what has been the matter between us, andwhat is the matter now--you are afraid of me. "

"Mr. Atwood--" faltered Mildred, and then words failed her, andher pale face crimsoned. 

"Don't you think it would be best for us to understand each other, now that we are to be friends?" he asked. 

"Yes, " gasped the young girl faintly, fearing every moment thathe would lose his self-control and pour out a vehement declarationof his love. She was prepared to say, "Roger Atwood, I am ready tomake any sacrifice within my power that you can ask, " but at thesame time felt that she could endure slow torture by fire betterthan passionate words of love, which would simply bruise the heartthat could make no response. If he would only ask quietly, "Mildred, will you be my wife when the right time comes? I'll be contentwith such love as you can give, " she would have replied with thecalmness of an unalterable purpose, "Yes, Roger, and I'll do mybest, " believing that years of effort might be crowned with success. But now, to have him plead passionately for what she could no morebestow than if she were dead, gave her an indescribable sense offear, pain, and repugnance; and she cowered and shrank over thesewing which she could scarcely hold, so great was her nervousapprehension. 

Instead of the vehement declaration there came a low, mellow laugh, and she lifted her eyes and stared at him, her work dropping fromher hands. 

Roger understood the situation so well, and was so thoroughly themaster of it in his generous self-control and kindly intentions, thathe should scarcely be blamed if he got out of it such bitter-sweetenjoyment as he could, and he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "Miss Millie, I wasn't going to strike you. "

"I don't understand you at all, " cried Mildred, with a patheticallyperplexed expression and starting tears, for the nervous strainwas becoming a little too prolonged. 

Roger became grave at once, and with a quiet, gentle manner he cameto her side and took her hand. "Will you be as honest with me asI shall be with you?" he asked. 

"I'll try to be. "

"Well, then, I'll soon solve for you my poor little riddle. MissMildred, you know that I have loved you ever since you waked up anawkwad, lazy, country fellow into the wish to be a man. "

His words were plain enough now, surely, but she was no longerfrightened, for he spoke in such a kindly natural voice that shelooked him straight in the eyes, with a delicate bloom in her face, and replied:

"I didn't wish to mislead you, Mr. Atwood, and I wouldn't triflewith you. "

"You have been truth and honesty itself. "

"No, I've not, " she answered impetuously; "I cherished an unreasoningprejudice against you, and--and--I disliked you, though why, I can't see now, and nobly you have triumphed over both prejudiceand dislike. "

"It will ever be the proudest triumph of my life; but, Miss Mildred, you do not love me in the least, and I fear you never will. "

"I am so sorry, so very sorry, " she faltered, with a crimson faceand downcast eyes. 

"I am, too; but that which I want to say to you is, that you are notto blame, and I don't blame you. I could not love a girl simplybecause she wanted me to, were such a thing possible, and whyshould I demand of you what I couldn't do myself? All I asked inthe first place--don't you remember it in the old front walk athome?--was friendship. Let us go back to that. Let me become yoursimple, honest friend, and help you in every way within my power. Don't let me frighten you any more with the dread of high tragedy. Now you've had all the declaration you ever need fear. I won't breakloose or explode under any provocation. I can't help my love, andyou must not punish me for it, nor make yourself miserable aboutit, as if it were a powder magazine which a kind word or look mighttouch off. I want to put your heart to rest, for you have enoughto bear now, Heaven knows; I want you to feel safe with me--asfree from fear and annoyance as Belle is. I won't presume or besentimental. "

"Oh, my perverse, perverse heart!" wailed Mildred. "I could tear itout of my breast and throw it away in disgust. I want to love--itwould be a poor return for all that you are and have done forme--but it is of no use. I will not deceive one so true as youare, by even a trace of falseness. You deserve the love of the bestwoman in the world, and some day you'll find her---"

"I have found her, " he put in quietly. 

"No, no, no!" she cried passionately; "but I am as nature made me, and I can't seem to help myself. How strange it seems that I cansay from the depths of my soul I could die for you, and yet thatI can't do just the one thing you deserve a thousand times! But, Roger, I will be the most devoted sister that ever a man had. "

"No, " he said, smiling, "that won't answer at all. That wouldn'tbe honest, as far as I am concerned. Belle is my sister, but youcan never be. I know you don't love me now, and, as I've said, perhaps you never can, but I'm too persistent in my nature to giveup the hope. Time may bring changes, and I've got years of up-hillwork before I can think of marrying. You are in a self-sacrificingmood now. I saw it in your eyes and manner last night--I see it now. Mildred, I could take a very great advantage of you if I chose. "

"Indeed you could. You don't know how generous you are. You haveconquered me, overwhelmed me by your kindness, and I couldn't sayNo to anything in your nature to ask. "

For a moment he looked sorely tempted, and then he said brusquely, "I'll put a spoke in that wheel. I'd give all the world for thislittle hand, but I won't take it until your heart goes with it. Sothere!"

The young girl sighed deeply. "You are right, " she murmured, "whenyou give so much I can give so little. "

"That is not what I was thinking of. As a woman you have sacredrights, and I should despise myself if I tried to buy you withkindness, or take advantage of your gratitude. I'll admit, too, since we are to have no dark corners in this talk, that I wouldrather be loved as I know you can love. I'd rather have an honestfriendship than a forced affection, even though the force was onlyin the girl's will and wishes. I was reading Maud Muller the othernight, and no woman shall ever say of her life's happiness, thatbut for me 'it might have been. '"

"I don't think any woman could ever say that of you. "

"Mildred, you showed me your heart last night, and it has a willstronger than your will, and it shall have its way. "

The girl again sighed. "Roger, " she said, "one reason why I so shrankfrom you in the past was that you read my thoughts. You have morethan a woman's intuition. "

"No, " he said, laughing a little grimly, "I'm not a bit feminine inmy nature. My explanation may seem absurd to you, but it's true, Ithink. I am exceedingly fond of hunting, and I so trained my eyesthat if a leaf stirred or a bird moved a wing I saw it. When youwaked me up, and I determined to seek my fortunes out in the world, I carried with me the same quickness of eye. I do not let much thatis to be seen escape me, and on a face like yours thoughts usuallyleave some trace. "

"You didn't learn to be a gentleman, in the best sense of the word, in the woods, " she said, with a smile. 

"No, you and your mother taught me that, and I may add, your father, for when I first saw him he had the perfection of manners. " Hemight also have referred to Vinton Arnold, whom he had studied socarefully, but he could not bring himself to speak of one whom inhis heart he knew to be the chief barrier between them, for he waswell aware that it was Mildred's involuntary fidelity to her firstlove that made his suit so dubious. At his reference to her fatherMildred's eyes had filled at once, and he continued gently, "Weunderstand each other now, do we not? You won't be afraid of meany more, and will let me help you all to brighter days?"

She put both of her hands in his, and said earnestly, "No, I willnever be afraid of you again, but I only half understand you yet, for I did not know that there was a man in the world so noble, sogenerous, so honest. You have banished every trace of constraint, and I'll do everything you say. "

There was a look of almost boyish pleasure on his face as shespoke, and in imitation of the heroes of the interminable old-timeromances that once had formed the larger part of his reading, hewas about to raise her hand to his lips when she snatched it away, and as if mastered by an impulse not to be controlled, put her armsaround his neck and kissed him, then burst into tears with her headupon his shoulder. 

He trembled a moment, and said, in low tones, "God bless you, Millie. " Then he gently placed her in her chair. "You mustn't do thatagain, " he said gravely. "With you it was but a grateful sisterlyimpulse, but if I were Samson I'd not be strong enough--well, youunderstand me. I don't want to give the lie to all I've said. "

"Oh, Roger, Roger, " sobbed the girl, "I can do nothing for you andyet you have saved me from shame and are giving us all hope andlife. "

"You are responsible for all there is good in me, " he tried tosay lightly, "and I'll show you in coming years if you have donenothing for me. Good-by now. It's all right and settled betweenus. Tell Mrs. Jocelyn that one hundred dollars are ready as soonas she can induce her husband to take the step we spoke of. " Andhe hastened away, feeling that it was time he retreated if he wouldmake good the generous words he had spoken. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

"HOME, SWEET HOME!"

"Oh, Millie, " cried Mrs. Jocelyn, entering with the children andthrowing herself into a chair, fatigued and panting from her walkand climb of the stairs, "I've so much to tell you. Oh, I'm sodistressed and sorry. It seems that evil has become our lot, andthat we bring nothing but evil to others. You, too, look as if youhad been crying as if your heart would break. "

"No, mamma, I feel much better--more at rest than I have been fora long time. My tears have done me good. "

"Well, I'm sorry I must tell you something that will grieve youdreadfully, but there's no help for it. It does seem when thingsare going wrong in one's life, there's no telling where they'llstop. You know Mrs. Wheaton works for Roger's aunt, Mrs. Atwood. Well, she was there this morning, and Mrs. Atwood talked dreadfullyabout us, and how we had inveigled her nephew into the worst offolly. She told Mrs. Wheaton that Mr. Atwood had intended to giveRoger a splendid education, and might have made him his heir, butthat he demanded, as his condition, that he should have nothingmore to do with such people as we were, and how Roger refused, andhow after a bitter quarrel the latter left the house at midnight. She also said that his uncle would have nothing more to do withhim, and that his family at home would be almost equally angry. Oh, I feel as if I could sink into the earth with shame and worry. What shall we do?"

"Surely, mamma, there is some mistake. Roger was here much of theafternoon, and he never said one word about it, " Mildred answered, with a troubled face. 

"It's just like him. He didn't want to pain you with the news. What did he say?" she asked, with kindling interest, and Mildredtold her substantially all that had occurred. 

"Well, Millie, " said her mother emphatically, "you will be thequeerest girl on the face of the earth if you can't love him now, for he has given up everything for you. He might have been richerthan Vinton Arnold. "

"He must not give up anything, " said Mildred resolutely. "There isreason in all things. He is little more than a boy in years, and hehas a boy's simplicity and unworldliness. I won't let him sacrificehimself for me. He doesn't know what he is doing. His aunt'sestimate of such people as we have become is correct, and I'llperish a thousand times before I'll be the means of dragging downsuch a man as Roger Atwood. If I knew where to find him I'd go andtell him so this moment. "

That was a dreary hour in the poor little home, but worse thingswere in store for them, for, as Mrs. Jocelyn said, when things aregoing wrong there is a terrible logic about them, and malign eventsfollow each other with almost inevitable sequence. All was wrongwith the head of the family, and terrible were the consequencesto his helpless wife and children. Mr. Jocelyn heard a rumor ofMildred's experience in the police court, and he went to the placethat day and obtained some account of the affair. More clearly andawfully than ever before he comprehended the depths into which hehad fallen. He had not been appealed to--he had not even been told. He did not stop to consider how good the reasons were for the coursehis family had taken, but, blind with anger and despair, he soughthis only refuge from the hell within his breast, and began drinkingrecklessly. By the time he reached the tenement where he dwelt hewas in a state of wild intoxication. A man at the door called hima drunken beast, at which Mr. Jocelyn grasped him by the throatand a fierce scuffle ensued. Soon the whole populous dwelling wasin an uproar, while the man retreated, fighting, up the stairways, and his infuriated assailant followed with oaths and curses. Womenand children were screaming, and men and boys pouring out of theirrooms, some jeering and laughing, and others making timid and futileefforts to appease and restrain the liquor-crazed man. 

Suddenly a door opened, and a pale face looked out; then a slightgirlish figure darted through the crowd and clasped Mr. Jocelyn. He looked down and recognized his daughter Mildred. For a moment heseemed a little sobered, and then the demon within him reasserteditself. "Get out of my way!" he shouted. "I'll teach that infernalYankee to insult a Southern officer and gentleman. Let me go, " hesaid furiously, "or I'll throw you down the stairway, " but Mildredclung to him with her whole weight, and the men now from very shamerushed in and overpowered him. 

He was speedily thrust within his own doorway, and Mildred turnedthe key after him and concealed it. Little recked the neighbors, as they gradually subsided into quiet, that there came a crash ofcrockery and a despairing cry from the Jocelyns' room. They hadwitnessed such scenes before, and were all too busy to run any riskof being summoned as witnesses at a police court on the morrow. The man whom Mr. Jocelyn had attacked said that he would see theagent of the house in the morning and have the Jocelyn family sentaway at once, because a nuisance, and all were content with thisarrangement. 

Within that locked door a terrible scene would have been enactedhad it not been for Mildred's almost supernatural courage, for herfather was little better than a wild beast. In his mad rush forwardhe overturned the supper-table, and the evening meal lay in a heapupon the floor. The poor wife, with a cry in which hope and hersoul itself seemed to depart fell swooning on the children's bed, and the little ones fled to the darkest corner of Mildred's roomand cowered in speechless fear. There was none to face him savethe slight girl, at whom he glared as if he would annihilate her. 

"Let me out!" he said savagely. 

"No, " said the girl, meeting his frenzied gaze unwaveringly, "notuntil you are sober. "

He rushed to the door, but could not open it. Then turning uponMildred he said, "Give me the key--no words--or I'll teach you whois master. "

There were no words, but only such a look as is rarely seen on. A woman's face. He raised his hand to strike her, but she did notshrink a hair-breadth. "Papa, " she said, in a low, concentratedtone, "you called yourself a Southern gentleman. I did not dreamyou could strike a woman, even when drunk. "

The effect of her words was magical. His hand sank to his side. Then he raised it and passed it over his brow as if it all were ahorrid dream. Without a word he went with unsteady step to his ownroom, and again Mildred locked the door upon him. 

Mrs. Jocelyn's swoon was long and death-like, and before Mildredcould restore her, Belle, returning from her work, tried to enter, and finding the door locked called for admittance. When she crossedthe threshold and saw the supper dishes broken and scattered onthe floor: when she saw her mother looking as if dead, the littleones crying at her side, and Mildred scarcely less pale than thebroken-hearted woman, with a desperate look in her blue eyes, theyoung girl gave a long, low cry of despair, and covering her facewith her hands she sank into a chair murmuring, "I can't endurethis any longer--I'd rather die. We are just going to rack andruin. Oh, I wish I could die, for I'm getting reckless--and--andwicked. Oh, oh, oh!--"

"Belle, come and help me, " said Mildred, in the hard, constrainedtones of one who is maintaining self-control by the utmost effort. Belle complied, but there was an expression on her face that filledher sister's soul with dread. 

It were well perhaps to veil the agony endured in the strickenhousehold that night. The sufferings of such women as Mrs. Jocelynand Mildred cannot be portrayed in words, and the dark chaos thathad come into poor Belle's tempted, despairing, immature soul mightwell make her good angel weep. With a nature craving sunshine andpleasure like the breath of life, she felt herself being draggedhopelessly into darkness, shame, and abject poverty. The poor childwas not deliberately contemplating evil--she was scarcely capableof doing good or evil deliberately--but a youth who had sought heronce before, and of whom she had long been shy, was again hoveringaround her. 

She was more wary now, yet bolder, and received his advances witha manner tinged with mocking coquetry. He was profuse with promises, and she tried to believe them, but in her heart she could not, andyet she did not repulse him with that stern, brief decision whichforms the viewless, impassable wall that hedges virtue. 

The sisters tried to remove the outward traces of their wreckedhome, and mechanically restored such order as was within their power, but in their secret souls they saw their household gods overturnedand trampled upon, and, with the honor and manhood of their father, they felt that night as if they had lost everything. 

After they had quieted their mother and brought the poor creature abrief oblivion, Mildred made a passionate appeal to Belle to standby her. The warm-hearted girl cried and wrung her hands passionately, but all her trembling sister could obtain from her were the words, "Millie, we are being dragged down I don't know where. "

Events followed rapidly. Before Mr. Jocelyn, sullen, nerveless, racked with headache and tortured with heartache, could leave hisroom on the morrow, the agent of the tenement served a notice onhim to the effect that he must vacate his rooms at once; that theother tenants complained of him as a nuisance; and that he (theagent) would be content to lose the rent for the few days that hadelapsed since the last regular payment if they would all go outat once. The angry reply was that they would move that day, and, without a word, he left his family in suspense. In the course of theforenoon he returned with a furniture van, and had so braced himselfwith opium that he was able to assist effectively, yet morosely, in the packing and removing of their fast-dwindling effects, foreverything not essential had been sold. His wife and daughter didnot remonstrate--they were too dispirited for that--but in drearyapathy did his bidding as far as their strength permitted, feelingmeanwhile that any change could scarcely be for the worse. 

Mildred almost felt that it was for the better, for their newshelter was in a small rear tenement not far from the old mansion, and was reached from the street by a long covered passageway. To hermorbid fancy it suggested the hiding-place that her heart craved. She now scarcely heeded the facts that the place was anything butcleanly and that their neighbors were more unpromising in appearancethan those they had just left. Mrs. Jocelyn was so ill and weakthat she ought not to raise her hands, and Mildred felt that herstrength was unequal to the task of even arranging their householdarticles so as to make the poor little nook inhabitable. She thereforewent for their old stanch ally Mrs. Wheaton, who returned with herand wrought such miracles as the wretched place permitted of. Injust foreboding she shook her head over the prospects of her friendsin such a neighborhood, for her experienced eyes enabled her togauge very correctly the character of the people who lived acrossthe hall and in the upper and lower stories. They were chieflyignorant and debased Irish families, and the good woman's fearswere not wholly due to race antipathy. In the tenement from whichthey came, the people, although poor, were in the main stolid, quiet, and hard-working, but here on every side were traces andhints, even at midday, of degraded and vicious lives. The classesin the tenements appear to have a moral gravity or affinity whichbrings to the same level and locality those who are alike, andwoe be to aliens who try to dwell among them. The Jocelyns did notbelong to the tenement classes at all, and Mrs. Wheaton correctlyfeared that the purgatory which was the corner-stone in theirneighbors' creeds would be realized in the temporal experience ofthe Southern family. Now that the step had been taken, however, she concealed her anxieties, and did her best to avoid collisionswith the burly, red-faced women and insolent children whoseofficious offers of help were but thin veils to a coarse curiosityand a desire for petty pilfering. Mildred shuddered at the peopleabout her, and was cold and brief in her words. As it was, Frednearly brought on general hostilities by resisting a shock-headedlittle urchin who had not the remotest regard for the principlesof MEUM and TUUM. As the sun declined the general verdict of theneighbors was, "They thinks themselves too foine for the loikes o'us, but we'll tache 'em. "

After Mrs. Wheaton had departed with many misgivings, Mildred tookher father aside and told him plainly what had occurred the eveningbefore. He sat with his face buried in his hands, and listened withouta word. Indeed, he was so overwhelmed with shame and remorse thathe was speechless. "Papa, look at me, " she said at last. 

Slowly he raised his bloodshot, fearful eyes to hers, and theexpression of his child's face made him tremble. 

"Papa, " she said slowly, and her tones were both sad and stern, "you must never come home drunk again. Another such scene mightcost mamma her life. If you WILL take opium, we cannot help it, butyou must drink no more vile liquor. I have now learned from bitterexperience what the latter means, and what it must lead to. Ishall not fail in love and duty to you, but I cannot permit mamma, Belle, and the children to be utterly destroyed. You may do somewild, reckless deed that would blast us all beyond remedy; therefore, if you have a particle of self-control left, let rum alone, or elsewe must protect ourselves. We have endured it thus far, not withpatience and resignation, but in a sort of apathetic despair. Thisapathy has been broken. Belle is becoming reckless, mamma is dyingof a broken heart, and the little ones are exposed to influencesthat threaten to blight their lives. There must be some change forthe better. We must at least be relieved from the fear of bodilyharm and the intolerable shame of such scenes as occurred last night. In our hard struggle we must find some kind of a refuge and somedegree of quiet and peace in what we call home. It is no kindnessto you to endure in silence any longer, and I now see that it willbe fatal to those we both love. You may not be able to refrainfrom opium, but you can and must give up liquor. If you cannot, and there is a remedy in the land, we must avail ourselves of it. I do not know what kind of a place you have brought us to, but Ifeel sure that we shall need protection. If you should come homeagain as you did last night, I am satisfied, from the looks of thepeople in this house, that we should have a scene of violence thatI shudder to think of. You had better--it would be more mercifulto stab mamma to her heart than to cause her death by drunkenness. "

Her words were not threatening, but were spoken with the calmnessof inexorable resolve, and he sat before her with an ashen face, trembling like an aspen, for it was like the Day of Judgment tohim. Then in gentler and pleading accents she told him of theirplan to place him under skilful treatment, and besought him toyield himself up to the care of one who had won much reputationin dealing with cases like his own; but all the encouragement shecould obtain were the words, "I'll think of it. "

The memory of those fearful days on shipboard, when he was withoutmorphia, made him recoil with unspeakable dread from a like ordealagain, but he promised earnestly that he would indulge no morein liquor. With the cunning of an opium maniac he understood hisdanger, knowing that further scenes of violence would lead to hisarrest and imprisonment. Of his gentle wife he had no fears, butthis frail, resolute girl subdued him. He saw that he was drivinga strong nature to desperation--saw it with all the agony and remorseof a naturally good father whose better nature was bound hand andfoot by depraved appetites. He was conscious of the terrible wrongthat he was inflicting on those for whom he once would have diedto shield them from a breath of dishonor. But, come what might, hemust have opium now, and to counteract the words of his daughter hetook enough morphia to kill all the wretched inmates of the tenement. Under its slight exhilaration he felt some hope of availing himselfof the proposition that he should go to a curative institution, and he half promised that he would before long. At this point thepainful interview ended, and Mildred went for Belle, who as yethad no knowledge of their change of abode. 

As the two girls returned, in the dusk of evening, to the long darkpassageway that led to the tenement in which they now had rooms, Mildred trembled with fear as she saw that its entrance was surroundedand blocked by a group of rough-looking young men and boys. Bellepushed boldly through them, although they leered, laughed, and madecoarse jests. Mildred followed shrinkingly, with downcast eyes. "We'll tache 'em to be neighborly, " were the last words she heard, showing that the young ruffians had already obtained their cue fromtheir depraved and low-lived parents. 

They looked forward to a dismal evening, but a loyal friend cameto their rescue. Roger, having arranged the room selected for himby Mr. Wentworth, could not resist the temptation to see thosewho were ever uppermost in his thoughts. In dismay and anxiety helearned of their hasty removal and something of the causes whichled to it. From the janitor he obtained their present address, and the appearance of his broad shoulders and fearless face had arestraining influence on the mischief-making propensities of therowdies who kennelled in the vicinity. The alien new-comers evidentlywere not friendless, and there was hesitation in the half-formedmeasures for their annoyance. 

Roger remained an hour or two, aiding the girls in trying to makethe rooms more homelike, which, however, was rather a hopelesstask. Mr. Jocelyn, half stupefied by opium, retreated to one ofthe small dark closet bedrooms, and left the scene unembarrassed byhis presence. Roger remarked emphatically that the tenement was noplace for them, but Mildred told him that the rent had been paidfor a month in advance, and that they must try to endure it, adding, "The twenty-five dollars that you and Mr. Wentworth obtained forme has been, after all, a perfect Godsend. "

He was touched, and bound to her with bands of steel by the perfecttrust she now reposed in him, and he determined to watch over herlike an amiable dragon, making it his first and constant thoughthow to rescue them all from their wretched condition. He was muchsurprised, however, when Mildred said to him, as he was preparingto leave, "Mr. Atwood, there is something I wish to say to you. Will you let me walk a block or two with you, and then bring meback again?"

Roger tried to disguise his feelings by saying laughingly that hewould "walk to Spuyten Duyvil" with her, but added, "You are tootired to go out at all to-night. I will come to-morrow evening, "and he remonstrated so earnestly and kindly that she yielded, promising to rest much of the following day. 

"Oh, Millie, " said her mother, with a faint smile, "it does my heartgood to see that there is some one who knows how and has the willto take care of you. "

"Yes, " cried Belle, "this place is a perfect hole. It's not fitfor nice girls to be seen in, and if Roger gives us a chance toget out of it you had better take it as soon as possible. I giveyou fair warning. "

"What do you mean, Belle?" asked her mother. Belle made no answer, but went to her closet bedroom with a morose, sullen look on her face. The poor woman looked inquiringly at Mildred, who said soothingly, "Don't worry, mamma. Belle is a little tired and discouraged tonight. She'll be in a better mood in the morning. "

When all were sleeping from the fatigues of the day, she sat alonewith clasped hands and eyes so wide and troubled that it seemedas if she could never close them again. "Alas!" she sighed, "whatmust I do? He is our good genius, and yet I must drive him away. He must not sacrifice all his prospects for us. It would be mostcruel and unjust to let him do so. I must reason with him and showhim plainly that it would not be right, and absolve him from everyshadow of blame for leaving us to such fate as God permits. Becausehe is so generous and brave he shall not suffer a loss which hecannot now comprehend. "

At last, from utter weariness, she fell into a broken sleep. 

CHAPTER XL

NEIGHBORS

Promptly the following evening Roger appeared, and with glowingcheeks told his friends that Mr. Wentworth had found him employmentin a lawyer's office, which would enable him to pay his way andat the same time give him much practical insight into his chosenprofession. Mildred looked at him wistfully, but her resolutionwas not shaken, and they went out together, Roger saying, with asmiling nod at Belle, "It will be your turn to-morrow evening. "

"Roger, " said Mildred, "I've much to say to you, and it is of greatimportance that you should listen calmly and sensibly. "

"All right, " he answered laughingly. "You will find me as quietand impressible as the oysters over which we'll have our talk, butonly on this condition. You shall not fatigue yourself by a wordhere in the street. " Nevertheless she felt the phlegmatic creature'sarm trembling under her hand. After a moment he went on, in thesame light way, "I want you to understand I am not going to be afriend in name merely; I intend to assert my rights, and you hadbetter learn from the start that I am the most tremendously obstinatefellow in the city. "

"But you must listen to reason. "

"Certainly; so must you. "

"To begin with, " she resumed, "I've had my supper, and so don'tneed any more. "

"I haven't had mine, and am ravenous. The idea of talking reasonto a hungry man! I know of a nice quiet restaurant which, at thishour, we'll have almost to ourselves. You surely won't be so unsocialas to let me eat alone. "

"Well, if I yield in trifles you must yield in matters that arevital. Why did you not get your supper before?"

"Too busy; and then, to be honest, I knew I'd enjoy it a hundredfoldmore with you. I'm a social animal. "

Mildred sighed, for this good-comradeship was making her duty veryhard. 

They soon reached the place in question, and Roger ordered enoughfor four. 

"You don't realize what you are doing in any respect, " said Mildredin smiling reproof. 

"Wait half an hour before you settle that question, " he repliedwith a confident nod. "I'll soon prove to you what an unsentimentalbeing I am. "

"Oh, " thought Mildred, "how can I give up his friendship when heacts in this way? And yet I must. He must be shown just how he iswronging himself. " When the waiter had departed she looked straightinto his eyes with one of her steadfast glances, and said earnestly, "Roger, I appreciate your generous kindness far more than any wordscan tell you, but the time has come for me to act resolutely andfinally. Sad experience has taught me more within a year than mostwomen learn in a lifetime. Mrs. Wheaton, who often works for youraunt, has told us of the sacrifice you have made in our behalf, and we cannot permit it. If not in years, I'm much older than youin other respects, and you don't realize--"

Roger interrupted her by leaning back in his chair and breakingout into an irrepressible laugh. "So you are going to interfere inbehalf of the small boy's interests? My venerable friend, permitme to remind you that I am six feet high in my stockings, and havelately reached the mature age of twenty-one. "

"Roger, " replied Mildred, with a pained look on her face, "I'min earnest, and I've lain awake nearly all of two nights thinkingabout it. "

"Millie, your oysters are getting cold. You don't know anythingabout boys, much less about men. Don't you know I'll be much moreamiable after supper? It's the nature of the male animal, and what'sthe use of going against nature?"

"Oh, Roger, listen to me. I'm desperately in earnest. To let yousacrifice such prospects as Mrs. Wheaton said your uncle held outto you for our sakes oppresses me with guilt. I can't eat anything--youdon't realize--"

"Millie Jocelyn, " said Roger, his face becoming grave and gentle, "I know what you are driving at. You might as well try to stop Springfrom coming on. I'm going to be your honest, faithful friend, sohelp me God! Even if you left me now and refused to speak to meagain, I'd watch over you and yours in every way I could. It's mygood destiny, and I thank God for it, for I feel it's making a manof me. I won't deceive you in one iota, and I admit to my shamethat my worldly old uncle tempted me that night, especially afterI saw from your face just how you felt. Even then my hope was thatI could do more for you by yielding to his views than if I stoodout against them, but a little thought convinced me that youwould starve rather than take aid from one who would not give openfriendship and companionship, and you would be right. Oh, I exultin your pride, and respect you for it. You are my ideal woman, Millie, and if my uncle had owned this island, and had offered itall to me, I'd have made a wretched bargain in giving up for itthe privilege of being here this evening, with the right to lookyou straight in the eyes without shame. If I had yielded to himthen, as the devil tempted me to, I'd never have known another dayof self-respect or happiness. I'm building now on the rock of honorand manhood, and you can't say anything that will change my purpose. I know what I am about if I am only a 'boy'; and Mr. Wentworth, who has been told all, approves of my course. So eat your oysters, Millie, and submit to the inevitable. "

"Oh, Roger, Roger, what shall I say to you?"

"Look here, Millie; if you were in my place, would you desert abrave, true girl in misfortune? No; unlike me, you would never havehesitated a moment. "

"But, Roger, as you say you--you--saw in my face a truth thatabsolved you--"

"What I saw in your face, " he said gravely, "is my misfortune. It is not anything for which you are to blame in the least. And, Millie, I'd rather have your friendship than any other woman's love. I'm choosing my own course with my eyes open, and, thank God, I'vechosen rightly. I'd have been the most miserable fellow in the wholecity if I had chosen otherwise. Now I'm happy. It's all right. I'vevowed to be a brother to Belle, and to do all in my power for yoursweet, gentle mother. I've vowed to be your true friend in allrespects, and if you protested till Doomsday it wouldn't make anydifference. I've written to my mother, and I know her well enoughto be sure that she will approve of my course. So will my fatherby and by. He isn't bad at heart, but, like uncle, a dollar is solarge in his eyes that it hides the sun. Be that as it may, I'mjust as much of an Atwood as he is, and can be just as obstinatein doing what I know to be right as he can be in requiring a coursethat would spoil my life. Millie, there never was a soldier, inall the past, braver than you have shown yourself to be, and youare a delicate girl that I could carry like a child. Do you advisea young, strong-handed fellow to play the coward, and desert thewomen I love and honor in their sore need and danger? You havelooked on only one side of this question, and you must not thinkso meanly of me as to even suggest anything of the kind again. "

"Roger, Roger, can you realize what you are saying?" Mildredfaltered, a slow, painful flush crimsoning her face. "How can youhonor those who are so disgraced? You don't know what papa hasbecome. The world will share your uncle's views concerning us. "

"I do know all about your father, Millie, and I pity him from thedepths of my soul. He is the dark background which brings out yourabsolute truth and purity. I do honor you and Mrs. Jocelyn as Ihonor my own mother, and I intend to prove myself worthy of yourrespect at least, for its loss would be fatal to me. I even honoryour rare fidelity, though it stands so awfully in my way. Now, surely, we understand each other. But, come, this is far too serioustalk for a restaurant and the supper-table. I am now going to givemy whole soul to oysters, and I adjure you by our bonds to do thesame. Here's to our friendship, Millie, and may I be choked themoment I'm false to it!" and he drained a generous cup of coffee. 

"You won't listen to me, then, " she said, with a face whereinperplexity, relief, and gratitude were blended. 

"I won't listen to a word that will make me the most miserablewretch in the world, and you won't get rid of me as long as I live. So, there, you might as well submit to fate and eat your oysters. "

Her expression became very grave and resolute. "Roger, " she saidslowly, "I did not know there was so kind and true a man in theworld. I will do anything that you can ask. "

His eyes suddenly became infinitely wistful and tender, and thenhe gave himself a little characteristic shake as he said, ratherbrusquely, "I accept that promise, and shall at once tax it to theutmost with the request that you eat a jolly good supper and callon me every time I can aid you. "

Her glance in response warmed his soul, and then she gave herselfup to social friendliness in a way which proved that a greatburden had been taken from her heart. On their way home, however, she hinted her fears in regard to Belle, and Roger understood herthoroughly. For the next few days he watched the young girl, and soonsatisfied himself as to the character of the man who was pursuingher. His object now was to obtain some ground for brotherlyinterference, and one Saturday evening, while following Belle home, he saw a young man join her and receive an undoubted welcome. Hesoon became aware that matters were progressing fast and far, forthe young people wandered off into unfrequented streets, and once, where the shadows were deepest, he saw Belle's attendant stealhis arm about her waist and kiss her. Belle's protest was not veryvigorous, and when at last they parted in the passageway that ledto Belle's home the kiss was repeated and not resented at all. 

Roger followed the young man, and said, "You have just parted fromMiss Belle Jocelyn. "

"Well, that's my affair. "

"You will find yourself so greatly mistaken that you had betteranswer my questions honestly. What are your intentions toward her?I have the right to ask. "

"None of your business. "

"Look here, young man, she has acknowledged me as her brother, and as a brother I feel toward her. I've only a few plain words tosay. If your intentions are honorable I'll not interfere, althoughI know all about you, and you are not my style of man by any means. If your intentions are not honorable, and you do not cease yourattentions, I'll break every bone in your body--I swear it by theGod who made me. "

"Go to the devil!" muttered the fellow. 

"No, sir, nor shall I permit you to take one dear to me to the devil, but I pledge my word to send you straight to him if you harm BelleJocelyn. Here, stop and look me in the eyes under this lamp. Youkissed her twice to-night. Do you intend to make her your wife?"

There was no answer, but the sullen, half-frightened face was anunmistakable response. "I understand you now, " said Roger savagely, taking the fellow by the throat, "and I'll send you swiftly toperdition if you don't promise to let that girl alone, " and hisgleaming eyes and iron grasp awed the incipient roue so completelythat he quavered out:

"Oh, let go. If you feel the girl is your property, I'll let heralone. "

Roger gave him a wrathful push which precipitated his limp forminto the gutter, and growled as he walked of, "If you value yourlife, keep your promise. "

An evening or two later Roger said to Belle, whom he had taken outfor a stroll, "I kept my word--I cowhided that fellow Bissel, whoplayed such a dastardly part toward your sister. Of course I didnot want to get myself into trouble, or give him any power overme, so I found out his haunts and followed him. One night, as hewas returning rather late from a drinking saloon, I spoiled his goodlooks with a dozen savage cuts. He was too confused to see who itwas in the dark, and to mislead him more thoroughly I said, withthe last blow, 'Take that for lying and causing a poor girl tobe sent to prison. ' He thinks, no doubt, that some friend of thethief was the one who punished him. What's more, he won't forgetthe lashing I gave him till his dying day, and if I mistake nothis smooth face will long bear my marks. "

Belle gave but a languid approval, for she had missed her lover forthe last two evenings. "Belle, " he continued, gravely but gently, "I was tempted to choke the life out of a fellow the other night, and it was the life of one who kissed you twice. "

She dropped her hand from his arm, but he replaced it and held ittightly as he resumed, "I'm no make-believe brother, you know. I'mjust such a brother as I would be if I had been born with you ona Southern plantation. Though the young man was not to my mind, Itold him that if his intentions were honorable I would not interfere, but I soon learned that he was an out-and-out scoundrel, and I saidwords to him that will make him shun you as he would death. Belle, I would kill him as I used to club rattlesnakes in the country, ifhe harmed a hair of your head, and he knows it. "

"You misjudge him utterly, " cried Belle in a passion. "and youhave just driven away the one friend that I had in all the world. I won't stand it. I'm not a baby, and I won't be treated like one. "

Roger let her storm on without a word, but at last, when sheconcluded, "I've no father worthy of the name, and so I'll takecare of myself, " he asked quietly:

"How about your mother, Belle?"

In strong revulsion the impulsive girl gave way to an equallypassionate outburst of grief. "Oh, " she cried, "I wish I were dead!"

"Belle, " said Roger, very gently now, "if you listened to thatfellow you would soon make that wish in earnest. Now in your heartyou don't mean it at all. You don't love such a man, and you knowit. Why should you throw your young, beautiful life into the gutter?It is a mere reckless protest against your unhappy life. Belle, you are not seventeen, and you may live till you are seventy ifyou take care of yourself. Think of the changes for the better thatmay come in that time. They shall come, too. I shall share with youall my fortunes, and you have told me many a time that I was sureto succeed. I pledge you my word that before many years you shallhave good honest men at your feet, " and he reasoned with her sosensibly, and petted and soothed her so kindly, that at last sheclung to his arm as if it were a defence indeed, and said, withtearful eyes, "You ARE a brother in the best sense of the word, andI wonder you have patience with such a reckless, passionate foolas I am. I'm not fit for you to speak to. "

"No, Belle, you are not bad at heart--far from it. You are halfdesperate from your present misfortunes, and in your blind impulseto escape you would make matters infinitely worse. Be patient, dear. It's a long lane that has no turning. To one so young as youare life promises very much, if it is not spoiled at the beginning, and Mr. Wentworth would tell us that there is a heaven beyond itall. "

The influence of this interview did not speedily pass from hermind, and by her gentler and more patient bearing Mildred was taughtagain how much she owed to one whom she had so long repelled. 

Mr. Wentworth succeeded in interesting the lady to whom he hadreferred in Mildred, and a visit from the young girl confirmed hergood impressions. As a result, sufficient work was found or madeto give Mildred steady employment. Mr. Jocelyn was comparativelyquiet and much at home. Often he was excessively irritable andexasperating in words and manner, but no longer violent from bestialexcess. He put off the project of going to a curative institution, with the true opium inertia and procrastination, and all effortsto lead him to definite action proved fruitless. His presence, however, and his quiet, haughty ways, with Roger's frequent visits, did much for a time to restrain the ill-disposed people around them, but the inevitable contact with so much depravity and coarsenesswas almost unendurable. 

Now that Mildred no longer went out to her work, she taxed heringenuity to the utmost to amuse Fred and Minnie, that she mightkeep them from the horrible associations beyond their door, buther father's irritability often rendered it impossible for them toremain in the room, and, childlike, they would assimilate somewhatwith the little heathen among whom their lot was now cast. 

Poor Mrs. Jocelyn was sinking under her sorrows. She did not complain:she blamed herself with a growing morbidness for the ruin of herhusband and the hard lot of her children, and hope deferred wasmaking her heart sick indeed. Her refined, gentle nature recoiledwith an indescribable repugnance from her surroundings, and oneday she received a shock from which she never fully recovered. 

Her husband was out, and Mildred had gone to deliver some work. The children, whom she tried to keep with her, broke away at lastand left the door open. Before she could close it a drunken womanstumbled in, and, sinking into a chair, she let a bundle slip fromher hands. It fell on the floor, unrolled, and a dead infant laybefore Mrs. Jocelyn's horrified gaze. Her cries for help brought astout, red-faced woman from across the hallway, and she seemed tounderstand what was such a fearful mystery to Mrs. Jocelyn, forshe took the unwelcome intruder by the shoulder and tried to gether to go out hastily, but the inebriated wretch was beyond shame, fear, or prudence. Pulling out of her pocket a roll of bills, sheexclaimed, in hideous exultation:

"Faix, I'oive had a big day's work. Trhree swell families on theAvenue guv me all this to burry the brat. Burry it? Divil a bit. It's makin' me fortin'. Cud we ony git dead babbies enough we'dall be rich, Bridget, but here's enough to kape the pot bilin' forwakes to come, and guv us a good sup o' whiskey into the bargain. Here, take a drap, " she said, pulling out a black bottle and holdingit up to Mrs. Jocelyn. "What yer glowrin' so ghostlike for? Ah, letme alone, ye ould hag, " she said angrily to the red-faced woman, who seemed in great trepidation, and tried to put her hand overthe drunken creature's mouth. "Who's afeard? Money'll buy judgeand jury, an' if this woman peaches on us I'll bate her brains outwid the dead babby. "

Finding that words were of no avail, and that she could not movethe great inert mass under which Mrs. Jocelyn's chair was creaking, the neighbor from across the way snatched the money and retreatedto her room. This stratagem had the desired effect, for the womanwas not so intoxicated as to lose her greed, and she followed ashastily as her unsteady steps permitted. A moment later the red-facedwoman dashed in, seized the dead child and its wrappings, and thenshaking her huge fist in Mrs. Jocelyn's face, said, "If yees everspakes of what yer've sane, I'll be the death of ye--by the V'arginI will; so mum's the word, or it'll be worse for ye. "

When Mildred returned she found her mother nervously prostrated. "I've had a bad turn, " was her only explanation. Her broken spiritwas terrified by her awful neighbors, and not for the world wouldshe add another feather's weight to the burdens under which herfamily faltered by involving them in a prosecution of the vileimpostor who had sickened her with the exposure of a horribletrade. [Footnote: This character is not an imaginary one, and, onample authority, I was told of an instance where the large sum offifty dollars was obtained from some kindly family by this detestablemethod of imposition. ]

"Mamma, " cried Mildred, in sharp distress, "we must leave thisplace. It's killing you. "

"I wish we could leave it, dear, " sighed the poor woman. "I thinkI'd be better anywhere else. "

"We shall leave it, " said the girl resolutely. "Let the rent go. I had already about decided upon it, and now I'll go with Mrs. Wheaton to-morrow and find rooms among more respectable people. "

The events of the evening confirmed her purpose, for the young roughsthat rendezvoused nightly at the entrance of the long passagewaydetermined that they would no longer submit to the "uppish airs"of the sisters, but "tache 'em" that since they lived in the samehouse they were no better than their neighbors. Therefore, asBelle boldly brushed by them as usual on her return from the shop, one young fellow, with a wink to his comrades, followed her, andwhere the passage was darkest put his arm around her waist andpressed upon her cheek a resounding kiss. In response there camefrom the entrance a roar of jeering laughter. But the young ruffianfound instantly to his sorrow that he had aroused a tigress. Bellewas strong and furious from the insult, and her plump hand camedown on the fellow's nose with a force that caused the blood toflow copiously. After the quick impulse of anger and self-defencepassed she ran sobbing like a child to Mildred, and declared shewould not stay another day in the vile den. Mildred was white withanger, and paced the room excitedly for a few moments. 

"Oh, God, that we had a father!" she gasped. "There, Belle, let usbe patient, " she continued after a few moments; "we can't contendwith such wretches. I promise you that this shall be your last dayin this place. We ought to have left before. "

Then, as the girls grew calmer, they resolved not to tell eithertheir father or Roger, fearing that they might become embroiled ina dangerous and disgraceful quarrel involving their presence in apolice court. Mildred had given her mother a sedative to quiet hertrembling nerves, and she was sleeping in one of the bedrooms, andso happily was not aware of Belle's encounter. 

Mr. Jocelyn soon came in, and, for the first time since Mildred'swarning, was a little the worse for liquor, but he had theself-control to keep quiet, and after a few mouthfuls of supperwent to his room overcome by the stupor he had sought. After thechildren were sleeping the girls gladly welcomed Roger, for he hadbecome the chief source of light and hope in their saddened lives. And he did brighten and cheer them wonderfully, for, content witha long and prosperous day's work, and full of the hopefulness andcourage of youth, he imparted hope and fortitude to them in spiteof all that was so depressing. 

"Come, girls, " he said at last, "you need some oxygen. The air isclose and stifling in this den of a house, and outside the eveningis clear and bracing. Let's have a stroll. "

"We can't go far, " said Mildred, "for mamma is sleeping, and Iwould not have her wake and be frightened for anything. "

"Well, we'll only go around a block or two. You'll feel thestronger for it, and be in a better condition to move to-morrow, "for Mildred had told him of her purpose, and he had promised tohelp them get settled on the following evening. When they reachedthe end of the dark passage-way they feared that trouble was brewing, for a score of dark, coarse faces lowered at them, and the fellowthat Belle had punished glared at her above his bandaged face. Paying no heed to them, however, they took a brief, quick walk, and returned to find the entrance blocked by an increasing numberof dangerous-looking young ruffians. 

"Stand aside, " said Roger sternly. 

A big fellow knocked off his hat in response, and received instantlya blow in the eye which would have felled him had he not beensustained by the crowd, who now closed on the young man. 

"Run up the street and call for police, " he said to the girls, butthey were snatched back and held by some of the gang, and handsplaced over their mouths, yet not before they had uttered twopiercing cries. 

Roger, after a brief, desperate struggle, got his back to thewall and struck blows that were like those of a sledge-hammer. Hewas dealing, however, with some fairly trained pugilists, and wassuffering severely, when a policeman rushed in, clubbing rightand left. The gang dispersed instantly, but two were captured. Thegirls, half fainting from excitement and terror, were conductedto their room by Roger, and then they applied palliatives to thewounds of their knight, with a solicitude and affection which madethe bruises welcome indeed to the young fellow. They were in terrorat the idea of his departure, for the building was like a seethingcaldron. He reassured them by promising to remain until all wasquiet, and the police also informed them that the house would beunder surveillance until morning. 

On the following day, with Mrs. Wheaton's aid, they found roomselsewhere, and Roger, after appearing as witness against the rowdiesthat had been captured, and informing his employers of what hadoccurred, gave the remaining hours to the efficient aid of hisfriends. 

CHAPTER XLI

GLINTS OF SUNSHINE

Their new rooms at first promised remarkably well. They were on theground-floor of a large tenement that fronted on a rather narrowstreet, and their neighbors seemed quiet, well-disposed people. Mr. Wentworth soon called and congratulated them on the change. Mrs. Wheaton frequently came to give Mrs. Jocelyn a "'elping 'and, " asshe phrased it, but her eliminations did not extend to her work, which was rounded out with the completeness of hearty goodwill. Roger rarely missed an evening without giving an hour or two tothe girls, often taking them out to walk, with now and then a cheapexcursion on the river or a ramble in Central Park. In the latterresort they usually spent part of Sunday afternoon, going thitherdirectly from the chapel. Mildred's morbidness was passing away. Shehad again taken her old class, and her face was gaining a serenitywhich had long been absent. 

One of the great wishes of her heart now had good prospect ofbeing fulfilled, for her father had at last consented to go to aninstitution wherein he could receive scientific treatment suitedto his case. The outlook was growing so hopeful that even Mrs. Jocelyn was rallying into something like hopefulness and courage, and her health was slowly improving. She was one whose life waschiefly sustained by her heart and the well-being of those sheloved. 

Belle also was improving greatly. The memorable interview withRoger, already described, had a lasting influence, and did muchto banish the giddiness of unthinking, ignorant girlhood, and therecklessness arising from an unhappy life. Now that the world wasbrightening again, she brightened with it. Among his new associatesRoger found two or three fine, manly fellows, who were gratefulindeed for an introduction to the handsome, lively girl, andscarcely a week passed during May and June that some inexpensiveevening excursion was not enjoyed, and thoroughly enjoyed too, evenby Mildred. Roger was ever at his best when in her society. Histalk was bright and often witty, and his spirit of fun as genuineand contagious as that of Belle herself. He was now sincerelyhappy in the consciousness of Mildred's perfect trust and strongaffection, believing that gradually, and even before the girl wasaware of it, she would learn to give more than friendship. It washis plan to make himself essential to her life, indeed a part ofit, and he was apparently succeeding. Mildred had put her fate intohis hands. She felt that she owed so much to him that she was readyto keep her promise literally. At any time for months he might havebound her to him by promises that would never have been broken; heknew it, and she was aware of his knowledge, but when, instead oftaking advantage of her gratitude, he avoided all sentiment, andtreated her with a cordial frankness as if she were in truth simplythe friend he had asked her to become, all of her old constraintin his presence was unthought of, and she welcomed the glances ofhis dark, intent eyes, which interpreted her thoughts even beforethey were spoken. The varying expressions of his face made itplain enough to her that he liked and appreciated her thoughts, andthat his admiration and affection were only strengthened by theircontinued companionship. Moreover, she was well content with whatshe regarded as her own progress toward a warmer regard for him. 

One moonlight night in June they made up a little party foran excursion on a steamer plying down the Bay. Belle had had twoattendants, and would have been just as well pleased had there beentwo or three more. As she once asserted, she could have kept them"all jolly. " During the earlier hours Roger had been as merry andfull of nonsense as Belle, but on their return he and Mildred hadtaken seats a little apart from the others and drifted into sometalk relating to one of his studies, he in a simple, lucid mannerexplaining to her the latest theories on a disputed question. Shesurprised and pleased him by saying, with a little pathetic accentin her voice, "Oh, Roger, you are leaving me far, far behind. "

"What do you mean, Millie?"

"Why, you are climbing the peaks of knowledge at a great pace, andwhat's to become of poor little me, that have no chance to climbat all worth naming? You won't want a friend who doesn't knowanything, and can't understand what you are thinking about. "

"I'll wait for you, Millie; rest assured you shall never be leftalone. "

"No, that won't do at all, " she replied, and she was in earnestnow. "There is one thing wherein you will find me as obstinateas an Atwood, and that is never to let our friendship retard yourprogress or render your success doubtful, now that you have struckout for yourself. Your relatives think that I--that we shall be adrag upon you; I have resolved that we shall not be, and you knowthat I have a little will of my own as well as yourself. You mustnot wait for me in any sense of the word, for you know how veryproud I am, and all my pride is staked on your success. It oughtto have been dead long ago, but it seems just as strong as ever. "

"And I'm proud of your pride. You are a soldier, Millie, and itisn't possible for you to say, 'I surrender. '"

"You are mistaken. When you saved me from prison; when you gavenearly all you had that papa might have the chance which I trustwill restore his manhood, I surrendered, and no one knew it betterthan you did. "

"Pardon me, Millie; the gates of the citadel were closed, andever have been. Even your will cannot open them no, not even yourextravagant sense of gratitude for what it would be my happiness todo in any case. That something which was once prejudice, dislike, repulsion, has retreated into the depths of your heart, and itwon't yield--at least it hasn't yet. But, Millie, I shall be verypatient. Just as truly as if you were the daughter of a millionaire, your heart shall guide your action. "

"You are a royal fellow, Roger, " she faltered. "If you were notso genuinely honest, I should think you wonderfully shrewd in yourpolicy. "

"Well, perhaps the honest course is always the shrewdest in thelong run, " he replied laughingly, and with a deep gladness in histone, for her words gave a little encouragement. "But your chargethat I am leaving you behind as I pursue my studies has a grain oftruth in it as far as mere book learning goes. In your goodness, Millie, and all that is most admirable, I shall always follow afaroff. Since I can't wait for you, as you say, and you have so littletime to read and study yourself, I am going to recite my lessonsto you--that is, some of them, those that would interest you--andby telling you about what I have learned I shall fix it all in mymind more thoroughly. "

Mildred was exceedingly pleased with the idea. "I don't see whythis isn't possible to some extent, " she said gladly, "and I can'ttell you how much hope and comfort it gives me. That I've had solittle time to read and cultivate my mind has been one of the greatprivations of our poverty, but if you will patiently try to makeme understand a little of what you are studying, I won't relapseinto barbarism. Oh, Roger, how good you are to me!"

"That is like saying, How good I am to myself! Let me tell you, Millie, in all sincerity, that this plan promises as much forme as for you. Your mind is so quick, and you look at things sodifferently, that I often get new and better ideas of the subjectafter talking it over with you. The country boy that you woke uplast summer was right in believing that you could be an invaluablefriend, for I can't tell you how much richer life has become tome. "

"Roger, how I misunderstood you! How blind and stupid I was! Godwas raising up for me the best friend a girl ever had, and I actedso shamefully that anybody but you would have been driven away. "

"You do yourself injustice, and I wouldn't let any one else judgeyou so harshly. "

After reaching her room that night, Mildred thought, "I do believemamma was right, and that an old-fashioned Southern girl, such asshe says that I am, can learn to love a second time. Roger is sogenuinely good and strong! It rests me to be with him, and he givessome of his own strength and courage. To-night, for the first timesince he told me everything so gently and honestly, has anythingbeen said of that which I can see is in his mind all the time, andI brought on all that was said myself. I can now read his thoughtsbetter than he can read mine, and it would be mean not to give hima little of the hope and encouragement that he so richly deserves. It troubles me, however, that my mind and heart are so tranquilwhen I'm with him. That's not the way I once felt, " she sighed. "He seems like the dearest brother a girl ever had--no, not thatexactly; he is to me the friend he calls himself, and I'd be contentto have things go on this way as long as we lived. "

"Millie, " cried Belle roguishly, "what did Roger say to you to callout such sweet smiles and tender sighs?"

The young girl started, and flushed slightly. "We were talkingabout astronomy, " she said brusquely. 

"Well, I should think so, for the effects in your appearance areheavenly. If he could have seen you as you have appeared for thelast ten minutes, he would be more desperately in love than ever. Oh, Millie, you are so pretty that I am half in love with youmyself. "

"Nonsense! you are a giddy child. Tell me about your own favorites, and which of them you like best. "

"I like them all best. Do you think I'm going to be such a littlegoose as to tie myself down to one? These are but the advance guardof scores. Still I shall always like these ones best because theyare kind to me now while I'm only a 'shop-lady, '"

"You mustn't flirt, Belle. "

"I'm not flirting--only having a good time, and they know it. I'mnot a bit sentimental--only jolly, you know. When the right timecomes, and I've had my fun, I'm going to take my pick of the best. "

"Well, that's sensible. Belle, darling, are not Roger's friendsbetter than those underhanded fellows who could not look mamma inthe eyes?"

"Oh, Millie, " said the impulsive girl with a rush of tears, "don'tspeak of those horrid days. I was an ignorant, reckless fool--I wasalmost beside myself with despair and unhappiness; I could kissRoger's hands from gratitude. Look here, Millie, if you don't marryhim I will, for there's no one that can compare with him. "

"Come, now, don't make me jealous. "

"I wish I could. I've a great mind to flirt with him a little, justto wake up your old stupid heart. Still I think you are coming onvery well. Oh, Millie, how I could dance at your wedding! Solid asI am, my feet would scarcely touch the floor. "

Mildred laughed, and said softly, "It would be a pity to deny youso much pleasure, Belle. " Then she added resolutely, "No more talkabout weddings, if you please. For long, long years Roger mustgive his whole mind to his studies. His relatives say that we shallhang helplessly upon him and spoil his life, but we'll prove themmistaken, Belle. I'd work my fingers off to give him the chancethat he'll make so much of, for I'm as proud of him as you are. "

"That's the way to talk, " exulted Belle. "I see how it's all comingout. He'll stand up head, as I told you, and I told you, too, that he'd win you in spite of yourself. Roger Atwood does all heundertakes--it's his way. "

"Well, we'll see, " was the half-smiling, half-sighing answer; butsanguine Belle had no doubt concerning the future, and soon herlong eyelashes drooped over her glowing cheeks in untroubled sleep. 

"Oh, how good for us all is the sunlight of a little happinessand hope!" Mildred thought. "Darling mamma is reviving, Belleis blossoming like a blush rose, and I--well, thank God for RogerAtwood's friendship. May I soon be able to thank Him for his love. "

Ah, Mildred Jocelyn, you have still much to learn. A second lovecan grow up in the heart, but not readily in one like yours. 

Within a month from the time that Mr. Jocelyn entered a curativeinstitution, he returned to his family greatly changed for the better. His manner toward his family was full of remorseful tenderness, and he was eager to retrieve his fortunes. They welcomed him withsuch a wealth of affection, they cheered and sustained him in somany delicate and sympathetic ways, that he wondered at the evilspell which had bound him so long and made him an alien among thoseso lovable and so dearly beloved. He now felt sure that he woulddevote body and soul to their welfare for the rest of his days, and he could not understand why or how it was that he had been sobesotted. The intense sufferings during the earlier stage of histreatment at the institution made him shrink with horror from thebare thought of his old enslavement, and during the first weeksafter his return he did not dream it was possible that he couldrelapse, although he had been warned of his danger. His formermorbid craving was often fearfully strong, but he fought it witha vindictive hatred, and his family, in their deep gladness andinexperience, felt assured that husband and father had been restoredto them. 

It seemed as if he could not thank Roger enough, and his eyes greweloquent with gratitude when the young fellow's name was mentioned, and when they rested on his bright, honest face. Mr. Wentworthwent out among his business friends, and so interested one of themthat a position was in a certain sense made for the poor man, andalthough the salary was small at first, the prospect for its increasewas good if he would maintain his abstinence and prove that he hadnot lost his old fine business powers. This he bade so fair to dothat hope and confidence grew stronger every day, and they felt thatbefore very long they would be able to move into more commodiousquarters, situated in a better part of the city, for by reason of theneglect of the streets and sewerage on the part of the authorities, the locality in which they now were was found to be both verydisagreeable and unwholesome. They would have removed at once, but they were eager to repay Roger the money he had loaned them, although he protested against their course. Not realizing theirdanger, and in the impulse of their pride and integrity, theyremained, practicing the closest economy. 

Early in July, Roger obtained a vacation, and went home on a visit, proposing to harden his muscles by aiding his father through theharvest season. He was so helpful and so kind and considerate thateven grim, disappointed Mr. Atwood was compelled to admit thathis boy had become a man. Mrs. Atwood tenderly and openly exultedover him, and, obeying her impulse, she wrote a friendly letter toMildred, which made the young girl very happy. 

Susan became more than reconciled to Roger's course, for he promisedthat some day she should often come to the city and have splendidtimes. Clara Bute bad become the happy wife of a well-to-do farmer, and she sent an urgent request to Belle and Mildred to visit her. The latter would not leave her parents, but Belle accepted gladly, and the gay, frolicsome girl left more than one mild heartacheamong the rural beaux that vied with each other in their attentions. 

CHAPTER XLII

HOPES GIVEN AND SLAIN

The skies seemed serene and bright, with promise to all for manyhappy days, but clouds were gathering below the horizon, and, mostunexpectedly to him, the first bolt fell upon Roger. A day or twobefore his return to the city he found at the village office aletter with a foreign post-mark, addressed, in his care, to MissMildred Jocelyn. He knew the handwriting instantly, and he lookedat the missive as if it contained his death-warrant. It wasfrom Vinton Arnold. As he rode away he was desperately tempted todestroy the letter, and never breathe a word of its existence. Hehoped and half believed that Mildred was learning to love him, andhe was sure that if Arnold did not appear he would win all thathe craved. The letter, which he had touched as if it containednitro-glycerine, might slay every hope. Indeed he believed that itwould, for he understood Mildred better than she understood herself. She believed that Arnold had given her up. Her heart had becomebenumbed with its own pain, and was sleeping after its long, wearywaiting. He was sure, however, that if not interfered with he couldawaken it at last to content and happiness. This letter, however, might be the torch which would kindle the old love with tenfoldintensity. Long hours he fought his temptation like a gladiator, for fine as had been Mildred's influence over him, he was stillintensely human. At last he gained the victory, and went home quiet, but more exhausted than he had ever been from a long hot day's toilin the harvest-field. He had resolved to keep absolute faith withMildred, and having once reached a decision he was not one to waver. 

As his mother kissed him good-by she held him off a moment, thenwhispered, "Roger, Miss Jocelyn has given you something better thanall your uncle's money. I am content that it should be as it is. "

On the afternoon of the day of his arrival in the city he went tomeet his fate. Mrs. Jocelyn greeted him like the mother he had justleft, and Mildred's glad welcome made him groan inwardly. Neverbefore had she appeared so beautiful to him--never had her greetingbeen so tinged with her deepening regard. And yet she lookedinquiringly at him from time to time, for he could not whollydisguise the fear that chilled his heart. 

"Belle had a perfectly lovely time in the country, " said Mrs. Jocelyn. "She has told us all about your people, and what a farmeryou became. She said everybody was proud of you up at Forestville, and well they might be, although they don't know what we do. Oh, Roger, my dear boy, it does my heart good to see you again. Wehave all missed you so much. Oh, you'll never know--you never canknow. Good-by now, for a little while. I promised Mrs. Wheaton thatI'd bring the children over and spend the afternoon with her. Sheis going to show me about cutting some little clothes for Fred. What a dear kind soul she is, with all her queer talk. God blessyou, my boy. You bring hope and happiness back with you. "

But the poor fellow was so conscious of his own coming troublethat tears came into his eyes, and after Mrs. Jocelyn had gone helooked at Mildred in a way that made her ask, gently and anxiously:

"What is it, Roger?"

Alter a moment's hesitation he said grimly, "Millie, it's rough ona fellow when he must be his own executioner. There, take it. It'sthe heaviest load I ever carried in my life, " and he threw theletter into her lap. 

After a moment's glance she trembled violently, and became paleand red by turns, then buried her face in her hands. 

"I knew it would be so, " he said doggedly. "I knew what was thematter all along. "

She sprang up, letting the letter drop on the floor, and clung tohim. "Roger, " she cried, "I won't read the letter. I won't touchit. No one shall come between us--no one has the right. Oh, itwould be shameful after all--"

"Millie, " he said almost sternly, replacing her in her chair, "thewriter of that letter has the right to come between us--he is betweenus, and there is no use in disguising the truth. Come, Millie, Icame here to play the man, and you must not make it too hard forme. Read your letter. "

"I can't, " she said, again burying her burning face in her hands, and giving way to a sudden passion of tears. 

"No, not while I'm here, of course. And yet I'd like to know myfate, for the suspense is a little too much. I hope he's writtento tell you that he has married the daughter of the Great Mogul, or some other rich nonentity, " he added, trying to meet hisdisappointment with a faint attempt at humor; "but I'm a fool tohope anything. Good-by, and read your letter in peace. I ought tohave left it and gone away at once, but, confound it! I couldn't. A drowning man will blindly catch at a straw. "

She looked at him, and saw that his face was white with pain andfear. 

"Roger, " she said resolutely, "I'll burn that letter without openingit if you say so. I'll do anything you ask. "

He paced the room excitedly with clenched hands for a few moments, but at last turned toward her and said quietly, "Will you do whatI ask?"

"Yes, yes indeed. "

"Then read your letter. "

She looked at him irresolutely a moment, then made a little gestureof protest and snatched up the missive almost vindictively. 

After reading a few lines her face softened, and she said, in accentsof regret which she was too much off her guard to disguise, "Oh, he never received my answer last summer. "

"Of course not, " growled Roger. "You deserved that, for you gaveyour note to that old blunderbuss Jotham, when I would have carriedit safely. "

"Oh, Roger, I can't go on with this; I am wronging you too shamefully. "

"You would wrong me far more if you were not honest with me at thistime, " he said almost harshly. 

His words quieted and chilled her a little, and she replied sadly, "You are right, Roger. You don't want, nor should I mock you withthe mere semblance of what you give. "

"Read the letter, " was his impatient reply, "or I shall go at once. "

She now turned to it resolutely, proposing to read it with animpassive face, but, in spite of herself, he saw that every wordwas like an electric touch upon her heart. As she finished, theletter dropped from her hands, and she began crying so bitterlythat he was disarmed, and forgot himself in her behalf. "Don't cryso, Millie, " he pleaded. "I can't stand it. Come, now; I fought thisbattle out once before, and didn't think I could be so accursedlyweak again. "

"Roger, read that letter. "

"No, " he answered savagely; "I hate him--I could annihilate him;but he shall never charge me with anything underhanded. That letterwas meant for your eyes only. Since it must be, God grant he provesworthy; but his words would sting me like adders. "

She sprang to him, and, burying her face upon his shoulder, sobbed, "Oh, Roger, I can't endure this. It's worse than anything I'vesuffered yet. "

"Oh, what a brute I am!" he groaned. "His letter ought to havebrought you happiness, but your kind heart is breaking over mytrouble, for I've acted like a passionate boy. Millie, dear Millie, I will be a brave, true man, and, as I promised you, your heartshall decide all. From this time forth I am your brother, yourprotector, and I shall protect you against yourself as truly asagainst others. You are not to blame in the least. How could I blameyou for a love that took possession of your heart before you knewof my existence, and why has not Millie Jocelyn. As good a rightto follow her heart as any other girl in the land? And you shallfollow it. It would be dastardly meanness in me to take advantageof your gratitude. Come now, wipe your eyes, and give a sister'skiss before I go. It's all right. "

She yielded passively, for she was weak, nerveless, and exhausted. He picked up the open letter, replaced it within the envelope, andput it in her hand. "It's yours, " he said, "by the divine right ofyour love. When I come this evening, don't let me see a trace ofgrief. I won't mope and be lackadaisical, I promise, " and smilinglyhe kissed her good-by. 

She sat for an hour almost without moving, and then mechanicallyput the letter away and went on with her work. She felt herselfunequal to any more emotion at that time, and after thinking theaffair all over, determined to keep it to herself, for the presentat least. She knew well how bitterly her father, mother, and Bellewould resent the letter, and how greatly it would disquiet them ifthey knew that her old love was not dead, and seemingly could notand would not die. With the whole force of her resolute will shesought to gain an outward quietude, and succeeded so well that thefamily did not suspect anything. She both longed for and dreadedRoger's appearance, and when he came she looked at him so kindly, so remorsefully, that she tasked his strength to the utmost; buthe held his own manfully, and she was compelled to admit that hehad never appeared so gay or so brilliant before. For an hour he andBelle kept them all laughing over their bright nonsense, and thensuddenly he said, "Vacation's over; I must begin work to-morrow, "and in a moment he was gone. 

"Millie, " cried Belle, "you ought to thank your stars, for youhave the finest fellow in the city, " and they all smiled at her sobrightly that she fled to her room. There Belle found her a littlelater with red eyes, and she remarked bluntly, "Well, you AREa queer girl. I suppose you are crying for joy, but that isn't myway. "

After her sister was asleep Mildred read and re-read Arnold'sletter. At first she sighed and cried over it, and then lapsed intoa long, deep reverie. "Hard as it is for Roger, " she thought, "heis right--I am not to blame. I learned to love Vinton Arnold, andpermitted him to love me, before I had ever seen Roger. I shouldhave a heart of stone could I resist his appeal in this letter. Here he says: 'You did not answer my note last summer--I fear youhave cast me off. I cannot blame you. After insults from my motherand my own pitiful exhibitions of weakness, my reason tells me thatyou have banished all thoughts of me in anger and disgust. But, Millie, my heart will not listen to reason, and cries out for younight and day. My life has become an intolerable burden to me, andnever in all the past has there been a more unhappy exile than I. The days pass like years, and the nights are worse. I am draggedhere and there for the benefit of my health--what a miserable farceit is! For half the money I am spending here I could live happilywith you, and, sustained by your love and sympathy, I might dosomething befitting my man's estate. One day, when I said as muchto my mother, her face grew cold and stern, and she replied thatmy views of life were as absurd as those of a child! I often wishI were dead, and were it not for the thought of you I half fearthat I might be tempted to end my wretched existence. Of coursemy health suffers from this constant unhappiness, repression, andhumiliation. The rumor has reached me that your father has becomevery poor, and that he is in ill health. The little blood I haveleft crimsons my face with shame that I am not at your side to helpand cheer you. But I fear I should be a burden to you, as I am toevery one else. My fainting turns--one of which you saw-are becomingmore frequent. I've no hope nor courage to try to get well--I amjust sinking under the burden of my unhappy, unmanly lite, and mybest hope may soon be to become unconscious and remain so forever. And yet I fully believe that one kind word from you would inspire mewith the wish, the power to live. My mother is blind to everythingexcept her worldly maxims of life. She means to do her duty byme, and is conscientious in her way, but she is killing me by slowtorture. If you would give me a little hope, if you would wait--oh, pardon the selfishness of my request, the pitiable weakness displayedin this appeal! Yet, how can I help it? Who can sink into absolutedespair without some faint struggle--some effort to escape? I havehad the happiness of heaven in your presence, and now I am asmiserable as a lost soul. You have only to say that there is nohope, and I will soon cease to trouble you or any one much longer. '

"How can I tell him there is no hope?" she murmured. "It wouldbe murder--it would be killing soul and body. What's more, I lovehim--God knows I love him. My heart just yearns for him in boundlesspity and sympathy, and I feel almost as if he were my crippled, helpless child as well as lover. It would be cruel, selfish, andunwomanly to desert him because of his misfortune. I haven't theheart to do it. His weakness and suffering bind me to him. Hisappeal to me is like the cry of the helpless to God, and how canI destroy his one hope, his one chance? He needs me more than doesRoger, who is strong, masterful, and has a grand career beforehim. In his varied activities, in the realization of his ambitioushopes, he will overcome his present feelings, and become mybrother in very truth. He will marry some rich, splendid girl likeMiss Wetheridge by and by, and I shall be content in lowly, quietministry to one whose life and all God has put into my hands. Hisparents treat Vinton as if he were a child; but he has reached theage when he has the right to choose for himself, and, if the worstcomes to the worst, I could support him. Myself. Feeling as I donow, and as I ever shall, now that my heart has been revealed tome, I could not marry Roger. It would be wronging him and perjuringmyself. He is too grand, too strong a man not to see the facts intheir true light, and he will still remain the best friend a womanever had. "

Then, with a furtive look at Belle to see that she was sleepingsoundly, she wrote: "DEAR VINTON: My heart would indeed be callousand unwomanly did it not respond to your letter, over which I haveshed many tears. Take all the hope you can from the truth that Ilove you, and can never cease to love you. You do yourself injustice. Your weakness and ill health are misfortunes for which you are notresponsible. So far from inspiring disgust, they awaken my sympathyand deepen my affection. You do not know a woman's heart--at leastyou do not know mine. In your constant love, your contempt forheartless, fashionable life, and your wish to do a man's part inthe world, you are manly. You are right also in believing that ifyou lived in an atmosphere of respect and affection you would sochange for the better that you would not recognize yourself. For mysake as well as your own, try to rally, and make the most of yoursojourn abroad. Fix your mind steadily on some pursuits or studiesthat will be of use to you in the future. Do not fear; I shallwait. It is not in my nature to forget or change. " And with somereference to their misfortunes, a repetition of her note which Jothamhad lost, and further reassuring words, she closed her letter. 

"I am right, " she said; "even Roger will say I am doing right. Icould not do otherwise. "

Having made a copy of the letter that she might show it to Roger, she at last slept, in the small hours of the night. As early aspossible on the following day she mailed the letter, with a prayerthat it might not be too late. 

A day or two later she sought a private interview with her friend, and whispered, "Roger, dear Roger, if you do not fail me now youwill prove yourself the best and bravest man in the world. I amgoing to repose a trust in you that I cannot share at present withany one else--not even my mother. It would only make her unhappynow that she is reviving in our brighter days. It might have a badinfluence on papa, and it is our duty to shield him in every way. "

She told him everything, made him read the copy of her letter toArnold. "You are strong, Roger, " she said in conclusion, "and itwould kill him, and--and I love him. You know now how it has allcome about, and it does not seem in my nature to change. I havegiven you all I can--my absolute trust and confidence. I've shownyou my whole heart. Roger, you won't fail me. I love you so dearly, I feel so deeply for you, I am so very grateful, that I believe itwould kill me if this should harm you. "

He did not fail her, but even she never guessed the effort he made. 

"It's all right, Millie, " he said with a deep breath, "and I'll bea jolly bachelor for you all my life. "

"You must not say that, " she protested. "One of these days I'llpick you out a far better wife than I could ever be. "

"No, " he replied decisively, "that's the one thing I won't do foryou, if you picked out twenty score. "

He tried to be brave--he was brave; but for weeks thereafter tracesof suffering on his face cut her to the heart, and she sufferedwith him as only a nature like hers was capable of doing. Eventswere near which would tax his friendship to the utmost. 

August was passing with its intense heat. The streets of thelocality wherein the Jocelyns lived were shamefully neglected, andthe sewerage was bad. Mr. Jocelyn was one of the first to suffer, and one day he was so ill from malarial neuralgia that he falteredin the duties of his business. 

"I can't afford to be ill, " he said to himself. "A slight dose ofmorphia will carry me through the day; surely I've strength of mindsufficient to take it once or twice as a medicine, and then plentyof quinine will ward off a fever, and I can go on with my workwithout any break or loss; meanwhile I'll look for rooms in ahealthier locality. "

His conscience smote him, warned him, and yet it did not seempossible that he could not take a little as a remedy, as did otherpeople. With the fatuity of a self-indulgent nature he rememberedits immediate relief from pain, and forgot the anguish it hadcaused. He no more proposed to renew the habit than to destroy hislife--he only proposed to tide himself over an emergency. 

The drug was taken, and to his horror he found that it was the sameas if he had kindled a conflagration among combustibles ready forthe match. His old craving asserted itself with all its formerforce. His will was like a straw in the grasp of a giant. He writhed, and anathematized himself, but soon, with the inevitableness ofgravitation, went to another drug store and was again enchained. [Footnote: It is a sad fact that more than half of those addictedto the opium habit relapse. The causes are varied, but the onegiven is the most common: it is taken to bridge over some emergencyor to give relief from physical pain or mental distress. Theinfatuated victim says, "I will take it just this once, " and thenhe goes on taking it until it destroys him. I have talked withseveral who have given way for the second and third time, and withone physician who has relapsed five times. They each had a somewhatdifferent story to tell, but the dire results were in all cases thesame. After one indulgence, the old fierce craving, the old fatalhabit, was again fixed, with more than its former intensity andbinding power. ]

For a few days Mr. Jocelyn tried to conceal his condition fromhis family, but their eyes were open now, and they watched him atfirst with alarm, then with terror. They pleaded with him; his wifewent down on her knees before him; but, with curses on himself, he broke away and rushed forth, driven out into the wilderness ofa homeless life like a man possessed with a demon. In his intolerableshame and remorse he wrote that he would not return until he hadregained his manhood. Alas! that day would never come. 

CHAPTER XLIII

WAS BELLE MURDERED?

Mrs. Wheaton, Mr. Wentworth, and Roger did what they could forthe afflicted family, and Roger spent the greater part of severalnights in a vain search for the absent man, but he had hiddenhimself too securely, and was drowning reason, conscience, hisentire manhood, in one long debauch. The young man grew more haggardthan ever in his deep sympathy for his friends, for they clung tohim with the feeling that he only could help them effectually. Hebegged them to move elsewhere, since the odors of the place wereoften sickening, but they all said No, for the husband and fathermight return, and this now was their one hope concerning him. 

In the second fall of her husband Mrs. Jocelyn seemed to havereceived her death-wound, for she failed visibly every day. 

One night Belle was taken with a severe chill, and then fever anddelirium followed. When Roger came the ensuing evening, Mildredsobbed on his shoulder. 

"Oh, Roger, my heart is paralyzed with dread. The skies you weremaking so bright for us have become black with ruin. You are theonly one who brings me any hope or comfort. Come with me. Lookat Belle there. She doesn't know any of us. For the last hour hermind has wandered. Half the time she is thanking you for all thatyou have done for us; then she calls for papa, or is away in thecountry. The doctor has been here, and he looked very grave. Hesays it's all due to the bad sanitary condition of this part of thecity, and that there are other cases just like it, and that theyare hard to manage. Why didn't we move before? Oh, oh, oh!" andshe cried as if her heart would break. 

"Don't grieve so, Millie, " Roger faltered. "I never could standit to see tears in your eyes. Belle is young and vigorous; she'llpull through. "

"I hope so. Oh, what should we do if she should--But the doctorsays the fever takes a stronger hold on persons of full habit likeBelle, and now that I've made inquiries I find that it has beenfatal in several instances. We have been so troubled about papathat we thought of nothing else, and did not realize our danger. There are two cases like Belle's across the way, and one in thishouse, and none of them are expected to live. "

"Millie, " said Roger resolutely, "I won't even entertain thethought of Belle's dying. I'm going to stay with you every nightuntil she is out of danger. I can doze here in this chair, andI should be sleepless with anxiety anywhere else. You must let mebecome a brother now in very truth. "

"No, Roger, we can't permit it. You might catch the fever. "

"Millie, I will stay. Do you think I could leave you to meet thistrouble alone? I can relieve you in many ways, and give you andyour mother a chance for a little rest. Besides, what is the feverto me?" he added, with a touch of recklessness which she understoodtoo well. 

"Roger, " she said gravely, "think what your life and health are tome. If you should fail me I should despair. "

"I won't fail you, " he replied, with a little confident nod. "Youwill always find me on hand like a good-natured dragon wheneveryou are in trouble. The first thing to do is to send these childrento the country, and out of this poisoned air, " and he sat down atonce and wrote to his mother and Clara Wilson, formerly Clara Bute. Then, true to his word, he watched with Mildred and Mrs. Jocelynevery night. Frequently his hand upon the brow of the deliriousgirl would quiet her when nothing else could, and Mildred oftensaw his tears falling fast on the unconscious face. 

Mrs. Wilson answered his letter in person. "I couldn't waita minute, " she said. "I went right over to Mrs. Atwood's and toldher that no one could have the children but me, and my husbandsays they can stay until you want them back. He is so good to me!Dear little Belle!" she sobbed, bending over the sufferer, "tothink that I once so misjudged you! A better-hearted girl neverbreathed. As soon as she's able to be moved you must bring herright to me, and I'll take care of her till she's her old rosy, beautiful self. No, I'll come for her. I wish I could take her inmy arms and carry her home now. "

"She often speaks of you, " faltered Mildred. "Indeed she seems tobe living all her old life over again. "

The doctor looked graver every day, and at last held out no hope. Late one night they saw that the crisis was near. Belle was almostinanimate from weakness, and Mrs. Jocelyn, Mildred, and Roger satbeside her in the large living-room, into which they had moved herbed, so that if possible she might get a little air--air that wasladen with vile, stifling odors. At last the feeble tossings ofthe poor sufferer ceased, and she looked around intelligently. Hermother kissed her, and said soothingly, "Sleep, dear, and you'llsoon be better. "

She shook her head, and continued to look as if in search of someone, and then whispered, "Where is papa?"

"You are not strong enough to see him now, " her mother repliedwith pallid lips, while Mildred put her hand to her side from theintolerable pain in her heart. 

Belle lay still a few moments, and they breathed low in theirsuspense. Her mother kept her soothing touch upon her brow, whileMildred held her hand. At last two great tears rolled down the poorgirl's face, and she said faintly, "I remember now. "

"Oh, Belle, darling, sleep, " murmured her mother, "and you will soonget well. " Again she slowly shook her head. "Dear little mother, "she whispered, "forgive naughty Belle for all her wild ways. Youwere always patient with me. Pray God to forgive me, for I'm goingfast. If He's like you--I won't fear Him. "

Mrs. Jocelyn would have fallen on her child if Roger had not caughther and placed her gently on the lounge, where she lay with dry, tearless eyes and all the yearnings of the mother-heart in her wanface. Belle's eyes followed her wistfully, then turned to Mildred. 

"Good-by, Millie darling, best of sisters. You will have a long--happylife--in spite of all. " Mildred clung to her passionately, but atBelle's faint call for Roger she knelt at the bedside and lookedwith streaming eyes on the near approach of death. 

"Roger, " Belle whispered, "lift me up. I want to die on yourbreast--you saved me--you KNOW. Take care Millie--mamma--littleones. Don't wake them. Now--tell me--some--thing--comforting outof--the Bible. "

"'God is not willing that one of His little ones should perish, '"said the young fellow brokenly, thankful that he could recall thewords. 

"That's sweet--I'm--one of His--littlest ones. It's--getting--very

I know--what it-means. Good--by. We'll--have--good--times--together--yet. "

Then came that absolute stillness which he understood too well. He bowed his head upon the cold brow of the dead girl, and wept asonly strong men weep in their first great sorrow. Mildred almostforgot her own grief in trying to lead him away and to comforthim, but he clung convulsively to Belle's lifeless form. At lasthe broke almost frantically away. 

"Roger, Roger, " cried Mildred, "where are you going? What are yougoing to do?"

"I don't know--I must have air or my heart will break; I'll go mad. She's just been murdered, MURDERED, " and he rushed out. 

After a little while he returned, and said, "There, Millie, I'mbetter. I won't give way again, " and he took her in his arms andlet her cry away some of the pain in her heart. 

Mrs. Jocelyn still lay upon the sofa, white as marble, and withdry, dilated eyes. She was far beyond tears. 

On the day following Belle's death the Hon. ------sat down toa sumptuous dinner in one of the most fashionable of the Saratogahotels. A costly bottle of wine added its ruddy hue to his floridcomplexion. The waiters were obsequious, the smiling nods of recognitionfrom other distinguished guests of the house were flattering, andas the different courses were brought on, the man became the pictureof corpulent complacence. His aspect might have changed could hehave looked upon the still form of the once frolicsome, beautifulgirl, who had been slain because he had failed so criminally infidelity to his oath of office. It would not have been a pleasanttask for him to estimate how much of the money that should havebrought cleanliness and health among the tenements of the poor wasbeing worse than wasted on his own gross personality. 

CHAPTER XLIV

THE FINAL CONSOLATIONS OF OPIUM

The glowing September sun had rarely revealed a sadder group thanthat which still watched beside poor Belle. At last Roger lookedat his watch and said:

"I will now go and see Mr. Wentworth, and bring Mrs. Wheaton. "

"Very well, Roger, " Mildred replied, "we leave everything in yourhands. "

"Millie, I can't bear to have Belle placed in one of the crowdedcity cemeteries. Would you not be willing to have her sleep in ourtree-shadowed graveyard at Forestville? We could keep flowers onher grave there as long as we lived. "

"Oh, Roger, how kind of you to think of that! It would be such acomfort to us!"

"I will take her there myself on the evening boat, " he saiddecisively, and he hastened away feeling that he must act promptly, for his aching head and limbs led him to fear that Belle's feverwas already in his veins. Mr. Wentworth overflowed with sympathy, and hastened to the afflicted family with nourishing delicacies. Mrs. Wheaton soon followed, tearful and regretful. 

"I didn't know, " she said; "I've 'ad a sick child or I'd a beenhover before. Not 'earing from you I thought hall vas veil, andthere's the poor dear dead, an' I might 'ave done so much for 'er. "

"No, Mrs. Wheaton, all was done that could be done in this poisonedair. We feared you might catch the fever if you came, and we knewyou would come. "

"Hindeed I vould, if you hall 'ad the small-pox. Now I'm going todo heverything, " and she fretted at every effort of the exhaustedwatchers to help her. 

Eoger telegraphed his father to meet him at the boat with thevillage hearse. The news spread fast, and the little community wassoon deeply stirred with sympathetic interest. Mrs. Jocelyn wastoo weak to endure the journey, and Mildred would not leave her. Therefore Mr. Wentworth held a simple, heartfelt service over theone they all so loved, and Roger departed on his sad errand. Hewas eager to get away, and, if the thought of Belle had not beenuppermost in all minds, it would have been seen that he was far fromwell in spite of his almost desperate efforts to hide his illness. His father found him on the boat delirious with fever. The old man'sface was haggard and drawn as he returned to Forestville with histwo helpless burdens, grieving far more for the one that was illthan for the one that was dead. "It's turning out just as brotherEzra said, " he growled. "A man's a fool to mix himself up withother people's troubles. " The interest in the village deepened intostrong excitement when it became known that Roger was ill with thefever that had caused Belle's death, some timid ones fearing thata pestilence would soon be raging in their midst. But the greatmajority yielded to their good impulses, and Mrs. Atwood wasoverwhelmed with offers of assistance. Several young farmers towhom Belle had given a heartache a few weeks before volunteered towatch beside her until the funeral, and there was a deeper ache intheir hearts as they sat reverently around the fair young sleeper. The funeral was a memorable one in Forestville, for the most callousheart was touched by the pathos of the untimely death. 

Meanwhile poor Roger was tossing in fever and muttering constantlyof his past life. The name, however, oftenest on his lips was thatof Millie Jocelyn. 

Never before in all the troubled past did the poor girl so need hissustaining love as on the night he left her. Mr, Wentworth spentan hour with the sad mother and daughter after the others had gone, and then sorrowfully departed, saying that he had an engagement outof town, and that he would come again immediately on his return. Mrs. Wheaton had gone home, promising that she would come back inthe evening and spend the night with them, for she had a neighborwho would take care of the children, and so at last the two strickenwomen were left alone. 

Mildred was bathing her mother's head and trying to comfort herwhen the door opened, and a haggard, unkempt man stood before them. For a second they looked at him in vague terror, for he stood ina deep shadow, and then Mrs. Jocelyn cried, "Martin! Martin!" andtears came to her relief at last. 

He approached slowly and tremblingly. Mildred was about to throwherself into his arms, but he pushed her away. His manner began tofill them with a vague, horrible dread, for he acted like a spectreof a man. 

"Where are the children?" he asked hoarsely. 

"We have sent them to the country. Oh, papa, do be kind andnatural--you will kill mamma. "

"There is crape on the door-knob, " he faltered. "Where's Belle?"

"Oh, oh, oh!" sobbed Mildred, "Papa, papa, have mercy on us. Can'tyou sustain and help us at such a time as this?"

"She is dead, then, " he whispered, and he sank into a chair as ifstruck down. 

"Yes, she's dead. You were the first one she asked for when shecame out of her fever. "

"Great God! my punishment is greater than I can bear, " he groaned. 

"Oh, Martin, " pleaded his wife, "come to me, " and too weak to risefrom her couch she held out her arms to him. 

He looked at her with a remorse and agony in his expression thatwere indescribable. "No, Nan, " he said, "I'm not fit for you totouch now. I'm murdering you all, " and he went hastily to his roomand locked the door. 

They waited, scarcely breathing in their deep apprehension. 

In a few moments he came out, and his face was rigid and desperatein its aspect. In spite of his repelling gesture Mildred claspedhim in her arms. The embrace seemed to torture him. "Let me go!"he cried, breaking away. "I poison the very air I breathe. You bothare like angels of heaven and I--O God! But the end has come, " andhe rushed out into the gathering darkness. Mrs. Jocelyn tried tofollow him, and fell prostrate with a despairing cry on the floor. 

Mildred's first impulse was to restore her mother, without seekinghelp, in the faint hope that her father would return, for she hadlearned what strange alternations of mood opium produces; but as thesense of his words grew clearer she was overpowered, and trembledso violently that she was compelled to call to her help a neighbor--aplain, good-hearted woman who lived on the same floor. When atlast Mrs. Jocelyn revived she murmured piteously:

"Oh, Millie, why didn't you let me die?"

"Mamma, " pleaded the girl, "how can you even think of leaving me?"

"Millie, Millie darling, I fear I must. My heart feels as if it werebleeding internally. Millie"--and she grasped her child's shoulderconvulsively, "Millie, look in his room for--for--his pistol. "

"Oh, mamma, mamma!"

"Look, look!" said her mother excitedly. "I can't bear the suspense. "

Thinking that her mother was a little hysterical, and that compliancewould quiet her, Mildred went to the place where her father alwayskept his cavalry revolver--the one memento left of his old heroicarmy life. IT WAS GONE!

She almost sank to the floor in terror, nor did she dare return toher mother. 

"Millie, Millie, quick!" came in a faint cry from the outer room. 

The poor girl rushed forward and buried her face in her mother'sbosom, sobbing, "Mamma, oh mamma, live for my sake. "

"I knew it, I knew it, " said the stricken wife, with a long lowcry. "I saw it in his desperate face. Oh, Martin, Martin, we willdie together!"

She clasped Mildred tightly, trembled convulsively a moment, andthen her arms fell back, and she was as still as poor Belle hadbeen. 

"Oh, mamma!" Mildred almost shrieked, but she was far beyond recall, and the suffering heart was at rest. 

When the woman returned with the cup of tea she had gone toprepare for Mrs. Jocelyn, she found the young girl leaning forwardunconscious on the bosom of the dead mother. 

When she revived it was only to moan and wring her hands in despair. Mrs. Wheaton soon appeared, and having learned what had happenedshe threw her apron over her head and rocked back and forth in herstrong sympathetic grief. But her good heart was not long contentwith tears, and she took Mildred into her arms and said:

"I vill be a mother to you, and you shall never vant a 'ome vile I'ave von, " and the motherless girl clung to her in a way that didthe kind soul a world of good. 

Before the evening was very far advanced a boy brought a note tothe door. Mildred seized it and asked:

"Who gave it to you?"

"I don't know--a man. He pointed to this door, and then he wentaway very fast. "

She tore it open, and read in horror: "My darling wife, dear beyondall words in these my final despairing moments. My love for youand those left is the only trace of good remaining in my heart. Idie for your sakes. My continued existence would be a curse, forI have lost my manhood. I am possessed by a devil that I can'tcontrol. I cannot ask you to forgive me. I can never forgivemyself. Farewell. After I am gone, brighter days will come to youall. Pity me if you can, forgive me if you can, and remember me asI was before--"And there the terrible missive ended. 

For an hour the girl lay moaning as if in mortal pain, and thenthe physician who was summoned gave her a sedative which made hersleep long and heavily. It was quite late in the morning when sheawoke, and the events that had passed first came to her like ahorrid dream, and then grew into terrible reality. But she was notleft to meet the emergency alone, for Mrs. Wheaton and Clara Wilsonwatched beside her. The latter in her strong sympathy had come tothe city to take Mildred and her mother to the country, and shesaid to Mrs. Wheaton that she would now never leave her frienduntil she was in the breezy farm-house. 

After a natural outburst of grief Mildred again proved that Arnold'sestimate of her was correct. She was equal to even this emergency, for she eventually grew quiet and resolute. "I must find papa, "she said. 

"Shall I?" Mrs. Wilson asked Mrs. Wheaton significantly. 

"Yes, Millie is more hof a soldier than hany hof us. "

"Well, " continued Mrs. Wilson, "Mrs. Wheaton found this in themorning paper: 'An unknown man committed suicide on the steps ofNo. 73----Street. His remains have been taken to the Morgue foridentification. '"

For a few moments Mildred so trembled and looked so crushed thatthey feared for her exceedingly. "Poor papa!" she moaned, "he wasjust insane from remorse and opium. Seventy-three----Street! Why, that was the house in which we used to live. It was there that papaspent his first happy years in this city, and it was there he wentto die. Oh, how dreadful, how inexpressibly sad it all is! Whatshall we do?"

"Leave hall to me, " said Mrs. Wheaton. "Mrs. Wilson, you stay 'erewith the poor dear, an' I'll hattend to heverything. "

Mildred was at last too overpowered to do more than lie on thelounge, breathing in long tremulous sighs. 

Mrs. Wheaton went at once to the Morgue and found that the "unknownman" was indeed Mr. Jocelyn, and yet he had so changed, and abullet-hole in his temple had given him such a ghastly appearance, that it was difficult to realize that he was the handsome, courtlygentleman who had first brought his beautiful daughter to the oldmansion. 

Mrs. Wheaton represented to the authorities that he was very poor, that his daughter was an orphan and overcome with grief, and thatshe now was the nearest friend of the afflicted girl. Her statementwas accepted, and then with her practical good sense she attendedto everything. 

During her absence Mildred had sighed, "Oh, I do so wish that EogerAtwood were here. He gives me hope and courage when no one elsecan. "

"Millie, " said Mrs. Wilson tearfully, "for his sake you must rallyand be braver than you have ever been before. I think his life nowdepends upon you. He has the fever, and in his delirium he callsfor you constantly. "

At first Mrs. Wilson thought the shock of her tidings would be moredisastrous to the poor girl, already so unnerved and exhausted, than all the terrible events which had thus far occurred. "I havebrought him nothing but suffering and misfortune, " she cried. "Hegave up everything for us, and now we may cost him his life. "

"Millie, he is not dead, and you, if any one, can bring him life. "

She had touched the right chord, for the young girl soon becamequiet and resolute. "He never failed me, " she said in a low voice, "and I won't fail him. "

"That is the right way to feel, " said Mrs. Wilson eagerly. "I nowthink that everything depends on your courage and fortitude. Mrs. Wheaton and I have planned it all out. We'll go to Forestville onthe evening boat, and take your father's and mother's remains withus. "

Mrs. Wheaton learned from the undertaker connected with Mr. Wentworth'schapel that the clergyman would not be back until evening, and shetold the former to tell their pastor all that had occurred, and toask him to keep the circumstances of Mr. Jocelyn's death as quietas possible. 

The man was discreet and energetic, and they were all so expeditiousthat the evening saw them with their sad freight on the way toForestville, the keys of Mildred's rooms having been left with thekind woman who had befriended her in the sudden and awful emergency. Mrs. Wheaton parted from Mildred as if she were her own child, and went mournfully back to her busy, useful life. Mr. And Mrs. Jocelyn were buried with a quiet, simple service beside poor Belle, and sensible Mrs. Wilson soon inspired the good-hearted villagepeople with the purpose to spare the feelings of the stricken girlin every possible way. Mildred caressed her little brother and sisterwith the tenderness of a mother added to her sisterly affection, and she was comforted to see how much they had already improvedin the pure country air. "Oh, Clara, " she said, "what a friend youhave been to me! God alone can repay you. "

"Millie, " Mrs. Wilson earnestly replied, "I owe you a debt I cannever pay. I owe you and darling Belle happiness and prosperity forthis life, and my hope of the life to come. My husband is strongand prosperous, and he says J shall do all that's in my heart foryou. Oh, Millie, he is so good to me, and he cried over Belle likea child. I thought I loved him before, but when I saw those tearsI just worshipped him. He has a man's heart, like Roger. Now, Millie, I'm going to keep these children as long as you'll let me, and treat them as my own. I feel that the promise has been givento me that they'll grow up to be a great comfort to us both. "

On the evening after the funeral Mildred went to aid in the careof Roger, and Mrs. Atwood greeted her with all the warmth andtenderness that a daughter would have received. Even Mr. Atwooddrew his sleeve across his eyes as he said, "If you'll help us saveour boy, you'll find that I'm not as crabbed and crooked a stickas I seem. "

Mildred was shocked and her heart chilled with fear at the changein Roger, but her hand upon his brow and her voice did more toquiet him than all the physician's remedies. She became his almosttireless watcher, and she said hopefully that the bracing autumnwinds rustled around the farmhouse like the wings of ministeringangels, and that they would bring life and health to the fever-strickenman. They all wondered at her endurance, for while she looked sofrail she proved herself so strong. At last the crisis came, as ithad in Belle's case, but instead of waking to die he passed fromdelirium into a quiet sleep, Mildred holding his hand, and when heopened his eyes with the clear glance of intelligence, they firstlooked upon her dear face. "Millie, " he whispered. 

She put her fingers upon her lips, smiled, and said, "I won't leaveyou if you will be good and do all I say. You never failed me yet, Roger, and you must not now. "

"I'll surely get well if you stay with me, Millie, " he answeredcontentedly, and soon he slept again as quietly as a child. 

CHAPTER XLV

MOTHER AND SON

Our story passes rapidly over the events of the ensuing months. In his native mountain air, and under the impulse of his strong, unbroken constitution, Roger recovered rapidly and steadily. Assoon as he was strong enough he went to the village cemetery, and, leaning his head on Belle's grave, sobbed until Mildred led himaway. For a long time tears would come into his eyes whenever thenames of Mrs. Jocelyn and the young girl he loved so fondly werementioned. He and Mildred planted the sacred place thick with rosesand spring-flowering bulbs. 

Mildred resisted all entreaties to remain in the country, sayingthat she was a city girl at heart, and that, with Mr. Wentworth'said, she could easily earn her livelihood in town, and do much forFred and Minnie. Moreover, she felt that she could not be partedfrom Roger, for seemingly he had become an inseparable part of herlife. The experiences he had shared with her were developing withinhim a strong and noble manhood, and he vowed that the young girlwho had known so much sorrow should have all the happiness that hecould bring to pass. 

When Mrs. Wheaton learned of Mildred's purpose to return to town, she took more commodious apartments in the old mansion, and setapart a room for the young girl. She also sold most of her ownthings and took Mildred's furniture out of storage, so that theplace might seem familiar and homelike to her friend. 

When Roger had almost recovered his wonted health, Mrs. Atwood toldher husband that he must go with her to visit his brother in town, for the worthy woman had a project on her mind which she carriedout with characteristic directness and simplicity. 

They surprised Mr. And Mrs. Ezra Atwood at breakfast, and partookof the cheer offered them rather grimly and silently. After themeal was over Roger's mother said, without any circumlocution:

"Brother-in-law, I've come to have a plain, honest talk with you, andif you're a true Atwood you'll listen to me. I want your wife andmy husband to be present. We are nigh of kin, but we are forgettingties which the Lord hath ordained. Ezra, I believe you are a goodman at heart, but, like my husband, you set too much store bythings that perish in the using. My boy has taught me that thereare better things in this world, and we'll all soon be where wemay look on money as a curse. You have not spoken to my son sincelast spring, and you've been cold toward us. I want you to know thetruth, and realize what you're doing; then if you go on in thisway, you must settle it with your own conscience;" and with a homelypathos all her own she told the whole story. 

The uncle at first tried to be grim and obstinate, but he soonbroke down completely. "I'm glad you've come, " he said huskily. "My conscience hasn't given me any peace for months, and I wantedto give in, but you know that it's like drawing an eye-tooth foran Atwood to give in. I'm proud of the boy, and he'll be a blessingto us all. He IS a new departure in the family; he's got more brainsthan any of us, and with it all a big, brave heart. He shall marrythe girl if he wants to; and now that her old wretch of a father isdead, no harm need come of it. But they're young; they must waituntil Roger is educated up to the best of 'em. Well, now thatI've given in, there shall be no half-way work, " and he insistedon sending for his lawyer and making his will in Roger's favor atonce. 

"I didn't come for any such purpose as this, " said Roger'smother, wiping her eyes, while his father could scarcely concealhis exultation; "but I felt that it was time for us to stop livinglike heathen, " and after a visit of a very different nature fromthe one they had feared, the worthy couple returned to Forestvillewell content with the results of their expedition. 

Roger was jubilant over the news, and he hastened to impart it toMildred, who was spending the remaining weeks of her sojourn inthe country with her friend Mrs. Wilson. 

"Millie, " he said, "you shall never want again. My good fortunewould be nothing to me unless I shared it with you. "

But she disappointed him by saying, "No, Roger, you must let melive the independent life that my nature requires, " and the onlyconcession that he could obtain from her was a promise to receivehis aid should any emergency require it. 

Before Mildred's return a letter from Vinton Arnold was forwardedto her at Forestville, and it must be admitted that it gave hersad heart something like a thrill of happiness. It was an eloquentand grateful outpouring of affection, and was full of assurancesthat she had now given him a chance for life and happiness. 

When she told Roger, he looked very grim for a moment, and then bya visible effort brightened up and said, "It's all right, Millie. "After pacing the room for a few moments with a contracted brow, he continued, "Millie, you must grant me one request--you must notsay anything to Arnold about me. "

"How can I say anything then about myself?" she answered. "I wanthim to know that I owe everything to you, and I hope to see theday when you will be the closest of friends. "

"Well, that will be a good way on. I must see him first, and learnmore about him, and--well, friends related as Arnold will be to meare not common. I've too much of the old untamed man in me to goreadily into that kind of thing. I will do anything in the worldfor you, but you must not expect much more till I have a few grayhairs in my head. Come now, you must humor me a little in thisaffair; you can say generally that some friends were kind, and allthat, without much personal reference to me. If you should write asyou propose, he might be jealous, or--worse yet--write me a letterof thanks. It may prevent complications, and will certainly saveme some confoundedly disagreeable experiences. After I've seen himand get more used to it all, I may feel differently. "

"You certainly will, Roger. Your life will gradually become sorich, full, and happy, that some day you will look back in wonderat your present feelings. "

"Life will be full enough if work can make it so; but you must notexpect me to outgrow this. It will strengthen with my years. It'smy nature as well as yours. But I foresee how it will be, " hecontinued despondently; "I shall inevitably be pushed further andfurther into the background. In your happy home life--"

Before he could utter another word Mildred was sobbing passionately. "Roger, " she cried, "don't talk that way. I can't bear it. If Vintonis jealous of you, if he fails in manly appreciation of you, Iwill never marry him. Strong as my love is for him, such a coursewould destroy it. There are certain kinds of weakness that I can'tand won't tolerate. "

He was surprised and deeply touched, for her manner was usuallyso quiet and well controlled that even he was at times temptedto forget how strong and passionate was her nature on occasionssufficient to awaken it. "There, Millie, I've hurt your feelings, "he said remorsefully. "Even I do not half understand your good, kind heart. Well, you must have patience with me. When the righttime comes my deeds will satisfy you, I think, though my words arenow so unpromising. But please don't deny me--don't say anythingabout me until I give you permission. What has occurred between usis sacred to me--it's our affair. "

"Very well, if you so wish it; but never even think again that youwill ever be less to me than you are now. "

Nevertheless he went sadly away, saying to himself, "She's sincere, Heaven knows, but what I said will be true in spite of her bestintentions. "

The next day, after many farewells and an hour spent beside Belle'sgrave, Roger returned to the city, far better prepared for life'sbattle than when he first left his native village. Two or threedays later Mildred followed him, accompanied by Mrs. Wilson, whowas determined to see her safely settled in Mrs. Wheaton's care. Pain and pleasure were almost equally blended in Mildred's experienceas she looked upon the furniture and the one or two pictures thathad escaped their poverty--all of which were so inseparable, intheir associations, from those who were gone, yet never absent longfrom memory. But the pleasure soon got the better of the pain, forshe did not wish to forget. Mrs. Wheaton's welcome was so hearty asto be almost overpowering, and when Roger appeared in the eveningwith a beautiful picture for her walls she smiled as she oncethought she never could smile again. Mr. Wentworth also called, and was so kind and sympathetic that the young girl felt that shewas far from friendless. "I so managed it, " he whispered in parting, "that there was little public reference to your father's sad end. Now, Millie, turn your thoughts toward the future. Let Roger makeyou happy. Believe me, he's pure gold. "

"Just what poor Belle said, " she thought sighingly after he hadgone. "I must disappoint them all. But Roger will help me out. Hedeserves a far better wife than poor shamed, half-crushed MillieJocelyn can ever make him, and he shall have her, too, for heis much too young and strong not to get over all this before manyyears elapse. "

Life soon passed into a peaceful, busy routine. Roger was preparinghimself for the junior class in college under the best of tutors, and his evenings, spent with Mildred, were usually prefaced bya brisk walk in the frosty air. Then he either read aloud to heror talked of what was Greek to good-natured Mrs. Wheaton, whosat knitting in a corner discreetly blind and deaf. Unknown toMildred, he was able to aid her very efficiently, for he taxed Mrs. Wentworth's ingenuity in the invention of all kinds of delicatefancy work, and that good lady, in the most business-like manner, gave the orders to Mildred, who thought that, considering the hardtimes, she was wonderfully prosperous. 

Twice during the winter she went with Roger to Forestville, andshe had her little brother and sister spend the Christmas weekwith her. It was the brightest experience the little people everremembered, although, unnoted by them, Mildred, with sad memoriesthat do not belong to childhood, often wiped bitter tears from hereyes as she recalled the terrible events of the preceding holidayseason. She became an efficient ally of Mr. Wentworth, and wasalmost as glad to aid him, in return for his stanch friendship, asthe cause he represented. 

She and Vinton Arnold maintained quite a regular correspondence, and the fact occasioned the young man more than one stormy scene. His mother saw Mildred's letter before he received it, and the effectof the missive upon him, in spite of his efforts at concealment, were so marked that she at once surmised the source from whichit came. The fact that a few words from Mildred had done more forthe invalid than all the expensive physicians and the many healthresorts they had visited would have led most mothers to query whetherthe secret of good health had not been found. Mrs. Arnold, on thecontrary, was only angered and rendered more implacable than everagainst the girl. She wrote to her husband, however, to find outwhat he could about her family, believing that the knowledge might beuseful. Mr. Arnold merely learned the bare facts that the Jocelynshad become greatly impoverished, that they were living in lowtenements, that the father had become a wretched sot, and, worse thanall, that the girl herself had been in a station-house, althoughhe believed she was proved innocent of the charge against her. He therefore wrote to his wife that the correspondence must ceaseat once, since it might involve the family in disgrace--certainlyin disgraceful associations. He also wrote to his son to desist, under the penalty of his heaviest displeasure. With an expressionof horror on her face, Mrs. Arnold showed this letter to her son. In vain he tried to protest that not one evil thing against Mildredcould be proved; that she was innocence and purity itself; that hermisfortunes and the wrong of others were no reason for desertion onhis part. His mother for once lost her frigid politeness. "What!"she almost screamed, "do you think we would ever let that horridcreature bear our name? A woman who has been in a prison cell, andmixed up with the vilest and lowest people in the city, should noteven be named in my presence. "

Her son gave her a strange, vindictive look. "You unnatural mother, "he muttered between his teeth, "thus to speak of the girl to whomyour son has given his best love, and who is worthy of it!" and heturned on his heel and left her. 

Mrs. Arnold became somewhat hysterical, and wrote home that shebelieved that Vinton was losing his mind. She soon learned, however, that she would have no ground for such a charge, although her sonwas becoming greatly changed. His politeness to her was scrupulousto a nicety, but was unrelenting in its icy coldness. At the sametime she knew that he was continuing the correspondence, and shesaw, too, that he was making the most studied and careful effortto gain in physical strength. One day she began to upbraid himbitterly for his disobedience, but he interrupted her by sayingsternly:

"Madam, there is no child present. I treat you with respect. I alsodemand respect. "

The proud, resolute woman admitted to herself that his managementwas becoming a difficult and dubious problem, and at last, discouragedand exasperated by the unwavering steadfastness of his course andmanner, she wrote that they might as well return home, for "he wasbeyond her influence. "

Therefore, thrilling with glad expectation, Arnold found himselfin his native city much sooner than he had expected. He had no verydefinite plans. If he could only become sufficiently well to earnhis own livelihood the future would be comparatively clear. Ifthis were impossible, his best hope was to wait, secure in Mildred'sfaith, for the chances of the future, believing that his fathermight relent if his mother would not. For this event, however, the outlook was unpromising. Mr. Arnold was incensed by his wife'sfuller account of his son's behavior, and the proof she had obtained, in spite of his precautions, that he was in frequent correspondencewith Mildred. He had since learned the circumstances of Mr. Jocelyn's wretched death, and that Mildred was but a sewing-girl, living with an ignorant English woman in a dilapidated old tenement, and his bitter revolt at the whole affair was quite natural in viewof his superficial inquiries and knowledge. Both he and his wifejudged from their proud and worldly standpoint solely, and thereforeon the day following Vinton's arrival they summoned him to a privateinterview. At first Mr. Arnold proposed to reason with his son, but the cold, unyielding face soon so irritated him that he becamealmost violent in his anger. After he and his mother had nearlyexhausted themselves, Vinton said quietly:

"Now that you have both lectured and threatened me as if I were aboy, I would like to ask one question. Have I ever disgraced youyet?"

The husband and wife looked at each other, and were not a littleperplexed how to meet this passive resistance. In the same low, incisive tones, Vinton continued, "If you propose to turn me intothe streets for loving Miss Jocelyn, do so at once, for I do loveher, and I shall ever love her. "

"She shall not touch a penny of our money, " said Mrs. Arnold, withan implacable look. 

"With me, " replied her son, with the same old vindictive glance, "it is not a question of pennies, but of life and death. I feeltoward Miss Jocelyn as I suppose my father once felt toward you, although what heart you had to win I cannot understand from yourmanner toward me. I have seen considerable of society, but havenever met a woman who could compare with Mildred Jocelyn in allthat constitutes a true lady. I shall not waste any words concerningthe virtues of her heart upon such unsympathetic listeners, but Iam at least a man in years, and have the right to love her. "

"Oh, certainly, " said Mrs. Arnold angrily, "there is no law whichcan prevent your disgracing yourself and us. "

"Nor is there any law or gospel, madam, for your unnatural, unsympathetic course toward your own flesh and blood. Good-evening. "

"Now you see how strange and infatuated he has become, " she said toher husband after her son's departure; but the old merchant shookhis head in trouble and perplexity. 

"We have been too hard upon him, I fear, " he said. 

"If you weaken in this matter, I shall not, " she answered decisively. "If he gives way to this folly, both I and my children will disownall kith and kin. "

"Well, well, " he replied impatiently, "it will have to be so, I suppose; but nevertheless I believe we have been too hard withhim. "

CHAPTER XLVI

A FATAL ERROR

The next morning Arnold started out to visit the one rarely absentfrom his thoughts. It was a lovely day in the latter part of June, and his heart grew glad and hopeful in spite of the discouragingconditions of his lot. All the world could not prevent his lovingMildred, or destroy her faith, and at some time and in some waythey would attain their happiness. These hopes were like the brightsummer sun, and he walked with a firmer and more elastic tread thanhe had ever known before. 

When he reached the haggard old mansion his heart misgave him. "Can it be reality, " he asked himself, "that she has been livingin places like this?" and the half-defined fear entered his mindthat she might have changed somewhat with her fortunes, and mightno longer be in appearance the delicate, refined, beautiful girlthat he had left so long since. But his impatient heart gave himno time for such imaginings, and he hastened to gratify his intensedesire to look upon her face. 

In response to a low knock Mildred opened the door, and foundherself in the arms of her lover. Then he held her off and lookedat her earnestly. "Oh, Millie!" he exclaimed, "you have only grownmore beautiful, more womanly in these long, weary years. Your faceis the reflex of the letters on which I have lived, and which gaveme the power to live. "

Then in the excess of his joy he sank into a chair, and, puttinghis hand upon his heart, looked very pale. She sprang to his sidein alarm. "Don't worry, Millie, " he said, taking her hand. "It'spassing. I don't have them very often now. I'm much better, thanksto you. Happiness rarely kills. "

It was well that Mrs. Wheaton and the children were out. Thisscene would have been a great shock to the good woman, for she wasRoger's ally, heart and soul, and did not even know of Arnold'sexistence. Since Arnold and Mildred were so fortunate as to bealone, they talked frankly over their old happy days, and as faras she could without breaking her promise to Roger, Mildred spokeof the deep sorrows which had almost overwhelmed her during hisabsence. 

"How my heart aches for you!" Arnold said. "I never realized beforewhat sad experiences you have passed through. The part which I can'tendure is that I have been of no help to you. On the contrary, youreached out this little hand and saved me. Everything has beenjust the opposite of what it ought to have been, and even now inthese surroundings you are like a diamond in a dust-heap. Oh, howdifferent it would all be if I had my way!" and he in turn toldher quite frankly how he was situated. 

"Vinton, " she said earnestly, "you must do all in your power togrow strong and make a place for yourself in the world. As you say, I cannot punish you for the pride and hostility of your parents;I don't think of them, and I could never take any favors at theirhands. As a man you have the right to choose for yourself, andcan do so while maintaining the utmost courtesy and respect towardyour family. I don't fear poverty--I'm used to it. The thing foryou to do is to find some honest work that won't tax you too greatly, and gain strength in its performance. "

"Oh, Millie, how strong and true you are! I will take your advicein this as in all respects. But we shall have to wait a long time, I fear. I have so little knowledge of business, and I think myfather, influenced by my mother, will thwart rather than help me. "

"Very well, I can wait, " she answered smilingly. "Indeed I'd ratherwait. "

Now that her happiness seemed assured, however, she sighed overRoger so often and remorsefully that at last Arnold said, "You have some trouble on your mind, Millie?"

"You must not expect to find me a light-hearted girl any more, "she replied evasively. 

"Well, " he said, as he clasped her closely in farewell, "my everywaking thought shall now be how best to banish sighs and bringsmiles. "

That evening, while they were out for a walk, Mildred said to Roger, with a little tremor in her voice, "He's come. "

He gave her a swift look, and then he turned as quickly away, buthis arm grew rigid under her hand. 

"Don't fail me, Roger, " she pleaded. 

"It's unexpected--I wasn't prepared, " he said, in a low tone, andthen he was silent. He felt her hand trembling so greatly that hesoon mastered himself for her sake. "It's all right, Millie, " hesaid heartily. "Be just as happy as you can. "

"How can I be truly happy when you are not?" she sighed. 

"Bless your kind heart! do you think I am going to stand off andlower at your happiness like a black cloud? Do you think I'm goingto droop, look forlorn and deserted, and heave great sighs in darkcorners? By all the powers! if I were capable of such meannesstoward you, I'd whip myself worse than I did that fellow Bissel. "

"Do you think I'll feel for you any the less because you are sogood and brave about it?"

"Oh, confound it!" he said impatiently, "you must not feel toomuch. Spoiling your happiness won't do me any good; it would justmake me savage. "

She leaned her head for a second against his shoulder and said, "I'm not a bit afraid of you, Roger. "

"There, Millie, " he said quietly, "you always get the better ofthe old Satan in me, but I sometimes feel as if I could more easilytame a whole menagerie than my own nature. Come to think of it, it's all turning out for the best. To-morrow I go home on quite along vacation. Father isn't very well this summer, and I'm to takecharge of the harvest for him. "

"Isn't this plan a little sudden?" she asked. 

"Not more so than your news, " he replied grimly. 

"Are you not willing to meet him yet?"

"Not quite. After a few weeks in the fields I shall come backwith the stoicism and appearance of a wild Indian. Come, Millie, Isaid I wouldn't fail you, nor shall I. Leave it all to me. I willexplain to Mrs. Wheaton to-night, and to our other friends whenthe right time comes, and I will make it appear all right to them. If I justify you, they should have nothing to say. And now youhave nothing to do but accept your happiness and make the most ofit. I still request that you do not speak of me to Arnold exceptin a casual way. When we meet you can introduce me simply as afriend who was kind during your troubles. I'll soon know after wemeet whether we can get on together, and if we can't it will savecomplications for you as well as myself. You must let me serve youin my own way, and I think my judgment will be better than yoursin this matter. "

She was silent for a few moments, and by the light of a lamp he sawthat her eyes were full of tears. "Roger, " she said softly aftera while, "I sometimes think that my affection for you is greaterthan my love for Vinton, but it is so different. It seems almostlike my religion. You are a refuge for me, no matter what happens. "

"Thank you, Millie, but I don't deserve such honor. "

Mrs. Wheaton could not be brought to look at the situation as Rogerdid, and she accepted the fact of Vinton Arnold with but a grimacquiescence, which was not mollified by the young man's mannertoward her. While meaning to be very kind and polite, he wasunconsciously patronizing. She belonged to a class with which hehad never had much to do, and in his secret soul he chafed at herpresence and her relations to Mildred. While in the abstract hemight say that Mildred's associations made no difference to him, hecould not in fact overcome his lifelong prejudices, and Mildred'ssurroundings were not at all to his taste. Luxury and the absenceof all that was rude and coarse had become essential to him, andMrs. Wheaton's cockney English and homely life often gave him coldchills. 

Mildred in one respect disappointed him also, for she would takeno aid from him, and would in no way deviate from her retired, independent life. "Even if my feelings and principles were notinvolved, " she said, "good taste requires that I conform to mycircumstances. "

She would take such quiet walks with him as his strength permitted, but would visit no places of public resort. In view of his family'shostility to his course, Arnold did not so much regret this, andso it came about that they spent many of their evenings on theplatform over the roof, with the old German astronomer, star-gazingand oblivious, not far away. 

While Mildred maintained her loyalty to her old friends, andher resolute plainness and simplicity of life, she consideratelyrecognized that it was all so foreign to her lover's previous experiencethat she could not expect him to feel as she did. Moreover, hispresence renewed her old love for the refined and beautiful, andher heart, that had been so sad and preoccupied, awoke at last tothe truth that she was out of her sphere--an exile far from theworld her nature craved. Arnold seemed an inseparable part of thatold world of beauty and elegance. His every act and word broughtit back, and it caused a deepening regret that he was compelledto seek her in her present situation; therefore she also began toshare his ill-concealed wish that she might soon escape. Honestlyas she loved Mrs. Wheaton, and would love her for all her kindness, the good woman's talk and ways often jarred discordantly on hernerves. Arnold soon discovered this fact, and it made him veryimpatient over the prospect of life long continued under its presentaspects. He was conscious of Mrs. Wheaton's latent hostility, andhe had not the tact to conciliate her nor indeed did he make verygreat effort to do so. Mildred was very sorry for this, but didnot blame him greatly, for she knew her plain old friend couldnever be to him what she was to those who had learned her goodnessand worth in emergencies that had levelled all external differences. 

But in spite of the ingredients brought by these facts and thememories of the past, Mildred found the cup of happiness whichArnold pressed to her lips sweet indeed. She had been exceedinglysorrowful for a long time, and it is contrary to nature that theyoung should cling to sorrow, however true and constant they maybe. Her love was a part of her happy girlhood, and now it seemed tohave the power to bring back some of her former girlish lightnessof heart. The prospects offered by Arnold certainly had little todo with the returning tide of gladness which seemed bearing herfrom the dark, rugged shores on which she had been nearly wrecked. It was a buoyancy inherent within the love she cherished, and herjoy was so sweet, so profound, that she shut her eyes to the futureand thought, "For a few days, for a few weeks, we'll just drinkdeeply at this life-giving fountain. After our long separation itwill do us both more good than anything else. "

She had said to Arnold that she was willing to wait, that shewould rather wait, but she soon began to feel differently. Arnoldinfused into her nature some of his own dreamy, enervated spirit, andsometimes he would describe to her an imaginary home so exactly toher taste that she would sigh deeply; and one day she remonstrated, "Don't tantalize me with any more such exquisite mirages. Let usrather think of the best and quickest way to secure a real home, andlet us be content in it, however humble it must be. " But Arnold wasfar better able to construct an imaginary palace than an ordinarycottage. Although he seemed gaining steadily under the impulse ofhis happiness, she often trembled to see how frail he was in bodyand how untrained and impracticable in mind. He was essentially theproduct of wealth, luxury, and seclusion, and while his intentionsmight be the best, she was sometimes compelled to doubt his abilityto make much headway in the practical, indifferent world. Insteadof being discouraged, she only thought, "No one can ever doubt thegenuineness of my love. Roger is rich already, and he is certainto become eminent, and yet my love is more than all the world tome, and I so long for a little nook of a home that I could callall my own, that I would be willing to marry Vinton at once andsupport him myself if his health required it. I don't think I canbe like other girls. I shall never get over my pride, but I haven'ta particle of ambition. The world at large is nothing to me, andinstead of wishing to shine in it, I am best pleased to escape itsnotice altogether. "

Arnold's family were as deeply perplexed as they were incensed athis course. He would not leave the city for any fashionable resort, and they well knew the reason. His father and mother hesitatedin their departure, not knowing what "folly, " as they termed it, he might be guilty of in their absence. They felt that they mustbring the matter to some issue, and yet how to do so puzzled themgreatly, for, as he had said, he had done nothing as yet to disgracethem, and his bearing toward them was as irreproachable as it wascold and dignified. 

At last, unknown to them, an elder brother undertook to solve theproblem. He was a thorough man of the world, and his scrupulouscompliance with the requirements of fashionable society led hismother to regard him as a model of propriety. In his private, hiddenlife he was as unscrupulous as the ultra fashionable often are. 

"Vinton, " he said one day, "what a fool you are making of yourselfin this affair! You have been brought up like a girl, and you aremore simple and innocent than they average. I've seen your charmer, and I admit that she is a fine creature. As far as looks go, youshow as much judgment as any man in town, but there your wits desertyou. Girls in her position are not nice as to terms when they cangreatly better themselves. You have money enough to lodge her likea princess compared with her present condition. Verbum sat sapienti. "

Vinton replied indignantly that he knew nothing about Mildred. 

"Oh, I know all about women, " was the confident reply; "haveforgotten more than you ever knew. "

Nevertheless this thought, like an evil seed, sprang up into a speedybut not rank growth. Arnold saw that his family would regard hismarriage as an outrage which they would resent in every possible way, and that their hostility now was but an ill-concealed, smoulderingfire. The relation to him would not be what his brother suggested, but as sacred and binding as marriage. His unhealthful reading, hislong years abroad, and the radical weakness of his nature preparedhim to accept this solution as the easiest and best that circumstancespermitted of. He justly doubted whether he would soon, if ever, gain the power of being independent. He knew nothing of business, and hated its turmoil and distractions, and while for Mildred'ssake he would attempt anything and suffer anything, he had allthe unconquerable shrinking from a manful push out into the worldwhich a timid man feels at the prospect of a battle. He had beensystematically trained into weakness, and he felt that men, whenhe came to compete with them, would discover and take advantage ofhis defects. His cold, haughty reticence was but disguised timidity. In Mildred's presence he ever showed the best side of his nature, and his lonely, repressed life had always touched the tenderest chordsof her heart. If their love had been smiled upon from the first, how different would have been his fate! She would have tenderlydeveloped his dwarfed, crushed manhood, and the result would havebeen happiness for them both. 

"Millie, " said Arnold, one starlight night, "do you care very muchfor the world's opinions?" They were sitting on the platform abovethe old mansion. The German astronomer, after grumbling awhile atan obscuring haze, had gone downstairs in disgust, and left thelovers to themselves. 

"No, Vinton, I never cared much for the world at any time, and nowI have an almost morbid impulse to shrink from it altogether. I'mlike my dear mamma. Home was her world. Poor, dear mamma!" and sheburied her face on his shoulder and shed tears that his presencerobbed of much of their bitterness. 

"I not only do not care for the world, " he said impetuously, "butI hate it. I've been dragged through it, and have ever found it adesert, stony place. My heart just aches for the sweet quiet andseclusion of such a home as you could make, Millie. As it is, Ihave no home. A hollow iceberg could not be more cold and joylessthan my present abode. Neither have you a home. It is only in stolenmoments like these, liable to interruption, that we can speak ofwhat is in our hearts;" and then, prompted by his feelings, longings, and the apparently friendless condition of the girl whose headrested so trustingly on his breast, he broached the scheme of lifethat had taken possession of his imagination. 

At first, in her faith and innocence she scarcely understood him, but suddenly she raised her head, and looked at him with startledeyes. "What!" she said, in trembling alarm, "no marriage? Mr. Wentworth and Roger Atwood not present?"

"No minister could make our union more sacred than it would be tome, " he faltered, "and as soon as my obdurate parents--"

She sprang to her feet, and exclaimed passionately, "I'd rather dieten thousand deaths than bring a blush of shame to Roger Atwood'sface. " Then she sank into her chair in an uncontrollable outburstof grief. He pleaded with her, but she was deaf; he tried to caressher, but although half unconscious from her agony, she repulsedhim. "Oh, oh, " she moaned, "is this the sole reward of my fidelity?"

"Millie, Millie, " he entreated, "you will kill me if you cannotcontrol yourself. I will do anything you say--submit to any terms. Oh, pity me, or I shall die. "

"Leave me, " she said faintly. 

"Never, " he cried; "I'd sooner cast myself down from this height. "

By visible and painful effort she at last grew calm enough to sayfirmly:

"Mr. Arnold, I do pity you. Even at this moment I will try to doyou justice. My heart seems broken, and yet, I fear you will suffermore than I. My own womanhood would make your words the sufficientcause for our final separation, and had I not a friend in the worldwe could never meet again. But I have a friend, a brother to whomI owe more than life, and whom I love better than life. He wouldhave made me rich if I would have let him, but I loved you toowell. Not for my hope of heaven would I make him blush for me. Iwould have married you and lived in a single room in a tenement. Iwould have supported you with my own hands. The weaknesses for whichyou were not to blame drew my heart toward you, but you have showna defect in your character to-night which creates an impassable gulfbetween us. In view of the wrong done you by others I forgive you--Ishall pray God to forgive you--but we have fatally misunderstoodeach other. If you have any manhood at all, if you have the ordinaryinstincts of a gentleman, you will respect the commands of an orphangirl, and leave me, never to approach me again. "

Speechless, almost paralyzed in his despair, he tottered to thesteps and disappeared. 

CHAPTER XLVII

LIGHT AT EVENTIDE

AS Mrs. Wheaton crossed the hallway from a brief call on a neighbor, Vinton Arnold passed her. She noted by the light of the lamp inher hand that his pallor was ghostlike, and she asked quickly:

"Vere is Miss Jocelyn?"

He paid no more heed to her than if he were a shadow of a man, and went by her with wavering, uncertain steps, without a word. Insudden alarm she hastened to the roof, and found Mildred kneelingby her chair, weeping and almost speechless from grief. She tookthe girl in her arms, and said excitedly, "Vat did he say to you?"

"Oh, " sobbed Mildred, "my heart is broken at last. I feel as mammadid when she said her heart was bleeding away. Mrs. Wheaton, I shallstay with you now as long as I live, and it seems as if it wouldn'tbe very long. Never speak of him again--never speak of it to aliving soul. He asked that which would banish you and Roger--dear, brave, patient Roger--from my side forever, and I will never seehis face again. Oh, oh, I wish I could die!"

"I'm a plain voman, " Mrs. Wheaton said grimly, "but I took themeasure of 'im soon as I clapped my heyes on 'im; but, Millie, medarlin', you couldn't be so cruel as to break hour 'earts by dyingfor sich a man. You vould make the vorld black for us hall, yerknow. Come, dear, come vith me. I'll take care hof yer. I'm notfine like 'im that's gone, thank the Lord, but I'll never ax ye todo haught that Mr. Ventvorth vouldn't bless, " and she half supportedthe exhausted, trembling girl to her room, and there was tenderand tireless in her ministrations. In the early dawn, when at lastMildred slept for an hour or two, she wrote, in a half-eligiblescrawl, to Roger, "Come back. Millie wants you. "

His presence in response was prompt indeed. On the second morningafter the events described, Mildred sat in her chair leaning backwith closed eyes. Mrs. Wheaton was away at work, and her eldestdaughter was watching the little brood of children on the sidewalk. A decided knock at the door caused the young girl to start up withapprehension. She was so nervously prostrated that she trembled likea leaf. At last she summoned courage and opened the door slightly, and when she saw Roger's sun-burned, honest face she welcomed himas if he were a brother indeed. 

He placed her gently in her chair again, and said, with a keen lookinto her eyes, "How is this, Millie? I left you happy and evenblooming, and now you appear more pale and broken than ever before. You look as if you had been seriously ill. Oh, Millie, that couldn'tbe, and you not let me know, " and he clasped her hand tightly ashe spoke. 

She buried her burning face on his shoulder, and said, in a low, constrained tone, "Roger, I've told Mr. Arnold this much aboutyou--I said I'd die ten thousand deaths rather than cause you toblush for me. "

He started as if he had been shot. "Great God!" he exclaimed, "anddid he ask you aught that would make you blush?"

Bitter tears were Mildred's only answer. 

The young man's passion for a few moments was terrible, but Mildred'spallid face soon calmed him. "You could not harm him, " she saidsadly. "What is one blow more to a man who is in torture? I pityhim from the depths of my soul, and you must promise me to let himalone. Never for a moment did I forget that you were my brother. "

In strong revulsion of feeling he bent one knee at her side andpleaded, "Oh, Millie, give me the right to protect you. I'll waitfor you till I'm gray. I'll take what love you can give me. I'llbe devotion itself. "

"Don't, Roger, " she said wearily. "I love you too well to listen. Such words only wound me. Oh, Roger, be patient with me. You don'tunderstand, you never will understand. I do give you the right toprotect me; but don't talk that way again. I just long for rest andpeace. Roger, my friend, my brother, " she said, lifting her eyesappealingly to his, and giving him both of her hands, "don't yousee? I can give you everything in this way, but in the way youspeak of--nothing. My heart is as dead as poor Belle's. "

"Your wish shall be my law, " he said gently. 

"And you'll not harm Mr. Arnold?"

"Not if it will hurt you. "

"I never wish to see or hear from him again, and you'll never havecause to fear any one else. "

"Millie, " he said sadly, "it is for you I fear most. You. Look sosad, pale, and broken-hearted. There isn't a sacrifice I wouldn'tmake for you. Millie, you won't let this thing crush you? It woulddestroy me if you did. We will resume our old quiet life, and youshall have rest of body and soul;" and he kept his word so wellthat, before many months passed, her mind regained sufficient toneand strength to enable her to engage in the simple duties of lifewith something like zest. He talked to her about many of his studies, he searched the stores for the books which he thought would beto her taste, and took her to see every beautiful work of art onexhibition. In spite of her poverty, he daily made her life richerand fuller of all that he knew to be congenial to her nature. Whileshe gained in serenity and in capability for quiet enjoyment, he waspositively happy, for he believed that before many years passed shewould be ready to spend the rest of life at his side. He meantimewas pursuing his studies with a vigor and success that inspiredhis friends with the most sanguine hopes. 

Vinton Arnold, on that terrible night when his false dream of lifewas shattered, went through the streets as oppressed with shame anddespair as if he were a lost spirit. As he was slowly and weaklyclimbing the stairs his father called him to the sitting-room, where he and his wife were in consultation, feeling that mattersmust be brought to some kind of a settlement, Mrs. Arnold urgingextreme measures, and her husband bent on some kind of compromise. As his son entered, the old gentleman started up, exclaiming:

"Good God, my boy, what is the matter?"

"He's going to have one of his bad turns, " said his mother, risinghastily. 

"Hush, both of you, " he commanded sternly, and he sat down near thedoor. Fixing a look of concentrated hatred on his mother, he saidslowly, "Madam, you are not willing that I should marry MildredJocelyn. "

"And with very good reason, " she replied, a little confused by hismanner. 

"Well, let it rejoice such heart as you have--I shall never marryher. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean never to speak to you again after this brief interview. Iam a lost man--lost beyond hope, and you are the cause. If you hadhad a mother's heart my father would not have been so obdurate. Since you would not let me marry her, I was tempted by my loveand the horrible life I lead in this house to offer her a relationwhich would have been marriage to me, but from which her proud, pure spirit, recoiled, as I recoil from you, and I shall never seeher face again in this world or in any world. Your work is finished. You need not scheme or threaten any more. While she is as good as anangel of heaven, she is as proud as you are, and you have murderedmy hope--my soul. Father, I have but one request to make to you. Give me money enough to live anywhere except under this roof. No, no more words to-night, unless you would have me die in your presencewith curses on my lips. I have reached the utmost limit;" and heabruptly left the room. 

Mrs. Arnold took refuge in hysterics, and her husband rang violentlyfor her maid, and then locked himself up in his library, where hewalked the floor for many an hour. The next morning he tried to makeovertures to his son, but he found the young man deaf and stony inhis despair. "It's too late, " was all that he would say. 

"Oh, let him alone, " protested his wife irritably, as her husbandcame down looking sorely troubled; "Vinton will indulge in hightragedy for a few months, and then settle down to sensible life, "and in the hope of this solution the old merchant went gloomily tohis business. 

That day Vinton Arnold left his home, and it was years before hereturned. 

Two years or more passed away in quiet, toilsome days for Mildred. She had gained serenity, and apparently had accepted her lotwithout repining. Indeed, thanks to Roger's unfaltering devotion, it was not a monotonous or a sad one. He let her heart rest, hoping, trusting that some day it would wake from its sleep. In compliancewith her wish he was in semblance a brother, and his attentionswere so quiet and frank, his manner toward her so restful, thateven she half believed at times that his regard for her was passinginto the quiet and equable glow of fraternal love. Such covetedillusions could not be long maintained, however, for occasionallywhen he was off his guard she would find him looking at her in away that revealed how much he repressed. She shed many bitter tearsover what she termed his "obstinate love, " but an almost morbidconviction had gained possession of her mind that unless she couldreturn his affection in kind and degree she ought not to marry him. 

At last she began to grow a little restless under her ratheraimless life, and one day she said to her pastor, Mr. Wentworth, "I want a career--isn't that what you call it? I'm tired of beinga sewing-woman, and soon I shall be a wrinkled spinster. Isn'tthere something retired and quiet which a girl with no more brainsand knowledge than I have can do?"

"Yes, " he said gravely; "make a home for Roger. "

She shook her head. "That is the only thing I can't do for him, "she replied very sadly. "God only knows how truly I love him. Icould give him my life, but not the heart of a wife. I have losteverything except truth to my womanly nature. I must keep that. Moreover, I'm too good a friend of Roger's to marry him. He deservesthe strong first love of a noble woman, and it will come to himsome day. Do you think I could stand before you and God's altar andpromise what is impossible? No, Mr. Wentworth, Roger has a strengthand force of character which will carry him past all this, and whenonce he sees I have found a calling to which I can devote all myenergies, he will gradually become reconciled to the truth, andfinally accept a richer happiness than I could ever bring him. "

"You are an odd girl, Mildred, but perhaps you are right. I'velearned to have great faith in you. Well, I know of a career whichpossibly may suit you. It would open an almost limitless field ofusefulness, " and he told her of the Training School for Nurses inconnection with Bellevue Hospital. 

The proposition took Mildred's fancy greatly, and it was arrangedthat they should visit the institution on the following afternoon. Roger sighed when he heard of the project, but only remarkedpatiently, "Anything you wish, Millie. "

"Dear old fellow, " she thought; "he doesn't know I'm thinking ofhim more than myself. "

Mildred made her friend Clara Wilson and her brother and sistera long visit the following summer, and in the fall entered on herduties, her zest greatly increased by the prospect of being ablebefore very long to earn enough to give Fred and Minnie a goodeducation. The first year of her training passed uneventfullyaway, she bringing to her tasks genuine sympathy for suffering, and unusual aptness and ability. Her own sorrowful experience madeher tender toward the unfortunate ones for whom she cared, and herwords and manner brought balm and healing to many sad hearts thatwere far beyond the skill of the hospital surgeons. 

During the first half of the second year, in accordance with thecustom of the School, she responded to calls from wealthy familieswherein there were cases of such serious illness as to require theservices of a trained nurse, and in each instance she so won theconfidence of the attending physician and the affection of thefamily as to make them personal friends. Her beautiful face oftenattracted to her not a little attention, but she was found to beas unapproachable as a Sister of Charity. Roger patiently waited, and filled the long months with unremitting toil. 

One evening toward the latter part of the first six months ofher outside work, Mildred returned from nursing a patient back tohealth. She found the lady in charge of the institution in muchtribulation. "Here is Mrs. Sheppard, from one of the most influentialfamilies on Fifth Avenue, offering anything for a nurse. Her brotheris dying with consumption, she says. He has a valet in attendance, but the physician in charge says he needs a trained nurse, forhe wants constant watching. He is liable to die at any moment. Wehaven't a nurse unemployed. Do you feel too tired to go?"

"Oh, no, " said Mildred. "My patient improved so much that for thelast week I've almost been resting. "

"And you think you can go?"

"Certainly. "

"I'll tell Mrs. Sheppard then to send for you in a couple of hours. That will give you time to get ready. "

Two hours later Mildred was driven rapidly by a coach-man in liveryto a mansion on Fifth Avenue, and she was speedily ushered intothe room where the patient lay. He was sleeping at the time, withcurtains drawn and his face turned away. Mildred only glanced at himsufficiently to see that he was very much emaciated. A middle-agedlady who introduced herself as Mrs. Sheppard received her, saying, "I'm so glad you are here, for I am overcome with fatigue. Lastnight he was very restless and ill, and would have no one near himexcept myself. His valet is in that room just across the hall, andwill come at the slightest summons. Now while my brother is sleepingI will rest at once. My room is here, opening into this. Call meif there is need, and don't mind if he talks strangely. Your roomis there, just beyond this one, " and with a few directions, givenwith the air of extreme weariness, she passed to her own apartment, and was soon sleeping soundly. 

Mildred sat down in the dim room where the light fell upon herpure, sweet profile, which was made a little more distinct by theflickering of the cannel-coal fire, and began one of the quietwatches to which she was becoming so accustomed. Her thoughts werevery painful at first, for they seemed strangely inclined to dwellon Vinton Arnold. From the time they parted she had heard nothingof him, and since the brief explanation that she had been compelledto give to Roger, his name had not passed her lips. He had beenworse than dead to her, and she wondered if he were dead. She hadnever cherished any vindictive feelings toward him, and even nowher eyes filled with tears of commiseration for his wronged andwretched life. Then by a conscious effort she turned her thoughtsto the friend who had never failed her. "Dear Roger, " she murmured, "he didn't appear well the last time I saw him. He is beginning tolook worn and thin. I know he is studying too hard. Oh, I wish myheart were not so perverse, for he needs some one to take care ofhim. He can't change; he doesn't get over it as I hoped he would, "and her eyes, bent on the fire, grew dreamy and wistful. 

Unknown to herself, she was watched by one who scarcely dared tobreathe lest what seemed a vision should vanish. The dying man wasVinton Arnold. His married sister, overcome by weariness and thestupor of sleep, had inadvertently forgotten to mention his name, and Mildred was under the impression that the name of her patientwas Sheppard. She had never been within the Arnold mansion, norwas she specially familiar with its exterior. Entering it hastilyon a stormy night, she had not received the faintest suggestionthat it was the home to which she and her mother had once dreamedshe might be welcomed. 

When at last Arnold had awakened, he saw dimly, sitting by thefire, an unfamiliar form, which nevertheless suggested the one neverabsent from his thoughts. Noiselessly he pushed the lace curtainaside, and to his unspeakable wonder his eyes seemed to rest onMildred Jocelyn. "She is dead, " he first thought, "and it is herspirit. Or can it be that my reason is leaving me utterly, and thevisions of my tortured mind are becoming more real than materialthings? Oh, see, " he murmured, "there are tears in her eyes. Icould almost imagine that a good angel had taken her guise and wasweeping over one so lost and wrecked as I am. Now her lips move--sheis speaking softly to herself. Great God! can it be real? Or isit that my end is near, and long-delayed mercy gives me this sweetvision before I die?"

His sombre and half-superstitious conjectures were almost dispelledby a little characteristic act on Mildred's part--an act thatcontained a suggestion of hope for Roger. In awakening the strongertraits of manhood in the latter she had also evoked an appreciation ofbeauty and a growing love for it. Mildred was human enough not toregret that this developing sense should find its fullest gratificationin herself. Though so determined to become a wrinkled spinster, she found a secret and increasing pleasure in the admiring glancesthat dwelt upon her face and dainty figure, and this fact mighthave contained for him, had he known it, a pleasing hint. It mustbe confessed that she no longer wished to go into his presencewithout adding a little grace to her usually plain attire; and nowthat she was thinking so deeply of him she involuntarily raised herhand to adjust her coquettish nurse's cap, which by some femininemagic all her own she ever contrived to make a becoming head-dressrather than a badge of office. 

Even to Vinton Arnold's perturbed and disordered mind the act wasso essentially feminine and natural, so remote from ghostly weirdness, that he raised himself on his elbow and exclaimed, "Millie, MillieJocelyn!"

"Ah, " cried Mildred starting from her chair and looking fearfullytoward the half-closed door of Mrs. Sheppard's room. In her turnher heart beat quickly, with the sudden superstitious fear which thestrongest of us cannot control when we seem close to the boundariesof the unseen world. "It was HIS voice, " she murmured. 

"Millie, oh, Millie, are you real, or is it a dream?"

She took two or three steps toward the bed, stopped, and coveredher face with her hands. 

"Oh, speak!" he cried in agony. "I do not know whether I am dreamingor awake, or whether I now see as if before me the one ever in mythoughts. You hide your face from me, " he groaned, sinking backdespairingly. "You have come for a brief moment to show me that Ican never look upon your face again. "

Mildred thought swiftly. Her first impulse was to depart at once, and then her womanly pity and sense of duty gained the mastery. Vinton Arnold was now a dying man, and she but a trained nurse. Perhaps God's hand was in their strange and unexpected meeting, andit was His will that the threads of two lives that had been boundso closely should not be severed in fatal evil. Should she thwartHis mercy?

"Mr. Arnold, " she said, in an agitated voice, "this is a strange andundreamed-of meeting. Let me quiet your mind, however, by tellingyou how simple and matter-of-fact are the causes which led to it. I am now a professional nurse from the Training School connectedwith Bellevue Hospital, and your sister, having sent to the Schoolfor assistance, obtained my services as she might those of any ofmy associates. In view--perhaps--it would be best for one of themto take my place. "

He was strongly moved, and listened panting and trembling in hisweakness. "Millie, " at last he faltered, "is there any God at all?Is there any kind or merciful spirit in nature? If so, you have beensent to me, for I am dying of remorse. Since you bade me leave youI have suffered tortures, day and night, that I cannot describe. Ihave often been at the point of taking my own life, but somethingheld me back. Can it be that it was for this hour? Mildred, I amdying. The end of a most unhappy life is very near. Is there nomercy in your faith--no mercy in your strong, pure womanly heart?"

"Vinton, " she said gently, "I believe you are right. God has sentme to you. I will not leave you until it is best. "

"Millie, Millie, " he pleaded, "forgive me. I cannot believe inGod's forgiveness until you forgive me. "

"I forgave you from the first, Vinton, because I knew there wasno cold-blooded evil in your mind, and I have long felt that youwere more sinned against than sinning. If I stay I must impose onecondition--there must be no words concerning the past. That is goneforever. "

"I know it, Mildred. I killed your love with my own hand, but theblow was more fatal to me than to you. "

"Can you not rally and live?" she asked tearfully. 

"No, " he said, with a deep breath. "Moreover, I have no wish tolive. The dark shadow of my life will soon fall on you no more, but the hope that I may breathe my last with you near brings a deepcontent and peace. Does any one yet suspect who you are?"

"No. I fear Mrs. Arnold will not think it best. "

"I have never spoken to Mrs. Arnold since that awful night, and ifshe interferes now I will curse her with my last breath. This ismy one hope--my one gleam of light in the life she has cursed--"

"Hush, oh hush! Unless my presence brings quietness I cannot stay, "for at the name of his mother he became dangerously agitated. "Iwill tell Mrs. Sheppard in the morning, and I think she will arrangeit so that I can do all in my power for you. "

"No, " he replied, after a little thought, "I will tell her. She isunlike my mother and other sisters, and has a good heart. She hastaken entire charge of me, but I was in such a hell of suffering atthe thought of dying without one word from you that I was almosta maniac. I will be quiet now. Leave all to me; I can make herunderstand. "

When Mrs. Sheppard entered, as the late dawn began to mingle withthe gaslight, she found her brother sleeping quietly, his handclasping Mildred's. To her slight expression of surprise the younggirl returned a clear, steadfast look, and said calmly, "Whenyour brother awakes he has some explanations to make. I am MildredJocelyn. "

The lady sank into a chair and looked at her earnestly. "I have longwished to see you, " she murmured. "Vinton has told me everything. I was so overcome with sleep and fatigue last night that I neithertold you his name nor asked yours. Did you not suspect where youwere?"

"Not until he awoke and recognized me. "

"Was he greatly agitated?"

"Yes, at first. It was so unexpected that he thought me a mereillusion of his own mind. "

"Miss Jocelyn, I believe God sent you to him. "

"So he thinks. "

"You won't leave him till--till--It can't be long. "

"That depends upon you, Mrs. Sheppard. I am very, very sorry forhim, " and tears came into her eyes. 

Low as was the murmur of their voices, Arnold awoke and glancedwith troubled eyes from one to the other before it all came backto him; but his sister brought quiet and rest by saying gently, asshe kissed him:

"Vinton, Miss Jocelyn shall not leave you. "

CHAPTER XLVIII

"GOOD ANGEL OF GOD"

The young nurse soon became known through the house simply as MissMildred. With the exception of Mrs. Sheppard, the valet, and thephysician, no one entered the sick-room except Mr. Arnold, and theold man often lingered and hovered around like a remorseful ghost. He had grown somewhat feeble, and no longer went to his business. His son had tolerated his presence since he had come home to die, but had little to say to him, for the bitterness of his heart extendedto the one who had yielded to his mother's hardness and inveterateworldliness. In the secrecy of his heart the old merchant admittedthat he had been guilty of a fatal error, and the consequenceshad been so terrible to his son that he had daily grown moreconscience-smitten; but his wife had gained such an ascendency overhim in all social and domestic questions that beyond occasionalprotests he had let matters drift until Vinton returned from hislong exile in Europe. The hope that his son would get over what hiswife called "an absurd youthful folly" was now rudely dispelled, and in bitterness he reproached himself that he had not adopted adifferent course. 

From the way in which he came in and looked at his son when hewas sleeping, it was soon revealed to Mildred how he felt, and shepitied him also. 

Mrs. Sheppard was a wealthy widow, and the eldest daughter. She wasfor the present making her home under the paternal roof. Unlike hermother, she had quick, strong sympathies, which sorrows of her ownhad deepened. She had assumed the care of her brother, and infusedinto her ministry a tenderness which at last led the imbitteredheart to reveal itself to her. She was therefore already preparedto be Mildred's sincere ally in bringing a little light into thelate evening-tide of her brother's clouded day. 

Most of the time she sat in her own room with the door ajar, leaving Vinton to the ministrations of his nurse. He required farless care now, for he seemed content to rest as one might during arespite from torture. His eyes would follow Mildred with a patheticlonging when he was awake, and when she took his hand and told himto sleep he would obey like a child. He seemed better because soquiet, but he grew weaker daily. All knew, and none better thanhimself, that life was slowly ebbing. His father came in morefrequently than ever, for his son showed no restlessness at hispresence now. At Mildred's request Vinton even began to greet himwith something like a welcome, and the young girl did all in herpower to make the old gentleman feel at home; sometimes she wouldplace a large easy-chair by the fire and ask him to sit with them. He was glad to comply, and often looked wonderingly and earnestlyat the fair young nurse that was working such a transformation inthe patient. He once or twice tried to become better acquaintedwith her, but ever found her gentle, deferential, and very reserved. 

Twice Mildred asked Vinton to let her send for Mr. Wentworth, buthe shook his head and said that she alone could do him any good. "Read the Bible to me when you feel like it. I'll listen to you, but my best hope is to sleep so quietly that I shall have no dreams. If that cannot be, I'll remember that you forgave me. "

"Such words make me very sad, " she replied, on the latter occasion, tears rushing into her eyes. 

"I am not worthy that you should care so much, " he said. "What amI but a flickering rush-light which your hand is shielding that itmay burn out quietly?"

"Vinton, you are wrong. The life which God has given you cannotcease. I am not wise and learned, and I have an almost unconquerablediffidence in speaking on these subjects, except to children andthe poor and ignorant. But since you won't see any one else, Imust speak. You say God sent me to you, and I accept your belief, but He did not send me to you merely to relieve physical pain andmental disquiet. If a man is stumbling toward an abyss of darkness, is it any great kindness to hold a lamp so that his last steps maybe easier? There is for each one of us a vital truth and a sacredduty, and in shutting your eyes to these and living in the presenthour, you show--pardon an honest friend for saying it--you show amore fatal weakness than you have yet manifested. "

"You are mistaken, Mildred, " he said bitterly. "As far asI am concerned, what truth is there for me to contemplate excepta wasted, unhappy life, wrecked and shamed beyond remedy, beyondhope. I long ago lost what trace of manhood I once had. Never dreamthat because you have forgiven me I shall forgive myself. No, no, "he said, with a dark vindictiveness in his eyes, "there are threethat I shall never forgive, and I am one of them. As for duty, theword is torment. What can I do--I who can scarcely raise my hand?My day is over, my chance has gone by forever. Don't interrupt me. I know you would speak of the consolations of religion, but I'drather go to the devil himself--if there is one--than to such aGod as my mother worships; and she has always been a very religiouswoman. The whole thing long since became a farce to me at our church. It was just as much a part of the fashionable world that blightedme as the rest of society's mummeries. You never went there afteryou had real trouble to contend with. It was the last place thatyou would think of going to for comfort or help. The thought ofyou alone has kept me from utter unbelief, and I would be glad tobelieve that there is some kindly power in existence that watchesover such beings as you are, and that can reward your noble life;but as far as I am concerned it's all a mystery and a weariness. You are near--you are merciful and kind. This is all the heavenI expect. It is far more than I deserve. Let me rest, Mildred. Itwill be but for a few more days. Then when you close my eyes, mayI sleep forever, " and he leaned back faint and exhausted. He wouldnot let her interrupt him, for he seemed bent on settling thequestion as far as he was concerned, and dismissing it finally. 

She listened with fast-falling tears, and answered sighingly, "Oh, I do wish you would see Mr. Wentworth. You are so wrong--so fatallymistaken. "

"No, " he said firmly, "I will see no one but you. "

"Oh, what shall I say to you?"

"Do not grieve so about me. You cannot change anything. You cannotgive me your strong, grand nature any more than you can yourbeautiful life and perfect health. I could become a Catholic andworship St. Mildred, " he added with a smile, trying to banish hertears. "The only duty that I am capable of is to try to make aslittle trouble as possible, and to cease making it altogether soon. Go and rest, and I will too, for I'm very tired. "

"No, " she said resolutely. "My mission to you must not end soweakly, so uselessly. Will you do me a favor?"

"I?"

"Yes; listen quietly and honestly;" and she read the first versesof the nineteenth chapter of St. John, ending with the words, "Behold the man. "

"Vinton, " she said eagerly, "the truth to which I referred wasembodied truth, and your first sacred duty is to look to Him andlive. To the last conscious moment of life this will remain yourfirst and most sacred duty, and were you the strongest man in thiscity you could not do more. It's not a question of religions atall, or of what other people are or believe. The words I have readhave brought you face to face with this Divine Man, who came toseek and save that which was lost. Never did a despairing human soulcry out to Him in vain. He is as real as I am. His tender pity isinfinitely beyond mine. Far better and wiser would it be for youto turn from me than from Him. Oh, merciful Christ, how the worldwrongs Thee!" and she buried her face in her hands and sobbedbitterly. 

"Millie, please don't, " he entreated. "I can't endure to see youso grieved. "

"Forgive me--I am forgetting myself sadly; but how can I see youso hopeless, so despairing, when there is no more need of it thanof your refusing what I try to do for your comfort? There, restnow, but think of what I've said. I may have done wrong to tireyou so, but to minister to the body only, when the soul, the manwithin you, is in such infinite need seems but a mockery. If youcontinue to wrong Him who should be the one great hope of everyhuman heart, you will sadden all my days. My mission will be buta poor one indeed. "

He was very much exhausted, but he said gently, "I will think of it, and may the One you serve so faithfully bless you for your divinepity. What you have said seems to make everything different;you appear to have something real and definite in your mind. Giveme your hand and I will rest; then, my good angel, teach me yourfaith. "

This Mildred did almost wholly from God's own word. At first it washard for him to believe that there were any possibilities for onelike him, but at last he accepted the truth that God is not willingthat the least should perish. "The mystery of life is somethingthat the wisest cannot solve, " she said to him, "but the best hopesof the world have ever centred about this Divine Friend. Burdenedhearts have gone to Him in every age and found rest. Oh, how oftenHe has comforted me when mine seemed breaking! In response to asimple trust He gives a hope, a life which I do not think can befound elsewhere, and in the limitless future that which was allwrong here may be made right and perfect. "

"So this is your revenge, Millie. You come and bring me this greathope. "

"No, God sent me. "

Mildred's mission to the sad-hearted Mrs. Sheppard was almost assacred and useful as to her brother, and they had many long talkswhich possessed all the deep interest which is imparted by experiencesthat leave a lasting impress on memory. 

Every day increased the bitter regret that short-sighted worldlinesshad blighted one life and kept from others one who had such rarepowers of creating all that constitutes a home. 

To Roger Mildred had written almost daily, telling him everything. Her letters were so frank and sincere that they dispelledthe uneasiness which first took possession of his mind, and theygradually disarmed him of his hostility to the dying man. There isa point in noble souls beyond which enmity falters and fails, andhe felt that Mildred's course toward Arnold was like the mercy ofGod. He reverenced the girl who like an angel of mercy was bringinghope to a despairing soul. 

"Laura, " said old Mr. Arnold to Mrs. Sheppard one evening as she wassitting with him in his library, "this young nurse is a continualsurprise to me. "

"What do you mean, papa?"

"Well, she impresses me strangely. She has come to us as a professionalnurse, and yet I have never seen a more perfect gentlewoman. Thereis a subtle grace and refinement about her which is indescribable. No wonder Vinton has been made better by her care. I wouldn't mindbeing sick myself if I could have her about me. That girl has ahistory. How comes she in such a position?"

"I think her position a very exalted one, " said his daughter warmly. "Think what an infinite blessing and comfort she has been in ourhousehold. "

"True, true enough; but I didn't expect any such person to be sentto us. "

"I am perfectly ready to admit that this young girl is an unusualcharacter, and have no doubt that she has had a history that wouldaccount for her influence. But you are in error if you think thatthese trained nurses are recruited from the ranks of commonplacewomen. Many of them come from as good families as ours, and haveall the instincts of a true lady. They have a noble calling, andI envy them. "

"Well, you know more about it than I do, but I think this MissMildred a rare type of woman. It's not her beautiful face, for shehas a charm, a winsomeness that is hard to define or account for. She makes me think of some subtle perfume that is even sweeter thanthe flower from which it is distilled. Would to God Vinton had metsuch a girl at first! How different it all might have been!"

Mrs. Sheppard left the room so hastily as to excite her father'ssurprise. 

One day Vinton said to Mildred, "How can I be truly forgiven unlessI forgive? I now see that I have wronged God's love even morethan my mother has wronged me, and in my deep gratitude from theconsciousness of God's forgiveness I would like to forgive herand be reconciled before I die. To my brother I will send a briefmessage--I can't see him again, for the ordeal would be too painful. As for my father, I have long ceased to cherish enmity against him. He, like myself, is, in a certain sense, a victim of our familypride. "

"Vinton, " Mildred replied, "I cannot tell you how glad I am tohear you speak so. I have been waiting and hoping for this, for itis proof that your feeling is not mere emotion and sentiment. Younow propose to do something that is more than manly--it is divine. God's greatest, dearest, most godlike prerogative is to forgive, and man's noblest act is to forgive a great wrong. Vinton, you havenow won my respect. "

She never forgot his answering glance. "Millie, " he said softly, "I can die happy now. I never expected more than your pity. "

"If you will do this, your memory will become sweet and ennobledin my heart. Your action will show me how grandly and swiftly Godcan develop one who has been wronged by evil. "

"God bless you, my good angel. Ask my sister to send for my fatherand mother at once. I feel a little stronger this evening, and yetI think the beginning of my new life is very near. "

Mildred went into Mrs. Sheppard's room and told her of Vinton'spurpose. She looked at the young girl for a moment with eyes blindedby tears, and then clasped her in a close, passionate embrace whichwas more eloquent than any words. "Oh, Mildred, " she said, with alow sob, "if you only could have been my sister!" Then she hastenedto carry out her brother's wishes. 

The fire burned brightly in the grate, the softened lights diffuseda mild radiance through the room, and the old impression of gloomwas utterly absent when Vinton's parents entered. Neither Mrs. Arnold nor her husband was quite able to hide the surprise andembarrassment felt at the unexpected summons, but Mr. Arnold wentpromptly to the bedside, and, taking his son's hand, said huskily, "I'll come any time you wish, my dear boy, be it night or day. "

Vinton gave as warm a pressure in answer as his feebleness permitted, and then he said gravely, "I wish you and mother to sit here closeto me, for I must speak low, and my words must be brief. I have buta little fragment of life left to me, and must hasten to performthe few duties yet within my power. "

"Had not this young woman better retire?" suggested Mrs. Arnold, glancing coldly at Mildred, who stood in the background, Mrs. Sheppard detaining her by a strong, warm clasp of her hand. 

"No, " said Vinton decisively, "she must remain. Were it not for theinfluence of this Christian--not religious, but Christian--girl, you would never have seen my face again, with my consent. In showingme how God forgives the sinful, she has taught me how to forgive. Mother, I never expected to forgive you, but I do from my heart. I am far beyond the world and all worldly considerations. In theclear light of the endless life to which we are all hastening, I seeas never before how small, petty, and unworthy are those unnaturalprinciples which blight human life at fashion's bidding. Mother, I wish to do you justice. You tried to care for me in my childhoodand youth. You spared yourself no expense, no trouble, but youcould not seem to understand that what I needed was sympathy andlove--that my heart was always repressed and unhappy. The human soul, however weak, is not like an exotic plant. It should be tended bya hand that is as gentle as it is firm and careful. I found onewho combined gentleness with strength; stern, lofty principle withthe most beautiful and delicate womanhood; and you know how I losther. Could I have followed the instincts of my heart, my fate wouldhave been widely different. But that is now all past. You did notmean to wrong me so terribly. It was only because your own life wasall wrong that you wronged me. Your pride and prejudice preventedyou from knowing the truth concerning the girl I loved. Mother, I am dying, and my last earnest counsel to you and father is thatyou will obey the words of the loftiest and greatest, 'Learn ofme, for I meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto yoursouls. ' If you cannot do this, your lives will be a more wretchedfailure than mine has been. Bury your worldly pride in my grave, and learn to be gentle and womanly, and may God forgive you astruly as I do. "

As he spoke slowly and feebly, the cold, proud woman began totremble and weep, and when his words ceased she sank on her kneesat his bedside and sobbed, "Oh, what have I done? Must I bear theremorse of having murdered my own child?"

"No, mother, you were blinded as I was. You will be forgiven as Ihave been. In the better home of heaven we'll find the secret ofour true relationship which we missed here. Good-by now. I musthasten, for I am very weak. "

Mrs. Arnold rose, put her arms around her son and kissed him, andher daughter supported her from the room, Vinton's eyes followingher sorrowfully until she disappeared. Then he said, "Dear oldfather, come and sit close beside me. "

He came, and bowed his head upon his son's hand. 

"Millie, " he called feebly to the young girl who stood by the firewith her face buried in her hands. She came at once. "God bless youfor those tears. They fall like dew into my soul. Millie, I feelas if--I don't know what it means--it seems as if I might go to myrest now. The room is growing dark, and I seem to see you more inmy mind than with my eyes. Millie, will you--can you so far forgiveme as to take my head upon your bosom and let me say my last wordsnear your heart?"

"Great God!" cried his father, starting up, "is he dying?"

"Father, please be calm. Keep my hand. Let my end come as I wish. Millie, Millie, won't you?"

Her experienced eyes saw that his death was indeed at hand--thathis life had but flickered up brightly once more before expiring. Therefore she gratified his final wish, and took his head upon herbreast. 

"Rest, rest at last, " he sighed. 

"Father, " he said after a moment or two, "look at this dear girlwho has saved my soul from death. " The old man lifted his head andgazed upon the pure, sweet face at which he had looked so oftenand questioningly before. 

"Oh, Vinton, Vinton, God forgive me! I see it all. Our insane prideand prejudice kept a good angel from our home. "

"Yes, father, this is Mildred Jocelyn. Was I wrong to love her?"

"Oh, blind, blind fool that I've been!" the old man groaned. 

"Don't grieve so, father. If you will listen to her words, hermission to us all will be complete. She is fatherless. Be kind toher after I am gone. "

The old man rose slowly and leaned his brow on Mildred's head. "Mychild, " he said brokenly, "all my love for Vinton shall now go toyou, and his portion shall be yours. "

"God bless you, father. Good-by now. Let me sleep, " and his eyesclosed wearily. 

"That's right, my boy; you'll be better in the morning, " and withfeeble, faltering steps he left the room, murmuring, "Oh, that Ihad only known in time!"

Mrs. Sheppard now entered and took his place. For a little timeVinton seemed to sleep. Then he opened his eyes and looked slowlyaround. They kindled into loving recognition as they rested onhis sister. "Laura, your patience and mercy toward me have beenrewarded, " he whispered. "Say to Mansfield and my other brother andsisters what I told you. Be as kind to Mildred as you have been tome. Good-by. "

"Millie, Millie, good angel of God to me, farewell for a littlewhile. "

His eyes closed again, his breath came more and more slowly, andat last it ceased. His sister put her hand over his heart. His sad, thwarted life had ended on earth. 

Mildred kissed him for the first time in her ministry, and murmured, as she gently laid his head back upon the pillow, "Thank God, ithas not ended as I feared!"

CHAPTER XLIX

HOME

We take up the thread of our story after the lapse of several months. Mildred left the Arnold family softened and full of regret. Evenproud Mrs. Arnold asked her forgiveness with many bitter tears, butbeyond a few little significant gifts they found it impossible tomake the one toward whom their hearts were now so tender take morethan the regular compensation that went toward the support of theinstitution to which she belonged. Mr. Arnold and Mrs. Sheppard wouldnot give her up, and often came to see her, and the old gentlemanalways made her promise that when he became ill she would take careof him; and once he whispered to her, "You won' take anything fromme now, but in my will I can remember my debt. All my wealth cannotpay what I owe to you. "

"Money has nothing to do with my relations to you, " she repliedgently. 

"Vinton's portion belongs to you, " was his quiet reply. The poorboy so understood it, and I shall not break faith with the dead. "

"Then his portion shall go toward relieving suffering in this city, "was her answer. 

"You can do what you please with it, for it shall be yours. "

While Mildred quietly performed her duties as head-nurse in oneof the wards during the last six months of the two years of hersojourn at the Training School, some important changes had occurredin Roger's circumstances. He had, more than a year before, graduatedsecond in his class at college, and had given the impression thathe would have been first had he taken the full four years' course. His crotchety uncle, with whom since the reconciliation he hadresided, had died, and after a few months his wife followed him, and Roger found himself a wealthy man, but not a happy one. Beyondgiving his parents every comfort which they craved, and making hissister Susan quite an heiress, he scarcely knew what to do with themoney. His uncle's home was not at all to his taste, and he soonleft it, purchasing a moderate-sized but substantial and eleganthouse in a part of the city that best suited his convenience. Herehe installed Mrs. Wheaton as housekeeper, and, with the exceptionof his own suite of rooms and the sleeping apartments, left allthe rest unfurnished. After placing himself in a position to offerhospitalities to his country relatives, he determined that theparlors should remain empty, as a mute reproach to Mildred. 

One evening, a week before she graduated, he induced her to go withhim to see his house. "It's not a home, " he whispered; "I merelystay here. " Then, without giving time for reply, he ushered her intothe hall, which was simply but very elegantly furnished. Mildredhad time only to note two or three fine old engravings and abronze figure, when Mrs. Wheaton, bustling up from the basement, overwhelmed her with hospitality. They first inspected her domains, and in neatness and comfort found them all that could be desired. "You see, " said the good woman, as she and Mildred were hidden fromview in a china closet, "I could get hup quite a grand dinner, butI hain't much use fur these 'ere things, for he heats less and lesshevery day. I'm troubled habout Mr. Roger, fur he seems kinder lowhin 'is spirits and discouraged like. Most young men vould feel likelords hin 'is shoes, but he's a-gettin' veary and listless-like. Vun day he vas so down that I vanted 'im to see a doctor, but hesmiled kinder strange and said nothin'. He's a-gettin' thin andpale. Vat vould I do hif he should get sick?"

Mildred turned in quick alarm and glanced at the young man, whostood looking at the glowing kitchen-range, as if his thoughtswere little interested in the homely appliances for his materialcomfort. His appearance confirmed Mrs. Wheaton's words, for hisfeatures were thinner than they had been since he recovered fromhis illness, and there was a suggestion of lassitude and dejectionin his manner. She went directly to him and said:

"Mrs. Wheaton tells me you are not well. "

He started, then threw off all depression, remarking lightly, "Mrs. Wheaton is fidgety. She prepares enough food for four men. I'mwell--have been working rather late at night, that's all. "

"Why do you, Roger?" she asked, in a voice full of solicitude. 

"If I don't feel sleepy there is no use in wasting time. Butcome, you have seen enough of the culinary department. Since Mrs. Wheaton has charge of it you can know beforehand that everythingwill be the best of its kind. I think I can show you something inmy sitting-room that will interest you more. "

Mrs. Wheaton preceded them, and Mildred took his arm in a waythat showed that he had not been able to banish her anxiety on hisbehalf. "Let me see your parlors, Roger, " she said when they againreached the hall. "I expect to find them models of elegance. "

He threw open the door and revealed two bare rooms, the brilliantlyburning gas showing frescoes of unusual beauty, but beyond thesethere was nothing to relieve their bleak emptiness. "I have nouse for these rooms, " he remarked briefly, closing the door. "Comewith me, " and he led her to the apartment facing the street on thesecond floor. The gas was burning dimly, but when he had placed herwhere he wished her to stand, he suddenly turned it up, and beforeher, smiling into her eyes from the wall, were three exquisitelyfinished oil portraits--her father and mother and Belle, lookingas she remembered them in their best and happiest days. 

The effect upon her at first was almost overpowering. She sank intoa chair with heart far too full for words, and looked until tearsso blinded her eyes that she could see them no longer. 

"Roger, " she murmured, "it's almost the same as if you had broughtthem back to life. Oh, Roger, God bless you--you have not banishedpapa; you have made him look as he asked us to remember him, " andher tender grief became uncontrollable for a few moments. 

"Don't cry so, Millie, " he said gently. "Don't you see they aresmiling at you? Are the likenesses good?"

"They are lifelike, " she answered after a little. "How could youget them so perfect?"

"Belle and your mother gave me their pictures long ago, and youremember that I once asked you for your father's likeness when Iwas looking for him. There were some who could aid me if they knewhow he looked. Then you know my eye is rather correct, and I spenta good deal of time with the artist. Between us we reached theseresults, and it's a great happiness to me that they please you. "

Her eyes were eloquent indeed as she said, in a low tone: "What aloyal friend you are!"

He shook his head so significantly that a sudden crimson cameinto her face, and she was glad that Mrs. Wheaton was busy in anadjoining room. "Come, " he said lightly, "you are neglecting otherfriends;" and turning she saw fine photographs of Mr. Wentworth, of Clara Wilson, Mrs. Wheaton, and her little brother and sister;also oil portraits of Roger's relatives. 

She went and stood before each one, and at last returned to herown kindred, and her eyes began to fill again. 

"How rich you are in these!" she at last said. "I have nothing butlittle pictures. "

"These are yours, Millie. When you are ready for them I shall placethem on your walls myself. "

"Roger, " she said a little brusquely, dashing the tears out ofher eyes, "don't do or say any more kind things to-night, or myself-control will be all gone. "

"On the contrary, I shall ask you to do me a kindness. Please sitdown on this low chair by the fire. Then I can add the last andbest picture to this family gallery. "

She did so hesitatingly, and was provoked to find that her colorwould rise as he leaned his elbow on the mantel and looked at herintently. She could not meet his eyes, for there was a heart-hungerin them that seemed to touch her very soul. "Oh, " she thought, "whydoesn't he--why can't he get over it?" and her tears began to flowso fast that he said lightly:

"That will do, Millie. I won't have that chair moved. Perhaps youthink an incipient lawyer has no imagination, but I shall see youthere to-morrow night. Come away now from this room of shadows. Your first visit to me has cost you so many tears that you willnot come again. "

"They are not bitter tears. It almost seems as if I had found thetreasures I had lost. So far from being saddened, I'm happier thanI've been since I lost them--at least I should be if I saw youlooking better. Roger, you are growing thin; you don't act likeyour old self. "

"Well, I won't work late at night any longer if you don't wish meto, " he replied evasively. 

"Make me that promise, " she pleaded eagerly. 

"Any promise, Millie. "

She wondered at the slight thrill with which her heart respondedto his low, deep tones. 

In the library she became a different girl. A strange buoyancygave animation to her eyes and a delicate color to her face. Shedid not analyze her feelings. Her determination that Roger shouldhave a pleasant evening seemed to her sufficient to account forthe shining eyes she saw reflected in a mirror, and her sparklingwords. She praised his selection of authors, though adding, witha comical look, "You are right in thinking I don't know much aboutthem. The binding is just to my taste, whatever may be the contentsof some of these ponderous tomes. There are a good many emptyshelves, Roger. "

"I don't intend to buy books by the cartload, " he replied. "Alibrary should grow like the man who gathers it. "

"Roger, " she said suddenly, "I think I see some fancy work thatI recognize. Yes, here is more. " Then she darted back into thesitting-room. In a moment she returned exclaiming, "I believe thehouse is full of my work. "

"There is none of your work in the parlors, Millie. "

She ignored the implied reproach in words, but could not wholly inmanner. "So you and Mrs. Wentworth conspired against me, and yougot the better of me after all. You were my magnificent patron. How could you look me in the face all those months? How could youwatch my busy fingers, looking meanwhile so innocent and indifferentto my tasks? I used to steal some hours from sleep to make youlittle gifts for your bachelor room. They were not fine enough foryour lordship, I suppose. Have you given them away?"

"They are in my room upstairs. They are too sacred for use. "

"Who ever heard of such a sentimental brother!" she said, turningabruptly away. 

Mrs. Wheaton was their companion now, and she soon gave the finaltouches to a delicate little supper, which, with some choice flowers, she had placed on the table. It was her purpose to wait upon themwith the utmost respect and deference, but Mildred drew her intoa chair, with a look that repaid the good soul a hundred times forall the past. 

"Roger, " she said gayly, "Mrs. Wheaton says you don't eat much. You must make up for all the past this evening. I'm going to helpyou, and don't you dare to leave anything. "

"Very well, I've made my will, " he said, with a smiling nod. 

"Oh, don't talk that way. How much shall I give the delicate creature, Mrs. Wheaton? Look here, Roger, you should not take your meals ina library. You are living on books, and are beginning to look liketheir half-starved authors. "

"You are right, Miss Millie. 'Alf the time ven I come to take havaythe thinks I finds 'im readin', and the wittles 'ardly touched. "

"Men are such foolish, helpless things!" the young girl protested, shaking her head reprovingly at the offender. 

"I must have some company, " he replied. 

"Nonsense, " she cried, veiling her solicitude under a charmingpetulance. "Roger, if you don't behave better, you'll be a fitsubject for a hospital. "

"If I can be sent to your ward I would ask nothing better, " washis quick response. 

Again she was provoked at her rising color, for his dark eyes glowedwith an unmistakable meaning. She changed the subject by saying, "How many pretty, beautiful, and costly things you have gatheredin this room already! How comes it that you have been so fortunatein your selections?"

"The reason is simple. I have tried to follow your taste. We'vebeen around a great deal together, and I've always made a note ofwhat you admired. "

"Flatterer, " she tried to say severely. 

"I wasn't flattering--only explaining. "

"Oh dear!" she thought, "this won't do at all. This homelike houseand his loneliness in it will make me ready for any folly. Dearold fellow! I wish he wasn't so set, or rather I wish I were oldand wrinkled enough to keep house for him now. "

Conscious of a strange compassion and relenting, she hastened herdeparture, first giving a wistful glance at the serene faces ofthose so dear to her, who seemed to say, "Millie, we have foundthe home of which you dreamed. Why are not you with us?"

Although she had grown morbid in the conviction that she could not, and indeed ought not to marry Roger, she walked home with him thatnight with an odd little unrest in her heart, and an unexpecteddiscontent with the profession that heretofore had so fully satisfiedher with its promise of independence and usefulness. Having spentan hour or two in her duties at the hospital, however, she laughedat herself as one does when the world regains its ordinary andprosaic hues after an absorbing day-dream. Then the hurry and bustleof the few days preceding her graduation almost wholly occupiedher mind. 

A large and brilliant company was present in the evening on whichshe received her diploma, for the Training School deservedlyexcited the interest of the best and most philanthropic people inthe city. It was already recognized as the means of giving to womenone of the noblest and most useful careers in which they can engage. 

Mildred's fine appearance and excellent record drew to her muchattention, and many sought an introduction. Mr. Wentworth beamedon her, and was eloquent on the credit she had brought to him. OldMr. Arnold and Mrs. Sheppard spoke to her so kindly and gratefullythat her eyes grew tearful. Mrs. Wheaton looked on exultantly asthe proudest and richest sought the acquaintance of the girl whohad so long been like her own child. 

But the first to reach and greet her when the formalities of theevening were over was her old friend who had been Miss Wetheridge. "We have just arrived from a long absence abroad, " she exclaimed, "and I'm glad and thankful to say that my husband's health is atlast restored. For the first year or two he was in such a criticalcondition that I grew selfish in my absorption in his case, andI neglected you--I neglected everybody and everything. Forgiveme, Mildred. I have not yet had time to ask your story from Mr. Wentworth, but can see from the way he looks at you that you'veinflated him with exultation, and now I shall wait to hear allfrom your own lips, " and she made the girl promise to give her thefirst hour she could spare. 

In spite of all the claims upon her time and attention, Mildred'seyes often sought Roger's face, and as often were greeted with abright, smiling glance, for he had determined that nothing shouldmar her pleasure on this evening. Once, however, when he thoughthimself unobserved, she saw a look of weariness and dejection thatsmote her heart. 

When the evening was quite well advanced she came to him and said, "Won't you walk with me a little in this hallway, where we can besomewhat by ourselves? It so happens that I must go on duty in afew moments, and exchange this bright scene for a dim hospital ward;but I love my calling, Roger, and never has it seemed so noble ason this evening while listening to the physician who addressed us. There is such a deep satisfaction in relieving pain and rescuinglife, or at least in trying to do so; and then one often has achance to say words that may bring lasting comfort. Although I amwithout a home myself, you do not blame me that I am glad it is mymission to aid in driving away shadows and fear from other homes?"

"I am homeless, too, Millie. "

"You! in that beautiful house, with so many that you love lookingdown upon you?"

"Walls and furniture cannot make a home; neither can paintedshadows of those far away. I say, Millie, how sick must a fellowbe in order to have a trained nurse?"

She turned a swift, anxious glance upon him. "Roger, tell mehonestly, " she said, "are you well?"

"I don't know, " he replied, in a low tone; "I fear I'll make youashamed of me. I didn't mean to be so weak, but I'm all unstrungto-night. I'm losing courage--losing zest in life. I seem to haveeverything, and my friends consider me one of the luckiest of men. But all I have oppresses me and makes me more lonely. When I wassharing your sorrows and poverty, I was tenfold happier than I amnow. I live in a place haunted by ghosts, and everything in lifeappears illusive. I feel to-night as if I were losing you. Yourprofessional duties will take you here and there, where I cannotsee you very often. "

"Roger, you trouble me greatly. You are not well at all, and yourextreme morbidness proves it. "

"I know it's very unmanly to cloud your bright evening, but mydepression has been growing so long and steadily that I can't seemto control it any more. There, Millie, the lady superintendent islooking for you. Don't worry. You medical and scientific peopleknow that it is nothing but a torpid liver. Perhaps I may be illenough to have a trained nurse. You see I am playing a deep game, "and with an attempt at a hearty laugh he said good-night, and shewas compelled to hasten away, but it was with a burdened, anxiousmind. 

A few moments later she entered on her duties in one of the surgicalwards, performing them accurately from habit, but mechanically, for her thoughts were far absent. It seemed to her that she wasfailing one who had never failed her, and her self-reproach anddisquietude grew stronger every moment. "After all he has been tome, can I leave him to an unhappy life?" was the definite questionthat now presented itself. At last, in a respite from her tasks, she sat down and thought deeply. 

Roger, having placed Mrs. Wheaton in a carriage, was about to followon foot, when Mr. Wentworth claimed his attention for a time. Atlast, after the majority of the guests had departed, he salliedforth and walked listlessly in the frosty air that once had madehis step so quick and elastic. He had not gone very far before heheard the sound of galloping horses, then the voices of women cryingfor help. Turning back he saw a carriage coining toward him atfurious speed. A sudden recklessness was mingled with his impulseto save those in extreme peril, and he rushed from the sidewalk, sprang and caught with his whole weight the headgear of the horsenearest to him. His impetuous onset combined with his weight checkedthe animal somewhat, and before the other horse could drag him veryfar, a policeman came to his aid, dealing a staggering blow behindthe beast's ear with his club, then catching the rein. 

Roger's right arm was so badly strained that it seemed to failhim, and before he could get out of the way, the rearing horse hewas trying to hold struck him down and trampled upon him. He wassnatched out from under the iron-shod hoofs by the fast gatheringcrowd, but found himself unable to rise. 

"Take me to Bellevue, " he said decisively. 

The hospital was not far away, and yet before an ambulance couldreach him he felt very faint. 

Mildred sat in her little room that was partitioned off from theward. Her eyes were wide and earnest, but that which she saw wasnot present to their vision. 

Suddenly there were four sharp strokes of the bell from the hospitalgate, and she started slightly out of her revery, for the imperativesummons indicated a surgical case which might come under her care. There was something so absorbing in the character of her thoughts, however, that she scarcely heeded the fact that an ambulance dashedin, and that the form of a man was lifted out and carried into thecentral office. She saw all this obscurely from her window, but suchscenes had become too familiar to check a deep current of thought. When, a few moments later, the male orderly connected with theward entered and said, "Miss Jocelyn, I've been down and seen thebooks, and accordin' to my reckonin' we'll have that case, " shesprang up with alacrity, and began assuring herself that everyappliance that might be needed was in readiness. "I'm glad I mustbe busy, " she murmured, "for I'm so bewildered by my thoughts andimpulses in Roger's behalf, that it's well I must banish them untilI can grow calm and learn what is right. "

The orderly was right, and the "case" just brought in was speedilycarried up on the elevator and borne toward the ward under hercharge. With the celerity of well-trained hands she had preparedeverything and directed that her new charge should be placed on acot near her room. She then advanced to learn the condition of theinjured man. After a single glance she sprang forward, crying, "Oh, merciful Heaven! it's Roger!"

"You are acquainted with him then?" asked the surgeon who hadaccompanied the ambulance, with much interest. 

"He's my brother--he's the best friend I have in the world. Oh, be quick--here. Gently now. O God, grant his life! Oh, oh, he'sunconscious; his coat is soaked with blood--but his heart is beating. He will, oh, he will live; will he not?"

"Oh, yes, I think so, but the case was so serious that I followed. You had better summon the surgeon in charge of this division, whileI and the orderly restore him to consciousness and prepare him fortreatment. "

Before he ceased speaking Mildred was far on her way to seek theadditional aid. 

When she returned Roger's sleeve had been removed, revealingan ugly wound in the lower part of his left arm, cut by the corkof a horseshoe, made long and sharp because of the iciness of thestreets. A tourniquet had been applied to the upper part of thearm to prevent further hemorrhage, and under the administration ofstimulants he was giving signs of returning consciousness. 

The surgeon in charge of the division soon arrived, and every effortof modern skill was made in the patient's behalf. Bottles of hotwater were placed around his chilled and blood-drained form, andspirits were injected hypodermically into his system. The fairyoung nurse stood a little in the background, trembling in herintense anxiety, and yet so trained and disciplined that with theprecision of a veteran she could obey the slightest sign from theattendant surgeons. "He never failed me, " she thought; "and ifloving care can save his life he shall have it night and day. "

At last Roger knew her, and smiled contentedly; then closed his eyesin almost mortal weariness and weakness. As far as he was able tothink at all, he scarcely cared whether he lived or died, sinceMildred was near him. 

The physicians, after as thorough examination as was possible, and doing everything in their power, left him with hopeful words. The most serious features in the case were his loss of blood andconsequent great exhaustion. The division surgeon said that thechief danger lay in renewed hemorrhage, and should it occur hemust be sent for at once, and then he left the patient to Mildred'scare, with directions as to stimulants and nourishment. 

Mildred would not let Roger speak, and he lay in a dreamy, half-wakingcondition of entire content. As she sat beside him holding hishand, she was no longer in doubt. "My 'stupid old heart, ' as Bellecalled it, is awake at last, " she thought. "Oh, how awful wouldbe my desolation if he should die! Now I know what he is to me. I loved Vinton as a girl; I love Roger as a woman. Oh, how gladlyI'd take his place! What could I not sacrifice for him! Now I knowwhat he has suffered in his loneliness. I understand him at last. I was hoping he would get over it--as if I could ever get over this!He said he was losing his zest in life. Oh, what an intolerableburden would his loss make of life for me! O God, spare him; surelysuch love as this cannot be given to two human souls to be pouredout like water on the rock of a pitiless fate. "

"Millie, " said Roger faintly, "your hand seems alive, and itspulsations send little thrills direct to my heart. Were it not foryour hand I would think my body already dead. "

"Oh, Roger, " she murmured, pressing her lips on his hand, "wouldto God I could put my blood into your veins. Roger, dear beyond allwords, don't fail me, now that I need you as never before. Don'tspeak, don't move. Just rest and gain. Hush, hush. Oh, be quiet! Iwon't leave you until you are stronger, and I'll always be withincall. "

"I'll mind, Millie. I was never more contented in my life. "

Toward morning he seemed better and stronger, and she left him afew moments to attend to some other duties. When she returned shesaw to her horror that hemorrhage had taken place, and that hisarm was bleeding rapidly. She sprang to his side, and with trainedskill pressed her fingers on the brachial artery, thus stoppingfurther loss of blood instantly. Then calling to the orderly, shetold him to lose not a second in summoning the surgeon. 

Roger looked up into her terror-stricken face, and said quietly, "Millie, I'm not afraid to die. Indeed I half think it's best. Icouldn't go on in the old way much longer--"

"Hush, hush, " she whispered. 

"No, " he said decisively, "my mission to you is finished. You willbe an angel of mercy all your days, but I find that after all myambitious dreams I'm but an ordinary man. You are stronger, noblerthan I am. You are a soldier that will never be defeated. Youthink to save my life by holding an artery, but the wound that waskilling me is in my heart. I don't blame you, Millie--I'm weak--I'mtalking at random--"

"Roger, Roger, I'm not a soldier. I am a weak, loving woman. I loveyou with my whole heart and soul, and if you should not recover youwill blot the sun out of my sky. I now know what you are to me. Iknew it the moment I saw your unconscious face. Roger, I love younow with a love like your own--only it must be greater, stronger, deeper; I love you as a woman only can love. In mercy to me, rallyand live--LIVE!"

He looked at her earnestly a moment, and then a glad smile lightedup his face. 

"I'll live now, " he said quietly. "I should be dead indeed did Inot respond to that appeal. "

The surgeon appeared speedily, and again took up and tied theartery, giving stimulants liberally. Roger was soon sleeping witha quietude and rest in his face that assured Mildred that her wordshad brought balm and healing to a wound beyond the physician'sskill, and that he would recover. And he did gain hourly from thetime she gave him the hope for which he had so long and so patientlywaited. It must be admitted that he played the invalid somewhat, forhe was extremely reluctant to leave the hospital until the periodof Mildred's duties expired. 

A few months later, with Mrs. Heartwold--the Miss Wetheridge offormer days--by her side, she was driven to Roger's house--her homenow. The parlors were no longer empty, and she had furnished themwith her own refined and delicate taste. But not in the midst oftheir beauty and spaciousness was she married. Mr. Wentworth stoodbeneath the portraits of her kindred, and with their dear facessmiling upon her she gave herself to Roger. Those she loved beststood around her, and there was a peace and rest in her heart thatwas beyond joy. 

When all were gone, Roger wheeled the low chair to its old placebeside the glowing fire, and said:

"Millie, at last we both have a home. See how Belle is smiling atus. "

"Dear sister Belle, " Mildred murmured, "her words have come true. She said, Roger, when I was fool enough to detest you, that you'would win me yet, ' and you have--all there is of me. "

Roger went and stood before the young girl's smiling face, sayingearnestly:

"Dear little Belle, 'we SHALL have good times together yet, ' orelse the human heart with its purest love and deepest yearning isa lie. "

Then turning, he took his wife in his arms and said, "Millie darling, we shall never be without a home again. Please God it shall be hereuntil we find the better home of Heaven. "

APPENDIX

Christian men and women of New York, you--not the shopkeepers--arechiefly to blame for the barbarous practice of compelling women, often but growing girls, to stand from morning until evening, andoften till late in the night. The supreme motive of the majorityof the men who enforce this inhuman regulation is to make money. Some are kind-hearted enough to be very willing that their saleswomenshould sit down if their customers would tolerate the practice, andothers are so humane that they grant the privilege without saying, By your leave, to their patrons. 

There is no doubt where the main responsibility should be placedin this case. 

Were even the intoxicated drayman in charge of a shop, when soberhe would have sufficient sense not to take a course that woulddrive from him the patronage of the "best and wealthiest peoplein town. " Upon no class could public opinion make itself felt morecompletely and quickly than upon retail merchants. If the people hadthe humanity to say, We will not buy a dime's worth at establishmentsthat insist upon a course at once so unnatural and cruel, the evilwould be remedied speedily. Employers declare that they maintainthe regulation because so many of their patrons require that thesaleswoman shall always be standing and ready to receive them. It is difficult to accept this statement, but the truth that theshops wherein the rule of standing is most rigorously enforced areas well patronized as others is scarcely a less serious indictment, and it is also a depressing proof of the strange apathy on thequestion. 

No labored logic is needed to prove the inherent barbarity of thepractice. Let any man or woman--even the strongest--try to stand aslong as these frail, underfed girls are required to be upon theirfeet, and he or she will have a demonstration that can never beforgotten. In addition, consider the almost continual strain onthe mind in explaining about the goods and in recommending them, in making out tickets of purchase correctly while knowing thatany errors will be charged against their slender earnings, or morethan made good by fines. What is worse, the organs of speech arein almost constant exercise, and all this in the midst of more orless confusion. The clergyman, the lecturer, is exhausted after anhour of speech. Why are not their thunders directed against theinhumanity of compelling women to spend ten or twelve hours ofspeech upon their feet? The brutal drayman was arrested because hewas inflicting pain on a sentient being. Is not a woman a sentientbeing? and is any one so ignorant of physiology as not to have somecomprehension of the evils which must result in most cases fromcompelling women--often too young to be mature--to stand, underthe trying circumstances that have been described?

An eminent physician in New York told me that ten out of twelvemust eventually lose their health; and a proprietor of one of theshops admitted to me that the girls did suffer this irreparable loss, and that it would be better for them if they went out to service. 

The fact that cashiers who sit all day suffer more than those whostand proves nothing against the wrong of the latter practice. It only shows that the imperative law of nature, especially forthe young, is change, variety. Why not accept the fact, and be asconsiderate of the rights of women as of horses, dogs, and cats?While making my investigations on this subject, I asked a gentlemanwho was in charge of one of the largest retail shops in the city, on what principle he dealt with this question. "On the principle ofhumanity, " he replied. "I have studied hygienic science, and knowthat a woman can't stand continuously except at the cost of seriousill-health. "

Later I asked the proprietor if he did not think that his humanitywas also the best business policy, for the reason that his employeswere in a better condition to attend to their duties. 

"No, " he said; "on strict business principles I would requireconstant standing; but this has no weight with me, in view of theinhumanity of such a rule. If I had the room for it in the store, I'd give all my employes a good slice of roast beef at noon; butI have not, and therefore I give them plenty of time for a goodlunch. "

The manager of another establishment, which was furnished withample means of rest for the girls, said to me, "A man that compelsa girl to stand all day ought to be flogged. "

He also showed me a clean, comfortable place in the basement inwhich the girls ate their lunches. It was supplied with a largecooking-stove, with a woman in constant attendance. Each girl hadher own tea or coffee-pot, and time was given for a substantial andwholesome meal. I would rather pay ten per cent more for goods atsuch shops than to buy them at others where women are treated asthe cheapest kind of machines, that are easily replaced when brokendown. 

Granting, for the sake of argument, that customers may not be waitedon quite so promptly, and that the impression of a brisk businessmay not be given if many of the girls are seated, these are notsufficient reasons for inflicting torment on those who earn theirbread in shops. I do not and cannot believe, however, that the ruleis to the advantage of either employer or customer in the long run. It is not common-sense that a girl, wearied almost beyond endurance, and distracted by pain, can give that pleasant, thoughtful attentionto the purchaser which she could bestow were she in a normalcondition. At very slight expense the proprietors of large shopscould give all their employes a generous plate of soup and a cupof good tea or coffee. Many bring meagre and unwholesome lunches;more dine on cake, pastry, and confectionery. These ill-taught girlsare just as prone to sin against their bodies as the better-taughtchildren of the rich. If employers would give them somethingsubstantial at midday, and furnish small bracket seats which couldbe pulled out and pushed back within a second of time, they wouldfind their business sustained by a corps of comfortable, cheerful, healthful employes; and such a humane, sensible policy certainlyought to be sustained by all who have any sympathy with Mr. Bergh. 

The belief of many, that the majority of the girls are broken downby dissipation, is as superficial as it is unjust. Undoubtedly, many do carry their evening recreation to an injurious excess, andsome place themselves in the way of temptations which they havenot the strength to resist; but every physician knows that somerecreation, some relief from the monotony of their hard life, is essential. Otherwise, they would grow morbid in mind as wellas enfeebled in body. The crying shame is that there are so fewplaces where these girls can go from their crowded tenement homesand find innocent entertainment. Their dissipations are scarcelymore questionable, though not so elegantly veneered, as those ofthe fashionable, nor are the moral and physical effects much worse. But comparatively few would go to places of ill-repute could theyfind harmless amusements suited to their intelligence and taste. After much investigation, I am satisfied that in point of moralsthe working-women of New York compare favorably with any class inthe world. To those who do not stand aloof and surmise evil, butwho acquaint themselves with the facts, it is a source of constantwonder that in their hard and often desperate struggle for breadthey still maintain so high a standard. 

Tenement life with scanty income involves many shadows at best, but in the name of manhood I protest against taking advantage ofthe need of bread to inflict years of pain and premature death. We all are involved in this wrong to the degree that we sustainestablishments from which a girl is discharged if she does not orcannot obey a rule which it would be torture for us to keep. 

I shall be glad, indeed, if these words hasten by one hour the timewhen from the temple of human industry all traders shall be drivenout who thrive on the agonies of girls as frail and impoverishedas Mildred Jocelyn. 

THE END