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 deep anxiety from her eyes.  The shadow of coming trouble had fallen too heavily upon her, and that the marked exhibition of her father’s failing powers should have occurred at this time added to the impression that Roger Atwood was their evil genius.  She recalled the fact that he seemingly had been the first exciting cause of her father’s unnatural behavior, and now his reappearance was the occasion of the most convincing proof they had yet received that the one upon whom they all depended was apparently failing in both mind and body.  Even now, while he was doing his best to reassure and render happy his family, there was to her perception an unreality in his words and manner.  She almost imagined, too, that he feared to meet her eye and shunned doing so.  Not in the remotest degree, however, did she suspect the cause of his suddenly varying moods and changed appearance, but regarded all as the result of his misfortunes; and the miserable presentiment grew strong upon her that soon—­alas! too soon—­she would be the slender reed on which they all would lean.  If she could have six months, only, of careful preparation she would not so dread the burden; but if now, or soon, the whole responsibility of the family’s support should come upon her and Belle, what would they do?  Her heart sank, and her very soul cowered at the prospect.  She could not live in the present hour like Belle, but with too keen a foresight realized how dark and threatening was the future.

The night was clear and beautiful, and Roger and Belle went up to the platform built over the roof.  Not long afterward there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Ulph appeared.  “Der night vas goot,” he said to Mildred, “und I vill gif you von leedle glimpse oil hefen if you vould like him.”

The poor girl felt that she certainly needed a glimpse of something bright and reassuring, and wrapping herself warmly she followed her quaint friend to the roof.

Roger grew taciturn as he watched the dim outline of her form and her white, upturned face.  She seemed as cold and distant to him as the stars at which she gazed, and he thought dejectedly, “The least of them have an interest for her greater than I shall ever be 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 often blinded by tears, which once glittered so distinctly in the rays of a brilliant planet that her companion stopped in the midst of a sentence and looked at her keenly.

“You vas not habby, my leedle schild,” he said kindly.  “Dere’s someding droubling you heart; put you gan no see vay inter der hefens 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 see at all,” Mildred replied, with a low, suppressed sob.  “Forgive me to-night.  I do feel grateful that you are willing to show me—­but—­I—­I—­well, I am troubled to-night about something, and I can’t control myself.  To-morrow night I’ll be braver, and will help you.  Please don’t feel hurt if I leave you now.”