“You did not hear his words, mamma—­you did not see him.  Oh, if he should die!  He looked like death itself,” and she gave way to such an agony of grief that her mother was alarmed on her behalf, and wept, entreated, and soothed by turns until at last the poor child crept away with throbbing temples to a long night of pain and sleeplessness.  The wound was one that she must hide in her own heart; her pallor and languor for several days proved how deep it had been.

But the truth that he loved her—­the belief that he could never give to another what he had given to her—­had a secret and sustaining power.  Hope is a hardy plant in the hearts of the young.  Though the future was dark, it still had its possibilities of good.  Womanlike, she thought more of his trouble than of her own, and that which most depressed her was the fear that his health might give way utterly.  “I can bear anything better than his death,” she said to herself a thousand times.

She made no tragic promises of constancy, nor did she indulge in very much sentimental dreaming.  She simply recognized the truth that she loved him—­that her whole woman’s heart yearned in tenderness over him as one that was crippled and helpless.  She saw that he was unable to stand alone and act for himself, and with a sensitive pride all her own she shrank from even the thought of forcing herself on the proud, rich family that had forbidden the alliance.  Moreover, she was a good-hearted, Christian girl, and perceived clearly that it was no time for her to mope of droop.  Even on the miserable day which followed the interview that so sorely wounded her, she made pathetic attempts to be cheerful and helpful, and as time passed she rallied slowly into strength and patience.

The father’s apparent efforts to keep up under his misfortune were also a great incentive to earnest effort on her part.  More than once she said in substance to her mother, “Papa is so often hopeful, serene, and even cheerful, that we ought to try and show a like spirit.  Even when despondency does master him, and he becomes sad and irritable, he makes so brave an effort that he soon overcomes his wretched mood and quietly looks on the brighter side.  We ought to follow his example.”  It would have been infinitely better had he followed theirs, and found in prayer, faith, and manly courage the serenity and fortitude that were but the brief, deceptive, and dangerous effects of a fatal poison.

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

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