Roger, while on his way to Dr. Benton’s office, passed a livery-stable with a coach standing just within the door, and he at once resolved that the weary girls should not be exhausted by flying home in terror-stricken haste.  He took the carriage, obtained the physician, and explained to him what had happened while on the way to the shop in which Belle was employed.  It was Christmas-eve, and the store was still crowded with eleventh-hour purchasers, on whom the weary child was waiting in a jaded, mechanical way.  Her vacant look and the dark lines under her eyes proved how exhausted she was; but at the sight of Roger a flash of light and pleasure came into her face, 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 make it all right with your employer.”

“Belle,” he said, when they were by the carriage door, “you must be 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 will go 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 at his tidings, and sobbed almost hysterically.  She could not control herself sufficiently to enter the shop where Mildred stood, unconscious of the approaching shadow, and so the heavy task of breaking the news fell upon Roger.  “If Belle, naturally so strong, was white and faint from the long, toilsome day, how wan and ghost-like poor Mildred 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 saw Roger the crimson deepened in her face, her brow knitted in strong vexation, and she went on with her task of putting the goods under her charge in order, as if she had not seen him; but the thought flashed through her mind:  “Oh that he were to me what he is to Belle!  Then he might punish my insolent persecutor, but he’s the last 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 companions as she passed out.  “You won’t treat this one with words and manner that 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.  His grave, sad face banished the flush from hers instantly.

“Miss Jocelyn,” Roger began again, in a low tone, “you have already learned to associate me with painful experiences.  I cannot help it.  But this, my misfortune, is nothing; you must nerve yourself for anxiety that will test even your strength.  Your father is home, and ill.  I will not explain further before strangers.  Belle and a physician are awaiting you in the carriage.”