The elderly and experienced physician whom Roger had brought ignored with professional indifference the grief-stricken household, and was giving his whole mind to the study of the case.  After examining the pupils of Mr. Jocelyn’s eyes, taking his temperature, and counting his pulse, he looked at his associate and shook his head significantly.  Roger, who stood in the background, saw that Dr. Benton did not accept the young physician’s diagnosis.  A moment later Dr. Benton bared the patient’s arm and pointed to many small scars, some old and scarcely visible, and others recent and slightly inflamed.  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 your husband using a little instrument like this?” and he produced from his pocket a hypodermic syringe.

“Never,” was the perplexed and troubled reply.

The physician smiled a little satirically, and remarked, in a low aside, “I hope the drug has not affected the whole family.  It’s next 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 he would probably have come out of this excess unaided; but he had better die than continue his excessive use of morphia.  I can scarcely conceive how you could have remained ignorant of the habit.”

Mildred bowed her head in her hands with a low, despairing cry, for a flash of lurid light now revealed and explained all that had been so strange and unaccountable.  The terrible secret was now revealed, as far as she was able to comprehend it—­her father was an opium inebriate, and this was but the stupor of a debauch!  The thought of his death had been terrible, but was not this worse?  She lifted her face in a swift glance at Roger, and saw him looking at her with an expression, that was full of the strongest sympathy, and something more.  She coldly averted her eyes, and a slow, deep flush of shame rose to her face, “Never shall I endure a humiliation but he will witness it, and be a part of it,” was her bitter thought.

The physicians meanwhile changed their treatment, and were busy with professional nonchalance.  Mrs. Jocelyn was at first too bewildered by their words and manner to do more than look at them, with hands clasping and unclasping in nervous apprehension, and with eyes full of deep and troubled perplexity.  Then, as the truth grew clearer, that a reflection had been made upon her own and her husband’s truth, she rose unsteadily to her feet, and said, with a pathetic attempt at dignity, “I scarcely understand you, and fear that you as little understand my husband’s condition.  He never concealed anything from me.  He has been unfortunate and in failing health for months, and that is all.  I fear, from your cruel and unjust surmises, that you do not know what you are doing, and that you are destroying his slender chances for life.”