Mr. Jocelyn’s nerves were much too weak and irritable to endure his children’s voices, and their innocence and unconsciousness of danger smote him with unendurable remorse; they were, therefore, sent to Mrs. Wheaton’s room.  There, too, Belle met Roger, and was much reassured by his hopeful words.  She only half comprehended the truth concerning her father, and now, feeling the worst was past, her mercurial nature was fast regaining its cheerfulness.  She was one who might despair one day and be joyous the next.  Like her father, she had unlimited courage, and but little fortitude.  Although she did not know it, the outlook for her was more threatening than for any of the others, for she could not patiently submit to a slow, increasing pressure of poverty and privation.  As her father feared, she might be driven to interpose the protest of a reckless life.

Mr. Jocelyn was greatly reassured when Dr. Benton called, and treated him with much respect; and when a liberal allowance of morphia was injected into his arm, he became quite cheerful, believing that not only his family but even the physician was unaware, as yet, of his weakness.  By neither sign nor word did Dr. Benton indicate his knowledge, for it was his design to rally his patient into the best possible condition, and then induce him to yield himself up wholly to medical skill, naturally believing that in his present enfeebled state he would shrink from entering on the decisive and heroic treatment 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 satisfy his patient until he returned, but he had not properly gauged the morbid craving with which he was trying to deal, and as the day declined Mr. Jocelyn became very restless.  Finally, he said he felt so much better that he would rise and dress himself, and, in spite of his wife’s remonstrances, he persisted in doing so.  Although tottering from weakness, he said, irritably, and almost imperiously, that he needed no help, and wished to be alone.  With sad foreboding his wife yielded, and waited tremblingly for his next step, for he had become to her an awful mystery.

Her fears were fulfilled, for he soon lifted the curtain door and looked at her in a strange, suspicious manner.  “I miss some medicine from 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 distorted image of his former self.  Anger, suspicion, fear, and cunning were all blended in his face, but he so far mastered himself as to assume a wheedling tone and manner as he came toward her and said, “Nan, it was only a little tonic that I found beneficial while in the South.  You must know where it is.  Please give it to me.”