to those she loves best.  At any rate, mine shall not be, and if he still craves the loyalty and—­and—­yes, the love of one so shamed and impoverished as I am, he shall have all-all,” and her face grew stern with her purpose of self-mastery.  She forced down some of the food he sent, and drank the coffee.  “I will be brave,” she murmured.  “I will try to second his efforts to clear my name, for death were better than shame.  I shall, at least, try to deserve his respect.”

Then musingly she added, “How can my friends have gained any information that would prove me innocent?  Mother and Belle cannot know anything definite, nor can Mr. Wentworth.  He promised in that brief whisper when he passed me in the street that he would prove it.  Can he have learned anything in his strange vigilance?  It seems impossible.  Alas, I fear that their best hope is to show that I have hitherto borne a good character, and yet if my present home and our poverty are described, if—­worse than all—­papa appears in the court-room, I fear they will think the worst,” and something of her old despair began to return when she heard approaching footsteps.

“Millie!” cried a loved and familiar voice.  The key grated in the lock, and in another moment she was sobbing on her mother’s breast, and her bruised heart was healed by the unutterable tenderness of a mother’s love.  It filled the dark cell with the abounding, undoubting, unquestioning spirit of unselfish devotion, which was akin to the fragrance diffused from the broken box of alabaster.

When sufficiently calm, Mildred told her mother what had happened, and she in turn whispered that Roger had strong hopes that he could prove her innocence on the following day, though how she did not know.  “And yet, Millie,” she concluded, “for some reason he inspires me with confidence, for while he feels so deeply, he is quiet and thoughtful about the least thing.  Nothing seems to escape his mind, and he says he has some information of which he does not think it best to speak at present.  He entreats you to take courage, and says that if you will ’keep up and be your brave, true self, gentle and strong,’ you can do much to aid him.  We will all stand by you, and Mr. Wentworth will be with us.”

“Where—­where is papa?” faltered Mildred, with a slight flush.  “I don’t know,” responded the wife, with a deep sob.

“Alas, mother, it’s cruel to say it, but it will be best that he should not appear at all.  Keep him away if possible.  I hope he may never know anything about it, unless you think this terrible result of his course may awaken him to a final struggle to do right.  I would gladly suffer anything to save him.”

“No, Millie, he would not be his old self if he came into court,” said her mother dejectedly, “and his appearance and manner might turn the scale against you.  Our best hope is to let Roger manage everything.  And now, good-by, my darling.  God sustain you.  Do not fear anything to night.  Roger says you are safe, and that his only dread is that you may become nervously prostrated, and he relies on your help to-morrow.  I can’t stay any longer.  Oh, God, how glad I would be if I could hold you in my arms all night!  Belle is strongly excited, and says she will never believe a word against you, nor will any of your true friends—­alas!  I wish we had more.”