A new case was called, and new interests, hopes, and fears agitated the hearts of other groups, that had been drawn to the judgment-seat by the misfortunes or crimes of those bound to them by various ties.

Mrs. Jocelyn would not leave the place, which she had so dreaded, until Roger could accompany them, and they chafed at every moment of delay that prevented their pouring out their thanks.  But Mildred’s heart was too full for words.  She fully understood how great a service he had rendered her.  She bitterly reproached herself for all her prejudice in the past, and was in a mood for any self-sacrifice that he would ask.  Tears of deep and mingled feeling fell fast, and she longed to escape from the staring crowd.  Not before such witnesses could she speak and look the gratitude she felt.

With downcast eyes and quivering lips she followed her mother—­to whom Roger had given his arm—­from the court-room.  A carriage stood at the door, into which Mrs. Jocelyn was hurried before she could speak; then turning so promptly that there was no chance even for exuberant Belle or the effervescing Mrs. Wheaton to utter a syllable, Roger seized Mildred’s hand, and said earnestly, “Thanks for your aid, Miss Jocelyn.  I thought you were the bravest girl in the world, and you have proved it.  I am as glad as you are, and this is the happiest moment in my life.  I’ve just one favor to ask—­please rest, and don’t worry about anything—­not anything.  That’s all.  Good-by, for I must be off to business;” and before she or any of them could speak he caught a swiftly passing street-car and disappeared.

CHAPTER XXXV

“I am so perplexed”

The little group that Roger left on the sidewalk looked after him in a dazed manner for a moment, and then Belle exclaimed, a trifle indignantly, “Well, I declare, if he hasn’t thanked you, instead of you thanking him.”

Mildred sprang into the carriage, feeling that she must have some refuge at once, and, burying her face on her mother’s shoulder, burst into another passion of tears.

“There, there,” said Mrs. Wheaton, as they were driven toward their home; “the poor child’s ’eart is too full for hany neat speeches now.  Ven they meets hagain she’ll thank him with heyes an’ ’and, better than hany vords ’ere hon the street.  He vas too bright a chap to take his thanks in this ’ere public place.”

To their surprise, Mildred raised her head, and replied, in strong protest, “You do him wrong, Mrs. Wheaton.  He was so modest and manly that he wished to escape all thanks.  He has taken a noble revenge on me for all my stupid prejudice.”

“That’s right,” cried ecstatic Belle.  “Honest confession is good for the soul.  I’ll admit that most men and women are made of dust—­street dust at that—­but Roger Atwood is pure gold.  He has the quickest brain and steadiest hand of any fellow in the world, and he’ll stand up at the head before he’s gray.”