a long time; but if we were engaged he could do much to shield and protect us all; and now, alas, we have no protector.  Belle needs one—­oh, how sorely she needs one—­and what would have been my fate had he not come to my aid?  It would seem heartless in me to say simply, Thank you, sir; and yet, what heart have I to give in exchange for his devotion?  He deserves so much, and I can give so little.  Oh, mamma, will an old love die and a new one grow because they—­because you wish it, and pray for it?  I am so perplexed, so tossed and torn by my conflicting thoughts and feelings that my poor brain reels, and it seems as if I should lose my reason.  And yet I must decide upon some course, for if, after his loyalty to me, I give him hope, I’ll not disappoint him if I died a thousand times—­no, not if Vinton Arnold came and laid all his wealth at my feet; I can see his love in every glance of his eye, still more can I feel it when he is near me; and if I offer him friendship or a sister’s affection, it will seem to him like giving a stone for bread.  But I must offer him only these or else give him hope—­a hope that it would now be dishonor to disappoint.  Mamma, mamma, what shall I do—­what ought I to do?”

During this outpouring of her child’s soul Mrs. Jocelyn was much agitated, and wiped tear after tear from her eyes.  The impulse of her loyal, unworldly heart was first to take sides with Mildred’s faithfulness to her earliest love, but her reason condemned such a course so positively that she said all she could against it.  “Millie,” she began, falteringly at first, “I feel with you and for you deeply.  I know your rare quality of fidelity—­of constancy.  You are an old-fashioned Southern girl in this respect.  While I would not have you wrong your heart, you must not blindly follow its impulses.  It is often said that women have no reason, though some are calculating enough, Heaven knows.  Surely, Millie, this is a case in which you should take some counsel of your reason, your judgment; and believe me, darling, I speak more for your sake than ours.  While I admit that Roger has become very dear to me, I would not sacrifice you, my love, even in our sore straits.  It is of you I think chiefly.  I cannot endure the thought that the future of my darling child may be utterly blighted.  I cannot bear to think of your settling down into a weary working-woman, with nothing to look forward to but daily drudgery for daily bread.”

“I do not dread that so much, mamma—­oh, nothing like so much—­as a long and perhaps a vain effort to love one who has a sacred right to love as well as loyalty.”

“Millie, you don’t know how lonely and desolate your life might become.  Millie—­forgive me for saying it—­your old love is utterly vain.”

“I know it, mamma,” said Mildred, with a low sob.