him would be a refuge and a resting-place from which he would go out daily, strong and refreshed.  Let his friends say what they please at first.  He has his own career to make, and in his choice of you he has shown how unerring and sound his instincts are, and you can prove them so, and will, I think, when time has given your morbid and unhappy heart its healthful tone.  Mrs. Wheaton has done much work at his uncle’s house, and Mrs. Atwood talks to her quite freely.  Mrs. Wheaton says they are wealthy, although they live so plainly, and that Mr. Atwood, Roger’s uncle, is wonderfully taken with the young man, and means to give him a chance to climb among the highest, if he continues to be so steady and persevering.  Of course you know that Roger will never be anything else than steady.  And Mrs. Wheaton also says that Mr. Atwood will, no doubt, leave everything to him, for he has no children.”

“I am sorry you have told me this,” sighed Mildred; “it would have been hard enough at best, but I should feel almost mercenary now.”

“Oh, Millie, you are too morbid and proud for anything,” expostulated Mrs. Jocelyn, in whom no misfortune or sorrow could wholly blot out her old, mild passion for making good matches for her daughters—­good matches in the right sense of the word—­for she would look for worth, or what seemed worth to her, as well as the wealth that is too often considered solely.  She had sought to involve Vinton Arnold by innocent wiles, and now, in pathetic revival of her old trait, she was even more bent on providing for Mildred by securing a man after her own heart.  Love for her daughter, far more than ambition, was the main-spring of her motive, and surely her gentle schemes were not deserving of a very harsh judgment.  She could not be blamed greatly for looking with wistful eyes on the one ray of light falling on her darkening path.

After a brief, troubled silence Mrs. Jocelyn resumed, with pathos and pleading in her voice, “Millie, darling, if this could all be, it would brighten my last days.”

“There, there, mamma; as far as I can carry out your wishes, it shall be.  I had already virtually promised it, and I should be perverse indeed could I not do all—­all in my power to brighten your sad life.  But, darling mamma, you must promise to live in return.  A palace would be desolate if you were not seated in the snuggest corner of the hearth.  I’ll try to love him; I know I ought to give my whole heart to one who is so worthy, and who can do so much to brighten your life.”

“Blessings on you, Millie.  You will soon learn to return all his affection.  You are both young, and it will probably be years before you can be married.  In the meantime you will have a protector and friend who will have the right to aid you.  You were slowly dying for want of air and change and hope.  You worked all day, and shut yourself up in this miserable place at night, and it could not last; as your affianced he can take your part against