to her work, which was rounded out with the completeness of hearty goodwill.  Roger rarely missed an evening without giving an hour or two to the girls, often taking them out to walk, with now and then a cheap excursion on the river or a ramble in Central Park.  In the latter resort they usually spent part of Sunday afternoon, going thither directly from the chapel.  Mildred’s morbidness was passing away.  She had again taken her old class, and her face was gaining a serenity which had long been absent.

One of the great wishes of her heart now had good prospect of being fulfilled, for her father had at last consented to go to an institution wherein he could receive scientific treatment suited to his case.  The outlook was growing so hopeful that even Mrs. Jocelyn was rallying into something like hopefulness and courage, and her health was slowly improving.  She was one whose life was chiefly sustained by her heart and the well-being of those she loved.

Belle also was improving greatly.  The memorable interview with Roger, already described, had a lasting influence, and did much to banish the giddiness of unthinking, ignorant girlhood, and the recklessness arising from an unhappy life.  Now that the world was brightening again, she brightened with it.  Among his new associates Roger found two or three fine, manly fellows, who were grateful indeed for an introduction to the handsome, lively girl, and scarcely a week passed during May and June that some inexpensive evening excursion was not enjoyed, and thoroughly enjoyed too, even by Mildred.  Roger was ever at his best when in her society.  His talk was bright and often witty, and his spirit of fun as genuine and contagious as that of Belle herself.  He was now sincerely happy in the consciousness of Mildred’s perfect trust and strong affection, believing that gradually, and even before the girl was aware of it, she would learn to give more than friendship.  It was his plan to make himself essential to her life, indeed a part of it, and he was apparently succeeding.  Mildred had put her fate into his hands.  She felt that she owed so much to him that she was ready to keep her promise literally.  At any time for months he might have bound her to him by promises that would never have been broken; he knew it, and she was aware of his knowledge, but when, instead of taking advantage of her gratitude, he avoided all sentiment, and treated her with a cordial frankness as if she were in truth simply the friend he had asked her to become, all of her old constraint in his presence was unthought of, and she welcomed the glances of his dark, intent eyes, which interpreted her thoughts even before they were spoken.  The varying expressions of his face made it plain enough to her that he liked and appreciated her thoughts, and that his admiration and affection were only strengthened by their continued companionship.  Moreover, she was well content with what she regarded as her own progress toward a warmer regard for him.