CHAPTER XLII

HOPES GIVEN AND SLAIN

The skies seemed serene and bright, with promise to all for many happy days, but clouds were gathering below the horizon, and, most unexpectedly to him, the first bolt fell upon Roger.  A day or two before his return to the city he found at the village office a letter with a foreign post-mark, addressed, in his care, to Miss Mildred Jocelyn.  He knew the handwriting instantly, and he looked at the missive as if it contained his death-warrant.  It was from Vinton Arnold.  As he rode away he was desperately tempted to destroy the letter, and never breathe a word of its existence.  He hoped and half believed that Mildred was learning to love him, and he was sure that if Arnold did not appear he would win all that he craved.  The letter, which he had touched as if it contained nitro-glycerine, might slay every hope.  Indeed he believed that it would, for he understood Mildred better than she understood herself.  She believed that Arnold had given her up.  Her heart had become benumbed with its own pain, and was sleeping after its long, weary waiting.  He was sure, however, that if not interfered with he could awaken it at last to content and happiness.  This letter, however, might be the torch which would kindle the old love with tenfold intensity.  Long hours he fought his temptation like a gladiator, for fine as had been Mildred’s influence over him, he was still intensely human.  At last he gained the victory, and went home quiet, but more exhausted than he had ever been from a long hot day’s toil in the harvest-field.  He had resolved to keep absolute faith with Mildred, and having once reached a decision he was not one to waver.

As his mother kissed him good-by she held him off a moment, then whispered, “Roger, Miss Jocelyn has given you something better than all your uncle’s money.  I am content that it should be as it is.”

On the afternoon of the day of his arrival in the city he went to meet his fate.  Mrs. Jocelyn greeted him like the mother he had just left, and Mildred’s glad welcome made him groan inwardly.  Never before had she appeared so beautiful to him—­never had her greeting been so tinged with her deepening regard.  And yet she looked inquiringly at him from time to time, for he could not wholly disguise the fear that chilled his heart.

“Belle had a perfectly lovely time in the country,” said Mrs. Jocelyn.  “She has told us all about your people, and what a farmer you became.  She said everybody was proud of you up at Forestville, and well they might be, although they don’t know what we do.  Oh, Roger, my dear boy, it does my heart good to see you again.  We have all missed you so much.  Oh, you’ll never know—­you never can know.  Good-by now, for a little while.  I promised Mrs. Wheaton that I’d bring the children over and spend the afternoon with her.  She is going to show me about cutting some little clothes for Fred. What a dear kind soul she is, with all her queer talk.  God bless you, my boy.  You bring hope and happiness back with you.”