He started as if he had been shot.  “Great God!” he exclaimed, “and did he ask you aught that would make you blush?”

Bitter tears were Mildred’s only answer.

The young man’s passion for a few moments was terrible, but Mildred’s pallid face soon calmed him.  “You could not harm him,” she said sadly.  “What is one blow more to a man who is in torture?  I pity him from the depths of my soul, and you must promise me to let him alone.  Never for a moment did I forget that you were my brother.”

In strong revulsion of feeling he bent one knee at her side and pleaded, “Oh, Millie, give me the right to protect you.  I’ll wait for you till I’m gray.  I’ll take what love you can give me.  I’ll be devotion itself.”

“Don’t, Roger,” she said wearily.  “I love you too well to listen.  Such words only wound me.  Oh, Roger, be patient with me.  You don’t understand, you never will understand.  I do give you the right to protect me; but don’t talk that way again.  I just long for rest and peace.  Roger, my friend, my brother,” she said, lifting her eyes appealingly to his, and giving him both of her hands, “don’t you see?  I can give you everything in this way, but in the way you speak of—­nothing.  My heart is as dead as poor Belle’s.”

“Your wish shall be my law,” he said gently.

“And you’ll not harm Mr. Arnold?”

“Not if it will hurt you.”

“I never wish to see or hear from him again, and you’ll never have cause to fear any one else.”

“Millie,” he said sadly, “it is for you I fear most.  You. look so sad, pale, and broken-hearted.  There isn’t a sacrifice I wouldn’t make for you.  Millie, you won’t let this thing crush you?  It would destroy me if you did.  We will resume our old quiet life, and you shall have rest of body and soul;” and he kept his word so well that, before many months passed, her mind regained sufficient tone and strength to enable her to engage in the simple duties of life with something like zest.  He talked to her about many of his studies, he searched the stores for the books which he thought would be to her taste, and took her to see every beautiful work of art on exhibition.  In spite of her poverty, he daily made her life richer and fuller of all that he knew to be congenial to her nature.  While she gained in serenity and in capability for quiet enjoyment, he was positively happy, for he believed that before many years passed she would be ready to spend the rest of life at his side.  He meantime was pursuing his studies with a vigor and success that inspired his friends with the most sanguine hopes.

Vinton Arnold, on that terrible night when his false dream of life was shattered, went through the streets as oppressed with shame and despair as if he were a lost spirit.  As he was slowly and weakly climbing the stairs his father called him to the sitting-room, where he and his wife were in consultation, feeling that matters must be brought to some kind of a settlement, Mrs. Arnold urging extreme measures, and her husband bent on some kind of compromise.  As his son entered, the old gentleman started up, exclaiming: