“No.  I fear Mrs. Arnold will not think it best.”

“I have never spoken to Mrs. Arnold since that awful night, and if she interferes now I will curse her with my last breath.  This is my one hope—­my one gleam of light in the life she has cursed—­”

“Hush, oh hush!  Unless my presence brings quietness I cannot stay,” for at the name of his mother he became dangerously agitated.  “I will tell Mrs. Sheppard in the morning, and I think she will arrange it so that I can do all in my power for you.”

“No,” he replied, after a little thought, “I will tell her.  She is unlike my mother and other sisters, and has a good heart.  She has taken entire charge of me, but I was in such a hell of suffering at the thought of dying without one word from you that I was almost a maniac.  I will be quiet now.  Leave all to me; I can make her understand.”

When Mrs. Sheppard entered, as the late dawn began to mingle with the gaslight, she found her brother sleeping quietly, his hand clasping Mildred’s.  To her slight expression of surprise the young girl returned a clear, steadfast look, and said calmly, “When your brother awakes he has some explanations to make.  I am Mildred Jocelyn.”

The lady sank into a chair and looked at her earnestly.  “I have long wished to see you,” she murmured.  “Vinton has told me everything.  I was so overcome with sleep and fatigue last night that I neither told you his name nor asked yours.  Did you not suspect where you were?”

“Not until he awoke and recognized me.”

“Was he greatly agitated?”

“Yes, at first.  It was so unexpected that he thought me a mere illusion of his own mind.”

“Miss Jocelyn, I believe God sent you to him.”

“So he thinks.”

“You won’t leave him till—­till—­It can’t be long.”

“That depends upon you, Mrs. Sheppard.  I am very, very sorry for him,” and tears came into her eyes.

Low as was the murmur of their voices, Arnold awoke and glanced with troubled eyes from one to the other before it all came back to him; but his sister brought quiet and rest by saying gently, as she kissed him: 

“Vinton, Miss Jocelyn shall not leave you.”

CHAPTER XLVIII

“Good angel of god”

The young nurse soon became known through the house simply as Miss Mildred.  With the exception of Mrs. Sheppard, the valet, and the physician, no one entered the sick-room except Mr. Arnold, and the old man often lingered and hovered around like a remorseful ghost.  He had grown somewhat feeble, and no longer went to his business.  His son had tolerated his presence since he had come home to die, but had little to say to him, for the bitterness of his heart extended to the one who had yielded to his mother’s hardness and inveterate worldliness.  In the secrecy of his heart the old merchant admitted that he had been