are sound and normal in mind.  Still Roger would have charged Mr. Jocelyn’s words and manner to the peculiarities of a stranger, had not his family been perplexed and troubled also.  “There’s something wrong about him,” he said to himself as he rose from the table; “he lacks balance, or he’s not well.  I half believe that the time will come when that young girl will be the stay and support of the whole family.  You cannot prevent my friendliness, Miss Jocelyn, any more than you can stop the sun from shining, and some day it will melt all your reserve and coldness.”  He took his volume of history out on the sward near the porch, resolving to see the end of the domestic drama.  His mother had told him during the day that their “boarders” would soon depart.  He had made no response whatever, but his sinking spirits revealed to him that in some way his life had become involved with that of the girl now so distant and repellent.

He did not turn many leaves, but he sat with the book in his lap until long after nightfall.  The domestic drama apparently had a very prosaic ending.  Mr. Jocelyn and his family returned for a time to their seats under the trees, but all except the little children were apparently under some constraint.  The latter soon grew sleepy, and Mrs. Jocelyn took them in to bed.  Belle was not long in following them, darting an ireful glance at Roger in passing, to which he responded by a rather mocking smile.  “We were having a lovely time till you came, you old marplot,” she muttered under her breath.

Mr. Jocelyn grew more and more quiet until his head sank on his breast, and it was with difficulty that Mildred aroused him sufficiently to urge his retiring.  At last he took his daughter’s arm and entered the house as if in a dream.  The young girl’s face was downcast and averted.  As they passed between the youth and the still glowing west they cast a faint shadow upon him.  Though by no means imaginative, he noted the shadow and thought about it.  It seemed that it still rested on him after they were gone, and that it might never pass away.  His was not a dreamy, fanciful nature, that could create a score of improbable contingencies, but his shrewd, strong sense was quick to recognize traces of weakness and untrustworthiness in those he met, and the impression grew upon him that Mr. Jocelyn was not a well-balanced man.  “If he fails her, I will not,” he murmured.  Then with a short laugh he continued, “How is it that I am ready to admit such a far-reaching claim from one who repels and dislikes me?  I don’t know, and I don’t care.  She has waked me up; she has the power of calling into action every faculty I have.  Already, I scarcely know myself.  I never lived before, and I feel that I can become a man—­perhaps a great man—­if I follow this impulse, and I shall follow it.”

Soon all were sleeping, and mother and daughter were alone.

“Mamma,” said Mildred, in a low, troubled tone, “it seemed to me that papa acted very strangely this afternoon and evening.  Can he be well?”