weeks together, should such an ordeal be an essential part of his struggle for freedom, for only by such an unfaltering effort could he regain the solid ground on which enduring happiness and prosperity could be built.  As it was, he was rapidly approaching a point where his habit would become a terrible and uncontrollable disease, for which he would still be morally responsible—­a responsibility, however, in which, before the bar of true justice, the physician who first gave the drug without adequate caution would deeply share.  He felt his danger as he sat cowering over the dying fire; even with its warmth added to that of the summer night he shivered at his peril, but he did not appreciate it in any proper sense.  He resolved again, as he often had before, that each day should witness increasing progress, then feeling that he must sleep he bared his arm and sent enough of Magendie’s solution into his system to produce such rest as opium bestows.

To her surprise Mildred found the awakening of her father a difficult task the following morning.  The boat on which his wife and children were to arrive was probably already at the wharf, and she had thought he would be up with the sun to meet them, but he seemed oppressed with an untimely stupor.  When at last he appeared he explained that the fire on the hearth had induced a fit of brooding over the past and future, and that he had sat up late.

“Here’s a cup of coffee, papa,” she said briskly, “and it will wake you up.  I’ll have breakfast ready for you all by the time you can return, and I’m so eager to see mamma that I could fly to her.”

Mortified that he should even appear dilatory at such a time, he hastened away, but he was far beyond such a mild stimulant as coffee.  Even now, when events were occurring which would naturally sustain from their deep personal interest, he found himself reduced to an almost complete dependence on an unnatural support.  Before sleeping he had appealed to his dread master, and his first waking moments brought a renewed act of homage.  Opium was becoming his god, his religion.  Already it stood between him and his wife and children.  It was steadily undermining his character, and if not abandoned would soon leave but the hollow semblance of a man.

As the steamboat arrived in the night, Mrs. Jocelyn had no sense of disappointment at not being met, and through Mildred’s persistency it was still early when her husband appeared.  His greeting was so affectionate, and he appeared so well after his hasty walk, that the old glad, hopeful look came into her eyes.  To Belle and the children, coming back to the city was like coming home as in former years, only a little earlier.  The farm had grown to be somewhat of an old story, and Belle had long since voted it dull.