Part 48 (2/2)

”You mustn't flirt, Belle.”

”I'm not flirting--only having a good time, and they know it. I'm not a bit sentimental--only jolly, you know. When the right time comes, and I've had my fun, I'm going to take my pick of the best.”

”Well, that's sensible. Belle, darling, are not Roger's friends better than those underhanded fellows who could not look mamma in the eyes?”

”Oh, Millie,” said the impulsive girl with a rush of tears, ”don't speak of those horrid days. I was an ignorant, reckless fool--I was almost beside myself with despair and unhappiness; I could kiss Roger's hands from grat.i.tude. Look here, Millie, if you don't marry him I will, for there's no one that can compare with him.”

”Come, now, don't make me jealous.”

”I wish I could. I've a great mind to flirt with him a little, just to wake up your old stupid heart. Still I think you are coming on very well. Oh, Millie, how I could dance at your wedding! Solid as I am, my feet would scarcely touch the floor.”

Mildred laughed, and said softly, ”It would be a pity to deny you so much pleasure, Belle.” Then she added resolutely, ”No more talk about weddings, if you please. For long, long years Roger must give his whole mind to his studies. His relatives say that we shall hang helplessly upon him and spoil his life, but we'll prove them mistaken, Belle. I'd work my fingers off to give him the chance that he'll make so much of, for I'm as proud of him as you are.”

”That's the way to talk,” exulted Belle. ”I see how it's all coming out. He'll stand up head, as I told you, and I told you, too, that he'd win you in spite of yourself. Roger Atwood does all he undertakes--it's his way.”

”Well, we'll see,” was the half-smiling, half-sighing answer; but sanguine Belle had no doubt concerning the future, and soon her long eyelashes drooped over her glowing cheeks in untroubled sleep.

”Oh, how good for us all is the sunlight of a little happiness and hope!” Mildred thought. ”Darling mamma is reviving, Belle is blossoming like a blush rose, and I--well, thank G.o.d for Roger Atwood's friends.h.i.+p. May I soon be able to thank Him for his love.”

Ah, Mildred Jocelyn, you have still much to learn. A second love can grow up in the heart, but not readily in one like yours.

Within a month from the time that Mr. Jocelyn entered a curative inst.i.tution, he returned to his family greatly changed for the better.

His manner toward his family was full of remorseful tenderness, and he was eager to retrieve his fortunes. They welcomed him with such a wealth of affection, they cheered and sustained him in so many delicate and sympathetic ways, that he wondered at the evil spell which had bound him so long and made him an alien among those so lovable and so dearly beloved. He now felt sure that he would devote body and soul to their welfare for the rest of his days, and he could not understand why or how it was that he had been so besotted. The intense sufferings during the earlier stage of his treatment at the inst.i.tution made him shrink with horror from the bare thought of his old enslavement, and during the first weeks after his return he did not dream it was possible that he could relapse, although he had been warned of his danger. His former morbid craving was often fearfully strong, but he fought it with a vindictive hatred, and his family, in their deep gladness and inexperience, felt a.s.sured that husband and father had been restored to them.

It seemed as if he could not thank Roger enough, and his eyes grew eloquent with grat.i.tude when the young fellow's name was mentioned, and when they rested on his bright, honest face. Mr. Wentworth went out among his business friends, and so interested one of them that a position was in a certain sense made for the poor man, and although the salary was small at first, the prospect for its increase was good if he would maintain his abstinence and prove that he had not lost his old fine business powers. This he bade so fair to do that hope and confidence grew stronger every day, and they felt that before very long they would be able to move into more commodious quarters, situated in a better part of the city, for by reason of the neglect of the streets and sewerage on the part of the authorities, the locality in which they now were was found to be both very disagreeable and unwholesome. They would have removed at once, but they were eager to repay Roger the money he had loaned them, although he protested against their course. Not realizing their danger, and in the impulse of their pride and integrity, they remained, practicing the closest economy.

Early in July, Roger obtained a vacation, and went home on a visit, proposing to harden his muscles by aiding his father through the harvest season. He was so helpful and so kind and considerate that even grim, disappointed Mr. Atwood was compelled to admit that his boy had become a man. Mrs. Atwood tenderly and openly exulted over him, and, obeying her impulse, she wrote a friendly letter to Mildred, which made the young girl very happy.

Susan became more than reconciled to Roger's course, for he promised that some day she should often come to the city and have splendid times. Clara Bute bad become the happy wife of a well-to-do farmer, and she sent an urgent request to Belle and Mildred to visit her.

The latter would not leave her parents, but Belle accepted gladly, and the gay, frolicsome girl left more than one mild heartache among the rural beaux that vied with each other in their attentions.

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.

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