been able to work with persistent energy for a few years. The South
was impoverished, and while a remunerative trade might be built up
from it, patient and exceedingly aggressive labor would be required
to secure such a result. It is the curse of opium, however, to
paralyze energy, and to render all effort fitful and uncertain. He
should have written scores of letters daily, and attended to each
commission with the utmost promptness and care, but there were times
when the writing of a single letter was a burden, and too often
it was vague and pointless like the condition of his mind when it
was written. Mildred did not dream of this, and his employers felt
that they must give him time before expecting very much return for
his effort. Since he attended to routine duties fairly well there
was no cause for complaint, although something in his manner
often puzzled them a little. It was Mildred's belief that renewed
prosperity would soon enable them to live in a way entitling them
to recognition in the society to which Arnold belonged. If thus
much could be accomplished she felt that he own and her lover's
faithfulness would accomplish the rest. They were both young, and
could afford to wait.

"The world brings changes for the better sometimes," she thought,
as she plied her needle, "as well as for the worse; and no matter
what his proud mother thinks, I'm sure I could take better care of
him than she can. Whether they know it or not, the course of his
family toward him is one of cold-blooded cruelty and repression. If
he could live in a genial, sunny atmosphere of freedom, affection,
and respect, his manhood would assert itself, he would grow stronger,
and might do as much in his way as Roger Atwood ever can in his.
He has a fine mind and a brilliant imagination; but he is chilled,
imbittered, and fettered by being constantly reminded of his