That night she laid her head upon her pillow without misgiving.

Mrs. Jocelyn was the daughter of a Southern planter, and in her
early home had been accustomed to a condition of chronic financial
embarrassment and easy-going, careless abundance. The war had swept
away her father and brothers with the last remnant of the mortgaged
property.

Young Jocelyn's antecedents had been somewhat similar, and they
had married much as the birds pair, without knowing very definitely
where or how the home nest would be constructed. He, however,
had secured a good education, and was endowed with fair business
capacities. He was thus enabled for a brief time before the war
to provide a comfortable support in a Southern city for his wife
and little daughter Mildred, and the fact that he was a gentleman
by birth and breeding gave him better social advantages than mere
wealth could have obtained. At the beginning of the struggle he was
given a commission in the Confederate army, but with the exception
of a few slight scratches and many hardships escaped unharmed. After
the conflict was over, the ex-officer came to the North, against
which he had so bravely and zealously fought, and was pleased to
find that there was no prejudice worth naming against him on this
account. His good record enabled him to obtain a position in a large
iron warehouse, and in consideration of his ability to control a
certain amount of Southern trade he was eventually given an interest
in the business. This apparent advancement induced him to believe
that he might safely rent, in one of the many cross-streets up town,
the pretty home in which we find him. The fact that their expenses
had always a little more than kept pace with their income did not