almost tottered as he walked, and that his face had become ashen.
The hand he gave her seemed like ice to her warm, throbbing
palm. But never could she forget his expression--the blending of
self-contempt, pitiable weakness, and dejection.

"Miss Mildred," he said slowly, "there is no use in disguises. We
had better both recognize the truth at once. At least it will be
better for you, for then you may find a friend more worthy of the
name. Can you not see what I am--a broken reed? The vine could
better sustain a falling tree than I the one I loved, even though,
like the vine, my heart clung to that one as its sole support.
You suffer; I am in torment. You are sad; I despair. You associate
strength and help with manhood, and you are right. You do not know
that the weakest thing in the world is a weak, helpless man. I am
only strong to suffer. I can do nothing; I am nothing. It would be
impossible for me to explain how helpless and dependent I am--you
could not understand it. My whole heart went out to you, for
you seemed both gentle and strong. The hope would grow in my soul
that you might be merciful to me when you came to know me as I am.
Good-by, Millie Jocelyn. You will find a friend strong and helpful
as well as kind. As for me, my best hope is to die." He bowed his
head upon the hand he did not venture to kiss, and then almost fled
from the house.

Mildred was too much overcome by surprise and feeling to make any
attempt to detain him. He had virtually acknowledged his love for
her, but never in her wildest fancy had she imagined so dreary and
sad a revelation.

Mrs. Jocelyn, perplexed by Mr. Arnold's abrupt departure, came in