In the afternoon Mildred went to her room to seek a little rest. The physician thought he had given enough of the drug to satisfy his patient until he returned, but he had not properly gauged the morbid craving with which he was trying to deal, and as the day declined Mr. Jocelyn became very restless. Finally, he said he felt so much better that he would rise and dress himself, and, in spite of his wife's remonstrances, he persisted in doing so. Although tottering from weakness, he said, irritably, and almost imperiously, that he needed no help, and wished to be alone. With sad foreboding his wife yielded, and waited tremblingly for his next step, for he had become to her an awful mystery. Her fears were fulfilled, for he soon lifted the curtain door and looked at her in a strange, suspicious manner. "I miss some medicine from my vest pocket," he said hesitatingly. Her face crimsoned, and she found no words with which to reply. "Did you take it out?" he demanded sharply. "No," she faltered. His manner began to grow excited, and he looked like a distorted image of his former self. Anger, suspicion, fear, and cunning were all blended in his face, but he so far mastered himself as to assume a wheedling tone and manner as he came toward her and said, "Nan, it was only a little tonic that I found beneficial while in the South. You must know where it is. Please give it to me." The poor woman was so overcome by her husband's appearance and falsehood that she felt sick and faint, and knew not what to say. "Where is it?" he demanded angrily, for he felt that unless he had the support of the drug speedily, he would wholly lose his self-control. "Oh, Martin," pleaded his wife, "wait till Dr. Benton comes; he will be here this evening." "Why this ado about nothing? I merely wish to take a little tonic, and you look as if I proposed suicide." "Martin, Martin, it is suicide of body and soul. It is worse than murder of me and your innocent children. Oh, Martin, my heart's true love, make me a Christmas gift that I will prize next to Him from whom the day is named. Give me the promise that you will never touch the vile poison again," and she knelt before him and sought to take his hand. For a moment he was overwhelmed. She evidently knew all! He sank into a chair, and trembled almost convulsively. Then came the impulse--an almost inevitable effect of the drug upon the moral nature--to lie about the habit, and to strive to conceal it, even after an unclouded mind would see that deception was impossible. "Nan," he began, as he grew a little quieter, "you take cruel advantage of my weak nerves. You must see that I am greatly reduced by illness, and I merely wish to take a little tonic as any sane man would do, and you treat me to a scene of high tragedy. Give me my medicine, and I know that I shall soon be much better." "Oh, my husband, has it really come to this?" and the wretched wife buried her face in her arms, and leaned heavily on the table.