And having made this resolution, he hastened to the breakfast room, that he might have the help which her presence always gave him. She met him with a beaming smile. He was later than usual, and it was evident she had been anxiously watching for him. "I didn't scream this morning," she whispered, as she took his hand; "I did ask Jesus to make me gentle." It brought to him her action of the previous day, and why should he be above copying her in this particular? Why should he be too proud to seek strength from the same source this little child obtained hers? Thus, unconsciously, Dr. Mansfield was gaining the greatest victory over himself in thus learning of a little child. He went up stairs after breakfast, and knelt down, but, scarce knowing what to say, he repeated what he could remember of Milly's prayer, and that brought words to his lips for his own most pressing needs. The struggle he felt must be a hard one, but already there had dawned upon his mind a ray of hope that he, even he, might not only be pardoned, but also delivered from the baneful influence of his evil, vicious temper. And the thought that he might yet have peace in his conscience, and a cheerful and happy life, so filled him with joy and rapture, that he felt it would be his happiness—nay, his highest pleasure—to do everything he could to show his gratitude to his God, if such a change could ever be wrought in his dark and wearied spirit. These thoughts and feelings did not come all at once. They were of gradual growth; but day by day, week by week, he became less morose and gloomy, and after a short time, the kind words of which Milly alone had been the first recipient, came to be extended to others. And the news soon spread in the village that the doctor was certainly not out of his mind, after all that had been said about him. CHAPTER VII. THE DOCTOR'S KINDNESS. ABOUT this time a fever broke out in the neighborhood, and one of the families first attacked was Mrs. Ship's, where Milly's friends, Jack and Bob, still lived. News of this was brought in by one of the servants, when Milly was in the kitchen one morning. "Two of the children are very bad indeed," said the girl. "And the baker says they're so poor now, they can hardly get a living, so what they'll do with sickness in the house, I don't know." "Poor things! It's a pity they can't get somebody to help them a bit," said the housekeeper. But she has no thought of giving them any help herself, although she might have done it, had she felt so disposed. Milly stood at the table, eagerly listening to all that was said. "Will Bob and Jack have the fever and be ill, do you think?" she asked, after a minute's pause. "Very likely, child; there's no telling who will have it and who won't, and as it's in the house where they live, they'll be very likely to take it." "And there 'll be nobody to help them, now their mother is dead," said Milly, speaking softly to herself.