After many hours, he retired. The sun was shining, although it was December, when he heard Constance calling him to breakfast. How much he would have liked to have said: "Constance, Mildred is somewhere in this town, our Mildred! She is being persecuted, Constance, our Mildred is being persecuted—being hounded out of the sweet life we know she lived, and inspired in those about her!" And he knew that Constance would say: "Go forth, my brother, and find her; bring her back into our home, that we may love her and make her our sister, for it is as such she was, and more, these many months." That was the spirit of the Jacobs. But he kept his peace, and ate in silence.
Monday came, a cold, dreary day. Snow fell all over the country, and Dixie land, far south, was white mantled. Wilson Jacobs went to the depot, for he was leaving on a great mission. Would he succeed? He hoped so; others hoped so; and Constance hoped so, as well as Mildred Latham.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Please Stop—and Save Me!"
"Breakfast is ready, my dear," said Mother Jane, for as such she was known and called by all who knew her. She was speaking to Mildred Latham.
A moment later, Mildred came out of her room and seated herself at the table, at the head of which sat an old gray-headed man, and at the foot sat Mother Jane, whose head was white also.
"And did you rest well, my dear?" inquired Mother Jane of Mildred, bestowing upon her a smile full of kindness and tenderness.
"I slept beautifully," Mildred replied as kindly, and beamed upon the old soul with all the consideration—maybe more—of her own child.