When Miss Anne left the cabin the night was quite dark but the snow which lay unmelted on the mountains showed their outlines plainly with a pale gleaming of light though the sky was overcast with more snow-clouds. Her heart was full of sadness for Stephen, who was wandering, no one knew whither, among the snowdrifts on the solitary plains. She knew that he must be passing through a terrible trial and temptation, but she could do nothing for him; her voice could not reach him, nor her eye tell him by a silent look how deeply she felt for him. Yet Miss Anne knew who it is that possesseth 'the shields of the earth,' and in her earnest thanksgiving to God for Martha and Bess Thompson, she prayed fervently that the boy might be shielded and sheltered in his great sorrow, and that when he was tried he might come forth as gold. All the day long, Stephen, instead of going to his work in the pit, had been rambling, without aim or purpose, over the dreary uplands; here and there stretching himself upon the wiry heath, where the sun had dried away the snow, and hiding his face from the light, while he gave way to an anguish of grief, and broke the deep silence with a loud and very bitter cry. It was death, sudden death, he was lamenting. Only yesterday morning little Nan was clinging strongly to his neck, and covering his face with merry kisses; and every now and then he felt as if he was only dreaming, and he started down towards home, as though he could not believe that those tender arms were stiffened and that rosy mouth still in death. But before he could run many paces the truth was borne in upon his aching heart that she was surely dead; and never more in this life would he see and speak to her, or listen to her lisping tongue. Little Nan, dearest of all earthly things,--perhaps dearer to him in the infancy of his Christian life than the Saviour Himself,--was removed from him so far that she was already a stranger, and he knew nothing of her.