"As I feel and see things to-night, I should say, for neither God nor myself, but solely and expressly for the sake of the Evil One. What good, what happiness, do all the compliments, all the attention I ever received, secure to me to-night? I thought I was using all for my own benefit. That was my only purpose and aim, but every flattering thing that I can remember is only a burden to think of now. I am the worse for my beauty, as you regard it. I cannot think of any one that I have made better; but many that I have made worse. I seem to have been receiving all my life, and yet to-night I feel as if I had nothing but a burden upon my heart." Hemstead's words were not reassuring. Indeed, Lottie thought them a trifle harsh, though spoken so kindly. "You cannot feel otherwise, Miss Marsden. You have been seeking to keep and use for yourself what God meant you should use for Him. You feel very much as you would, did you take a large sum of money, left in your hands as a sacred trust, and go on a pleasure trip with it. He has intrusted to you the richest and rarest gifts, and every day that you have misappropriated them is a burden upon your conscience. You will feel the same after a long life of adulation, in which every whim has been gratified. Believe me, Miss Marsden, it is a very sad thing to come to the end of one's life with no other possession than a burdened conscience and a heavy, guilty heart. I long to save you from such a fate. That would be a wretchedly poor result of a lifetime for one endowed as you are." "Your words are very severe, Mr. Hemstead," she said in a low tone, burying her face in her hands. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend," he replied. "I never thought I could permit any one to speak to me as you have done, nor would I endure it from you, did I not recognize something like sympathy in the voice with which you speak such cutting words. But I fear they are true, after all. A burdened conscience and a guilty heart seem all there is of me to-night." He was about to reverse the picture, and portray in strong and hopeful terms what she might be, and what she could accomplish, when the sleigh-bells announced the return of the rest of the party. She sprang up and said hastily: "I do not wish to meet them to-night, and so will retire at once. As physician of the 'mind diseased' you dearly believe in what is termed the 'heroic treatment.' Your scalpel is sharp, and you cut deeply. But as proof that I have kept my word, and am not offended, I give you my hand." He took it in both of his, but did not speak. She looked up at him through the tears that still lingered, and was touched to see that his eyes were as moist as hers. Giving his hand a cordial pressure, she said as she left him: "You cannot look at me in harsh criticism through tears of sympathy. Your face is kinder than your words. I am glad you do not despise me."