De Forrest thought he ought to be "chief mourner," but no one seemed to pay much attention to him. As for Lottie, one ever-present thought seemed scorching her brain and withering heart and hope. "He thinks me false,--false in everything,--false in every glance and word to him,--false even when I spoke of sacred things; and he will despise me forever." Little wonder that she was so drearily apathetic to all that could be said or done to rouse her. The fall from the pinnacle of her religious hope and earthly happiness was too far and great to permit speedy recovery. At last she rose, and mechanically disrobed for the night: but no sleep blessed her eyes, for, on every side, she saw, in flaming letters, the word false. With increasing vividness her fancy portrayed a pale, stern, averted face. The next morning she was really ill, and her aunt, in alarm, was about sending for the physician, but Lottie prevented her by saying, somewhat coldly, "What drug has the doctor for my trouble? If you really wish me to get better, give Bel another room, and leave me to myself. I must fight this battle out alone." "Now, Lottie, how can you take a little thing so greatly to heart?" "Is it a little thing that the one whom I most honor and respect in all the world regards me as a false coquette?" "You surely cannot apply such language to my nephew?" "I do; and on the best grounds. If I am young, I am somewhat capable of judging. He is not the first man I have seen. You do not know, and have never appreciated Mr. Hemstead." "But, Lottie, compare your station and prospects with his." "There is scarcely any one with whom I would not exchange prospects. I am sick of society's artificial distinctions, in which true worth and manhood--all that Heaven cares for--count for nothing. What does Mr. Hemstead care about my wealth, name, and position in New York? He looks at me; and you, or, rather, my own senseless folly, have made me appear a weak, false thing, that, from the very laws of his being, he cannot help despising. But it was cruelly hard in you and Bel, when you saw that I was trying to be a different--a better girl, to show him only what I was, and give me no chance to explain. He will never trust,--never even look at me again." And, for the first time, the unhappy girl burst into a passion of tears, and sobbed so long and violently that Mrs. Marchmont had a distressing consciousness that her worldly wisdom was not equal to this case at all. She would have telegraphed Hemstead to return, if she had known where to address him. She was often tempted to write to Lottie's mother, but dreaded the reproaches of Mrs. Marsden for permitting matters to reach such a crisis before "stopping" them. And so, in anxiety and perplexity, the day dragged slowly on, until, at last, Lottie, wearied out, fell into the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion, from which she did not wake till the following morning.