The mountain without was now in the shadow. The early twilight of the December evening had darkened the wintry landscape; but the ruddy glow of the hickory fire revealed how beautiful Lottie's face could be, when composed into womanly truth and thoughtfulness. "I have never had a serious sorrow or illness, and I wonder what I should do if I had?" she queried musingly, as these sombre events, which sooner or later must come into every life, rose up before her. "I know well what you will do when they come, as come they will to us all," said Hemstead, gently. "As surely as you would cling to a strong arm were you sinking in deep waters, just so surely you will turn to the Bible, and to Him who said, 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'" The truth, if given a hearing, is ever powerful,--the truths of our own sad experience,--the answering and remedial truth of God. Unexpectedly and unintentionally on her part, both these phases of truth had gained the ear of Lottie Marsden. The sorrowful and suffering days of the future threw back their shadows upon her, and her heart sank at their prospect; and with the certainty of intuition she recognized the answering truth, and felt that she would indeed be glad to cling to One who had the right and power to utter such tender, reassuring words as Hemstead had quoted. Of all spells, that of truth is the strongest. Under it the impulsive girl buried her face in her hands and, with a quick sob, cried, "O that I were better!" Then, springing up, she gave Hemstead a strange, earnest look through her tears, as if she would read his soul. But she saw only honest sympathy. He was about to speak again, but she abruptly left the room. CHAPTER VIII. FINDING ONE'S LEVEL. Lottie met De Forrest on the stairs, and he was about to apologize for his long sleep, but she rushed by him like a summer gust. A moment later she burst into her room and startled indolent Bel out of her last luxurious doze by dropping into a chair by the fire and indulging in what girls call a "good cry." "What is the matter?" asked Bel, anxiously. Lottie's tears were the only answer. "What has happened?" cried Bel, rising hastily. "Let me call auntie or Julian." "If you call either you are no friend of mine," said Lottie, springing to the door, locking it, and taking the key. "Why, Lottie, I don't understand--" "There is no need that you should. Nothing is the matter--only I'm blue--I've been thinking of awful things. I was in one of my moods this afternoon, now I'm in one of my tenses." "Unusually intense, I should think. I have not seen you so moved since Tom Wellesly threatened to blow out his brains for you." "He hadn't any to blow out," snapped Lottie, "or he wouldn't have thought of doing it for such a girl as I am." "Well," sighed Bel, who at times was one of Job's comforters, "I've heard he has never been the same since."