Past, present, and future were blended into one murky cloud of darkness. Burning tears crept at intervals through her closed eyelids, and an occasional sob fought for utterance: but Lettice dared not let the struggling passion have way. Once to yield would have been to lose all mastery over herself. Then through the parched Sahara of her woe came a murmur, breathed softly like the voice of an organ in the far distance, with familiar words, which yet she had not particularly remarked— "When the Lord saw her, HE . . . said unto her, Weep not." In response, a rain of tears fell; but this time they brought a measure of relief. As they lessened, she seemed to hear again— "HE said unto her, Weep not." "O how can I help it? I am so alone—so alone?" Yet once more the quiet murmur sounded— "HE said . . . Weep not." Lettice sat up, and gazed around with dim eyes. "But how can I help it? What can I do? If there were any one to care—" The whisper came in other words, equally familiar, equally unthought of— "HE CARETH FOR YOU." Lettice sank back on the pillow; a strange new peace at her heart. Prue had talked, and Bertha had talked, and their words had dropped on her dulled spirit, like stones against a wall. But now it seemed as if the Divine Comforter Himself had come; and with one little shower of heavenly rain, the arid desert was changed. An indescribable sense of rest, of being loved and watched over, crept through her. Consciously and clearly she was no longer alone. With tears still undried upon her cheeks, she fell asleep, and though the sleep could hardly have lasted half-an-hour, it seemed to bridge over a chasm in her existence, to land her in a new world, inwardly as well as outwardly. She had never slumbered more profoundly, and when she awoke, the same calm peace enfolded her. Everything looked different. "Jesus cares for me! Jesus loves me!" she murmured, clasping her hands. "I'm so glad—oh, so glad." Then there was a bang at the door, and Keith bounced in. "Because it's getting cold,—" reached her ears. "I don't understand." "What are you lying down for? That's awfully lazy. Mamsie says, if you want any tea, you'd better make haste, because it's getting cold. It's been up ever so long." "I didn't know the time. I've been asleep." Lettice rose slowly, feeling still battered and weak, but happy. Pain of body and pain of mind alike were stilled by that strangely deep slumber. She was able to smile on the child, as he stared at her with wondering eyes. "What makes you—so?" he demanded. "Makes me how? I don't understand?" "Mamsie said you was ugly. But I think you're pretty." Lettice stooped to kiss the boy. "Keith, will you love me?" she asked softly. "Will you play with me after tea? Father said I was to be kind to you. Will you be my horse and let me beat you?" "Yes, if you won't beat very hard." "Oh, 'course not—you're a girl, you know. But I'll love you, if you'll be my horse."