Just then a broad ray of light glinted into the room, and illuminated Lottie's face into such marvellous beauty that Hemstead was spell-bound. He was too intent on watching her to be aware that the ray rested on him also; but she exclaimed: "O Mr. Hemstead! you don't know how your face is lighted up by the setting sun. If I believed in omens, I should know that your successful work will be out on the frontier,—in the West, whence comes, after this dreary day, such a beautiful light, which suggests, I hope, the fame and glory you are to win there."
"This light from the West falls equally upon you," he said impulsively.
There was a sudden crimson in her face, deeper than that caused by the setting sun.
She gave him a quick, shy glance, to gather his meaning, but said,
"Omens are only half-truths, I have heard."
Under a vague but strong impulse he had spoken foolishly, he thought; and suggested that, in seeking to change her character, his motive in part might be a presumptuous hope of his own. Therefore a deeper flush crimsoned his face; but he said quietly: "I believe that, in our day, omens are will-of-the-wisps of the imagination. What need is there of such fitful lights, when the sun of God's truth is shining in this Bible? Shall we explore farther?"
Again they sat down and sought to reconcile the apparently conflicting truths of God's mercy and justice,—of His severity and unutterable tenderness. Proofs of both were found upon the page of inspiration "as thick as leaves in Vallombrosa." It was clearly evident that God would make no terms with sin, whatever He might do for the sinner. But the Divine man, as He stands between justice and the erring, appeared to solve the problem. And if God's discipline was at times severe, and Christ was glad when faith-inspiring sorrow came, it was also seen that He could weep with the weak human children who cried under the rod, though heaven might result from the transient pain.
CHAPTER XX.
THE DAWNING LIGHT.
Some little time before the supper-bell rang, De Forrest sauntered in, and witnessed a scene that both surprised and puzzled him. And yet a lover would scarcely have found, in the quiet and pretty picture that the parlor and its occupants made, any ground for jealousy. Hemstead was at the centre-table, under the now-lighted chandelier, reading aloud from the Bible. Lottie sat by the hearth, the firelight playing upon an unusually grave and thoughtful face.
"Well," he exclaimed, "you look for all the world like an old married couple keeping Sunday together."