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."