knew
whither, among the snowdrifts on the solitary plains. She knew that he
must be passing through a terrible trial and temptation, but she could do
nothing for him; her voice could not reach him, nor her eye tell him by a
silent look how deeply she felt for him. Yet Miss Anne knew who it is
that possesseth 'the shields of the earth,' and in her earnest
thanksgiving to God for Martha and Bess Thompson, she prayed fervently
that the boy might be shielded and sheltered in his great sorrow, and
that when he was tried he might come forth as gold.

All the day long, Stephen, instead of going to his work in the pit, had
been rambling, without aim or purpose, over the dreary uplands; here and
there stretching himself upon the wiry heath, where the sun had dried
away the snow, and hiding his face from the light, while he gave way to
an anguish of grief, and broke the deep silence with a loud and very
bitter cry. It was death, sudden death, he was lamenting. Only yesterday
morning little Nan was clinging strongly to his neck, and covering his
face with merry kisses; and every now and then he felt as if he was only
dreaming, and he started down towards home, as though he could not
believe that those tender arms were stiffened and that rosy mouth still
in death. But before he could run many paces the truth was borne in upon
his aching heart that she was surely dead; and never more in this life
would he see and speak to her, or listen to her lisping tongue. Little
Nan, dearest of all earthly things,--perhaps dearer to him in the infancy
of his Christian life than the Saviour Himself,--was removed from him
so far that she was already a stranger, and he knew nothing of her.

Towards evening he found himself, in his aimless wandering, drawing near
to Fern's Hollow, where she had lived. The outer shell of the new house
was built up, the three rooms above and below, with the little dairy and
coal-shed beside them, and Stephen, even in his misery, was glad of the
shelter of the blank walls from the cutting blast of the north wind; for
he felt that he could not go home to the cabin where the dead child--no
longer darling little Nan--was lying. Poor Stephen! He sat down on a heap
of bricks upon the new hearth, where no household fire had ever been
kindled; and, while the snow-flakes drifted in upon him unheeded, he
buried his face again in his hands, and went on thinking, as he had been
doing all day. He would never care to come back now