"But he has no idea that you are going to leave here before he comes home, for he gave us all express orders to see that you had just what you wanted. Oh, he will be in a tearing rage when he hears of it! Don't anger him, child! Do, pray, for mercy's sake, don't anger him! He never forgets anything! When he once sets his head, he is worse than David on the Philistines! If he is willing to support you, it is his own lookout. He is able, and his money is his own. His kin won't get it. He and his brother don't speak; and as for Miss May! they never did get along in peace, even before he was married. So, if he chooses to give some of his fortune to you, it is nobody's business but his own; and you are mighty simple, I can tell you, if you don't stay here and take it."

"That will do, Harriet. I do not wish any more advice. I don't want your master's fortune, even if I had the offering of it! I am determined to make my own living: so just say no more about it."

"Take care, child. Remember, Pride goeth before a fall.'" "What do you mean ?" cried Beulah, angrily.

"I mean that the day is coming, when you will be glad enough to come back and let my master take care of you! That's what I mean. And see if it doesn't come to pass. But he will not do it then; I tell you now he won't. There is no forgiving spirit about him; he is as fierce, and bears malice as long as a Camanche Injun! It is no business of mine though. I have said my say: and I will be bound you will go your own gait. You are just about as hard-headed as he is himself. Anybody would almost believe you belonged to the Hartwell family. Every soul of them is alike in the matter of temper; only Miss Pauline has something of her pa's disposition. I suppose, now her ma is married again, she will want to come back to her uncle; should not wonder if he 'dopted her, since you have got the bit between your teeth."

"I hope he will," answered Beulah. She ill brooked Harriet's plain speech, but remembrances of past affection checked the severe rebuke which more than once rose to her lips.

"We shall see; we shall see!" and Harriet walked off with anything but a placid expression of countenance, while Beulah sought Mrs. Watson to explain her sudden departure, and acquaint her with her plans for the summer. The housekeeper endeavored most earnestly to dissuade her from taking the contemplated step, assuring her that the doctor would be grieved and displeased; but her arguments produced no effect, and with tears of regret, she bade her farewell.

The sun was setting when Beulah took possession of her room at Mrs. Hoyt's house. The furniture was very plain, and the want of several articles vividly recalled the luxurious home she had abandoned. She unpacked and arranged her clothes, and piled her books on a small table, which was the only substitute for her

beautiful desk and elegant rosewood bookcase. She had gathered a superb bouquet of flowers, as she crossed the front yard, and in lieu of her Sèvres vases, placed them in a dim-looking tumbler, which stood on the tall, narrow mantelpiece. Her room was in the third story, with two windows, one opening to the south, and one to the west. It grew dark by the time she had arranged the furniture, and too weary to think of going down to tea, she unbound her hair, and took a seat beside the window. The prospect was extended; below her were countless lamps, marking the principal streets; and, in the distance, the dark cloud of masts, told that river and bay might be distinctly seen by daylight. The quiet stars looked dim through the dusky atmosphere, and the noise of numerous vehicles rattling by, produced a confused impression, such as she had never before received at this usually calm twilight season. The events of the day passed in a swift review, and a mighty barrier seemed to have sprung up (as by some foul spell) between her guardian and herself. What an immeasurable gulf now yawned to separate them. Could it be possible that the friendly relations of years were thus suddenly and irrevocably annulled? Would he relinquish all interest in one whom he had so long watched over and directed? Did he intend that they should be completely estranged henceforth? For the first time since Lilly's death, she felt herself thrown upon the world. Alone and unaided, she was essaying to carve her own fortune from the huge quarries, where thousands were diligently laboring. An undefinable feeling of desolation crept into her heart; but she struggled desperately against it, and asked, in proud defiance of her own nature:

"Am I not sufficient unto myself? what more should I want? Nothing! unnecessary."

Leaning only on myself,
His sympathy is utterly

A knock at the door startled her, and in answer to her "come in," Clara Sanders entered. She walked slowly, and seating herself beside Beulah, said, in a gentle but weary tone:

"How do you like your room? I am so glad it opens into mine."

"Quite as well as I expected. The view from this window must be very fine. There is the tea bell, I suppose. Are you not going down? I am too much fatigued to move.'

"No; I never want supper, and generally spend the evenings in my room. It is drearily monotonous here. Nothing to vary the routine for me, except my afternoon walk, and recently the warm weather has debarred me even from that. You are a great walker, I believe, and I look forward to many pleasant rambles with you, when I feel stronger, and autumn comes. Beulah, how long does Dr. Hartwell expect to remain at the North? He told me, some time ago, that he was a delegate to the Medical Convention."

"I believe it is rather uncertain; but probably he will not return before October."

"Indeed! That is a long time for a physician to absent himself."

Just then an organ-grinder paused on the pavement beneath the window and began a beautiful air from "Sonnambula." It was a favourite song of Beulah's, and as the melancholy tones swelled on the night air, they recalled many happy hours spent in the quiet study beside the melodeon. She leaned out of the window till the last echo died away, and as the musician shouldered his instrument and trudged off, she said, abruptly:

"Is there not a piano in the house!"

Yes, just such a one as you might expect to find in a boardinghouse, where unruly children are thrumming upon it from morning till night. It was once a fine instrument, but now is only capable of excruciating discords. You will miss your grand piano."

"I must have something in my own room to practise on. Perhaps I can hire a melodeon or piano for a moderate sum; I will try

to-morrow."

"The Grahams are coming home soon, I hear. One of the principal upholsterers boards here, and he mentioned this morning at breakfast that he had received a letter from Mr. Graham, directing him to attend to the unpacking of an entirely new set of furniture. Everything will be on a grand scale. I suppose Eugene returns with them ?"

"Yes, they will all arrive in November."

"It must be a delightful anticipation for you."

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Why so, pray?"

"Why? Because you and Eugene are such old friends."

'Oh, yes; as far as Eugene is concerned, of course it is a very pleasant anticipation."

"He is identified with the Grahams."

"Not necessarily," answered Beulah, coldly.

A sad smile flitted over Clara's sweet face, as she rose and kissed her friend's brow, saying gently:

"Good night, dear. I have a headache, and must try to sleep it off. Since you have determined to battle with difficulties, I am very glad to have you here with me. I earnestly hope that success may crown your efforts, and the sunshine of happiness dispel for you the shadows that have fallen thick about my pathway. You have been rash, Beulah, and short-sighted; but I trust that all will prove for the best. Good night."

She glided away, and locking the door, Beulah returned to her seat, and laid her head wearily down on the window-sill. What a Hermes is thought! Like a vanishing dream fled the consciousness of surrounding objects, and she was with Eugene. Now, in the carlier years of his absence, she was in Heidelberg, listening to the evening chimes; and rambling with him through the heart of the

Odenwald. Then they explored the Hartz, climbed the Brocken, and there among the clouds, discussed the adventures of Faust, and his kinsman, Manfred. Anon, the arrival of the Grahams disturbed the quiet of Eugene's life, and far away from the picturesque haunts of Heidelberg students, he wandered with them over Italy, Switzerland, and France. Engrossed by these companions, he no longer found time to commune with her, and when occasionally he penned a short letter, it was hurried, constrained, and unsatisfactory. One topic had become stereotyped; he never failed to discourage the idea of teaching; urged most earnestly the folly of such a step, and dwelt upon the numerous advantages of social position arising from a residence under her guardian's roof. We have seen that from the hour of Lilly's departure from the Asylum, Beulah's affections, hopes, pride, all centred in Eugene. There had long existed a tacit compact, which led her to consider her future indissolubly linked with his; and his parting words seemed to seal this compact as holy and binding, when he declared, "I mean, of course, to take care of you myself, when I come home, for you know you belong to me." His letters for many months retained the tone of dictatorship, but the tenderness seemed all to have melted away. He wrote as if with a heart preoccupied by weightier matters, and now Beulah could no longer conceal from herself the painful fact that the man was far different from the boy. After five years' absence, he was coming back a man; engrossed by other thoughts and feelings than those which had prompted him in days gone by. With the tenacious hope of youth she still trusted that she might have misjudged him; he could never be other than noble and generous; she would silence her forebodings, and wait till his return. She wished beyond all expression to see him once more, and the prospect of a speedy reunion often made her heart throb painfully. That he would reproach her for her obstinate resolution of teaching, she was prepared to expect; but strong in the consciousness of duty, she committed herself to the care of a merciful God, and soon slept as soundly as though under Dr. Hartwell's roof.

CHAPTER XVII.

BEULAH VISITS HER LATE HAPPY HOME-HER EMOTION-CLARA SAUNDERS-BEULAH LOVES THE GRAND AND BEAUTIFULBEULAH TAKEN TO TASK BY CLARA-THE CONTAGION-ALARM -RETURN OF DR. HARTWELL.

OMETIMES, after sitting for five consecutive hours at the piano guiding the clumsy fingers of tyros, and listening to a tiresome round of scales and exercises, Beulah felt exhausted, mentally and physically, and feared that she had miserably overrated her powers of endurance. The long, warm days of August dragged heavily by, and each night she felt grateful that the summer was one day nearer its grave. One afternoon, she proposed to Clara to extend their walk to the home of her guardian, and as she readily assented, they left the noise and crowd of the city, and soon found themselves on the common.

This is my birthday," said Beulah, as they passed a clump of pines, and caught a glimpse of the white gate beyond. "Ah! how old are you?"

"Eighteen-but I feel much older."

She opened the gate and as they leisurely ascended the avenue of aged cedars, Beulah felt once more as if she were going home. A fierce bark greeted her, and the next moment Charon rushed to meet her; placing his huge paws on her shoulders, and whining and barking joyfully. He bounded before her to the step, and laid down contentedly on the piazza. Harriet's turbaned head appeared at the entrance, and a smile of welcome lighted up her ebon face, as she shook Beulah's hand.

Mrs. Watson was absent, and after a few questions, Beulah entered the study, saying:

"I want some books, Harriet; and Miss Sanders wishes to see the paintings.'

Ah! every chair and book-shelf greeted her like dear friends, and she bent down over some volumes to hide her tears that sprang into her eyes. The only really happy portion of her life had been passed here; every article in the room was dear from association, and though only a month had elapsed since her departure, those bygone years seemed far, far off, among the mist of very distant recollections. Thick and fast fell the hot drops, until her eyes were blinded, and she could no longer distinguish the print they were riveted on. The memory of kind smiles haunted her, and kinder tones seemed borne to her from every corner of the apartment. Clara was eagerly examining the paintings, and neither of the girls observed Harriet's entrance, until she asked:

"Do you know that the yellow fever has broke out here ?"