panion. Beulah felt that her continued vigils and exertions were exhausting her. Her limbs trembled when she walked, and there was a dull pain in her head, which she could not banish. Her appetite had long since forsaken her, and it was only by the exertion of a determined will that she forced herself to eat. She was warmly attached to Clara, and the dread of losing this friend caused her to suffer keenly. Occasionally she stole away to see the other sufferers, fearing that when Mrs. Hoyt discovered Lizzie's death, the painful intelligence would seal her own fate. It was late at night. She had just returned from one of these hasty visits, and finding that Hal was as attentive as any one could be, she threw herself, weary and anxious, into an arm-chair beside Clara's bed. The crimson face was turned toward her, the parched lips parted, the panting breath, labored and irregular. The victim was delirious; the hazel eyes, inflamed and vacant, rested on Beulah's countenance, and she murmured:

"He will never know! Oh, no! how should he? The grave will soon shut me in, and I shall see him no more-no more!" She shuddered and turned away.

Beulah leaned her head against the bed, and as a tear slid down upon her hand, she thought and said with bitter sorrow :

"I would rather see her the victim of death, than have her drag out an aimless, cheerless existence, rendered joyless by this hopeless attachment!"

She wondered whether Dr. Hartwell suspected this love. He was remarkably quick-sighted, and men, as well as women, were very vain, and wont to give even undue weight to every circumstance which flattered their self-love. She had long seen this partiality, would not the object of it be quite as penetrating? Clara was very pretty; nay, at times she was beautiful. If conscious of her attachment, could he ever suffer himself to be influenced by it? No; impossible! There were utter antagonisms of taste and temperament which rendered it very certain that she would not suit him for a companion. Yet she was very lovable. Beulah walked softly across the room and leaned out of the window. An awful stillness brooded over the scourged city.

"The moving moon went up the sky,

And nowhere did abide;

Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside."

The soft beams struggled to pierce the murky air, dense with smoke from the burning pitch. There was no tread on the pavement, all was solemn as Death, who held such mad revel in the crowded graveyards. Through the shroud of smoke she could see the rippling waters of the bay, as the faint southern breeze swept

its surface. It was a desolation realizing all the horrors of the Masque of the Red Death," and as she thought of the mourning hearts in that silent city, of Clara's danger and her own, Beulah repeated, sadly, those solemn lines:

"Like clouds that rake the mountain summit,

Or waves that own no curbing hand,
How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!"

Clasping her hands, she added, earnestly:

"I thank thee, my Father! that the Atlantic rolls between Eugene and this 'besom of destruction.'

A touch on her shoulder caused her to look around, and her eyes rested on her guardian. She started, but did not speak, and held out her hand. He looked at her, long and searchingly; his lip trembled, and instead of taking her offered hand, he passed his arm around her, and drew her to his bosom. She looked up, with surprise; and bending his haughty head, he kissed her pale brow, for the first time. She felt then that she would like to throw her arms round his neck, and tell him how very glad she was to see him again-how unhappy his sudden departure had made her; but a feeling she could not pause to analyze, prevented her from following the dictates of her heart; and holding her off, so as to scan her countenance, Dr. Hartwell said:

"How worn and haggard you look! Oh, child! your rash obstinacy has tortured me beyond expression."

"I have but done my duty. It has been a horrible time. I am glad you have come. You will not let Clara die."

"Sit down, child. You are trembling from exhaustion."

He drew up a chair for her, and taking her wrist in his hand, said, as he examined the slow pulse:

"Was Clara taken violently? How is she?"

"She is delirious, and so much alarmed at her danger that I feel very uneasy about her. Come and see her; perhaps she will know you." She led the way to the bedside; but there was no recognition in the wild, restless eyes, and as she tossed from side to side, her incoherent muttering made Beulah dread lest she should discover to its object the adoring love which filled her pure heart. She told her guardian what had been prescribed. He offered no suggestion as to the treatment, but gave a potion which she informed him was due. As Clara swallowed the draught she looked at him, and said eagerly:

"Has he come? Did he say he would see me and save me! Did Dr. Hartwell send me this ?"

"She raves," said Beulah, hastily.

A shadow fell upon his face, and stooping over the pillow, he answered, very gently:

"Yes, he has come to save you. He is here."

She smiled, and seemed satisfied for a moment, then moaned, and muttered on indistinctly.

"He knows it all?

Oh, poor, poor Clara!" thought Beulah, shading her face, to prevent his reading what passed in her mind. How long have you been sitting up, Beulah ?"

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She told him.

"It is no wonder you look as if years had suddenly passed over your head! You have a room here, I believe. Go to it, and go to sleep; I will not leave Clara."

It was astonishing how his presence removed the dread weight of responsibility from her heart. Not until this moment had she felt as if she could possibly sleep.

"I will sleep now, so as to be refreshed for to-morrow and tomorrow night. Here is a couch, I will sleep here, and if Clara grows worse you must wake me." She crossed the room, threw herself on the couch, and laid her aching head on her arm. Dr. Hartwell placed a pillow under the head; once more his fingers sought her wrist; once more his lips touched her forehead, and as he returned to watch beside Clara, and listen to her ravings, Beulah sank into a heavy, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE STRICKEN CITY-DR. HARTWELL AND HIS PATIENTSBEULAH AND HIS ICY MANNER-WATCHING CLARA-THE DR. TAKES HER FOR A RIDE-HER DELIGHT.

HE was awakened by the cool pattering of rain-drops, which beat through the shutters and fell upon her face. She sprang up with a thrill of delight, and looked out. A leaden sky lowered over the city, and as the torrents came down in whitening sheets, the thunder rolled continuously over head, and trailing wreaths of smoke from the dying fires, drooped like banners over the roofs of the houses. Not the shower which gathered and fell around sea-girt Carmel was more gratefully received.

"Thank God! it rains!" cried Beulah, and turning toward Clara, she saw with pain that the sufferer was all unconscious of the tardy blessing. She kissed the hot, dry brow; but no token of recognition greeted her anxious gaze. The fever was at its height; the delicate features were strangely sharpened and distorted. Save the sound of her labored breathing, the room was silent, and sinking on her knees, Beulah prayed earnestly that the

gentle sufferer might be spared. As she rose, her guardian entered, and she started at the haggard, wasted, harassed look of the noble face, which she had not observed before. He bent down and coaxed Clara to take a spoonful of medicine, and Beulah asked, earnestly:

"Have you been ill, sir ?"

"No."

He did not even glance at her. The affectionate cordiality of the hour of meeting had utterly vanished. He looked as cold, stern, and impenetrable as some half-buried sphinx of the desert.

"Have you seen the others this morning?" said she, making a strong effort to conceal the chagrin this revulsion of feeling ccasioned.

"Yes; Mrs. Hoyt will get well."

"Does she know of her child's death ?"

"Yes."

"You are not going, surely?" she continued, as he took his hat and glanced at his watch.

"I am needed elsewhere. Only nursing can now avail here. You know very well what is requisite. Either Dr. Asbury or I will be here again to-night, to sit up with this gentle girl."

"You need neither of you come to sit up with her. I will do that myself. I shall not sleep another moment until I know that she is better."

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Very well." He left the room immediately.

"How he cases his volcanic nature in ice," thought Beulah, sinking into the arm-chair. "Last night he seemed so kind, so cordial, so much my friend and guardian! To-day there is a mighty barrier, as though he stood on some towering crag, and talked to me across an infinite gulf! Well, well, even an Arctic night passes away; and I can afford to wait till his humor changes."

For many hours the rain fell unceasingly, but toward sunset the pall of clouds was scourged on by a brisk western breeze, and the clear canopy of heaven, no longer fiery as for days past, but cool and blue, bent serenely over the wet earth. The slanting rays of the swiftly sinking sun flashed through dripping boughs, creating myriads of diamond sprays; and over the sparkling waters of the bay sprang a brilliant bow, arching superbly along the eastern horizon, where a bank of clouds still lay. Verily, it seemed a new covenant, that the destroying demon should no longer desolate the beautiful city, and to many an anxious, foreboding heart that glorious rainbow gave back hope and faith. A cool, quiet twilight followed. Beulah knew that hearses still bore the dead to their silent chambers; she could hear the rumbling, the melancholy, solemn sound of the wheels; but firm trust reigned in her heart, and with Clara's hand in

hers, she felt an intuitive assurance that the loved one would not yet be summoned from her earthly field of action. The sick in the other part of the house were much better, and though one of the gentlemen boarders had been taken since morning, she lighted the lamp and stole about the room with a calmer, happier spirit than she had known for many days. She fancied that her charge breathed more easily, and the wild stare of the inflamed eyes was concealed under the long lashes which lay on the cheeks. The sufferer slept, and the watcher augured favourably. About nine o'clock she heard steps on the stairs, and soon after Doctors Asbury and Hartwell entered together. There was little to be told, and less to be advised, and while the latter attentively examined the pulse, and looked down at the altered countenance, stamped with the signet of the dread disease, the former took Beulah's hand in both his, and said kindly :

"How do you do, my little heroine ? By Nebros! you are worth your weight in medical treatises. How are you, little one ?"

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"Quite well, thank you, sir, and I dare say I am much more able to sit up with the sick than you, who have had no respite whatever. Don't stand up, when you must be so weary; take this easy-chair." Holding his hand firmly, she drew him down to it. There had always been a fatherly tenderness in his manner toward her, when visiting at her guardian's, and she regarded him with reverence and affection. Though often blunt, he never chilled nor repelled her, as his partner so often did, and now she stood beside him, still holding one of his hands. He smoothed back the grey hair from his furrowed brow, and with a twinkle in his blue eye, said:

"How much will you take for your services? I want to engage you to teach my madcap daughters a little quiet bravery and uncomplaining endurance."

"I have none of the Shylock in my composition; only give me a few kind words and I shall be satisfied. Now, once for all, Dr. Asbury, if you treat me to any more barefaced flattery of this sort, I nurse no more of your patients."

Dr. Hartwell here directed his partner's attention to Clara, and thoroughly provoked at the pertinacity with which he avoided noticing her, she seized the brief opportunity to visit Mrs. Hoyt and little Willie. The mother welcomed her with a silent grasp of the hand and gush of tears. But this was no time for acknowledgments, and Beulah strove, by a few encouraging remarks, to cheer the bereaved parent and interest Willie, who, like all other children under such circumstances, had grown fretful. She shook up their pillows, iced a fresh pitcher of water for them, and promising to run down and see them often, now that Hal was forced to give his attention to the last victim, she noiselessly stole back to Clara's room. Dr. Hartwell was walking up and down the floor,