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and look at the prostrate form, with the head enveloped in icy cloths, and the face bloated and purplish from bruises and fever. Neither Proctor nor his companion could endure the smile of withering contempt which curled her lips, as she pointed to the victim of their temptations and influence, and with a half-suppressed imprecation, Proctor turned on his heel and left the house. Apparently this brief visit quite satisfied them for it was not repeated. Days and nights of unremitted watching ensued, Eugene was wildly delirious, now singing snatches of drinking songs, and waving his hand, as if to his guests; and now bitterly upbraiding his wife for her heartlessness and folly. The confinement of his fractured arm frenzied him; often he struggled violently to free himself, fancying that he was incarcerated in some horrid dungeon. On the morning of the fourth day after the accident, a carriage stopped at the cottage gate, and springing out, Mr. Graham hurried into the house. As he entered the sick-room, and caught sight of the tossing sufferer, a groan escaped him, and he covered his eyes an instant, as if to shut out the vision. Eugene imagined he saw one of the Heidelberg professors, and laughing immoderately, began a rapid conversation in German. Mr. Graham could not conceal his emotion, and, fearing its effect on the excitable patient, Beulah beckoned him aside, and warned him of the possible consequences. He grasped her hand, and asked the particulars of the occurrence, which had been mentioned to him vaguely. She told him the account given by Eugene's servants of the night's revel, and then the dénoúment in front of her door. In conclusion, she said, earnestly:

"Where is his wife? Why is she not here ?"

"She seemed to think she could render no assistance; and fearing that all would be over before we could get here, preferred my coming at once, and writing to her of his condition. Ah! she is miserably fitted for such scenes as you must have witnessed." And the grey-haired man sighed heavily.

"What! can she bear to commit her husband to other hands at such a crisis as this? How can she live away from his side when every hour may be his last? Oh! is she indeed so utterly, utterly heartless, selfish, callous? Poor Eugene! better find release from such a union in death, than go through life bound to a wife so unblushingly indifferent!"

Her face was one flash of scorn and indignation, and extending her hand toward the restless invalid, she continued in a lower tone:

"She has deserted her sacred post; but a truer, better friend, one who has always loved him as a brother, will supply her place. All that a sister's care can do, assuredly he shall have."

"You are very kind, Miss Beulah; my family are under lasting obligations to you for your generous attentions to that poor boy of ours, and I-—”

"No. You understand little of the nature of our friendship. We were orphan children, warmly attached to each other, before you took him to a home of wealth and lavish indulgence. Were he my own brother, I could not feel more deeply interested in his welfare, and while he requires care and nursing, I consider it my privilege to watch over and guard him. There is Dr. Asbury in the hall; he can tell you better than me of his probable recovery."

Ah, reader, is

"Friendship but a name?

A charm that lulls to sleep,

A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep ?"

Mr. Graham remained at the cottage, and having written to Antoinette of the imminent danger in which he found her husband, urged her to lose no time in joining him. Unluckily, he was ignorant of all the information which is so essential in the occupation of nursing. He was anxious to do everything in his power; but, like the majority of persons on such occasions, failed wretchedly in his attempts. Almost as restless and nervous as the sick man, he only increased the difficulties he would fain have remedied, and Beulah finally prevailed upon him to abandon his efforts and leave the room, where his constant movements annoyed and irritated the sufferer. Engene recognized no one, but his eyes followed Beulah continually! and when his delirium was at its height, only her voice and clasp of his hand could in any degree soothe him. In his ravings, she noticed two constantly conflicting emotions: a stern bitterness of feeling toward his wife, and an almost adoring fondness for his infant child. Of the latter, he talked incessantly, and vowed that she, at least, should love him. As the weary days crept by, Beulah started at every sound, fancying that the wife had certainly come; but hour after hour found only Mrs. Williams and the orphan guarding the deserted husband. Gradually the fever abated, and a death-like stupor succeeded. Mr. Graham stole about the house, like a haunting spirit, miserable and useless, and in the solemn stillness of midnight only Beulah sat by the pillow, where a head now rested motionless as that of a corpse. Mrs. Williams was asleep on a couch at the opposite end of the room, and in the dim, spectral light of the shaded lamp, the watcher and her charge looked unearthly. Faint from constant vigils, Beulah threw her arm on the bed and leaned her head upon it, keeping her eyes on the colourless face before her. Who that

has watched over friends, hovering upon the borders of the spiritland, needs to be told how dreary was the heart of the solitary nurse? And to those who have not thus suffered and endured, no description would adequately portray the desolation and gloom.

The stars were waning, when Eugene moved, threw up his hand over the pillow, and, after a moment, opened his eyes. Beulah leaned forward, and he looked at her fixedly, as if puzzled; then said, feebly:

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Beulah, is it you?"

A cry of joy rolled to her lips, but she hushed it, and answered tremblingly:

"Yes, Eugene, it is Beulah."

His eyes wandered about the room, and then rested again on her countenance, with a confused, perplexed expression. "Am I at home? What is the matter ?"

"Yes, Eugene, at home among your best friends. any more; try to sleep again."

Don't talk With a great joy in her heart, she extinguished the light, so that he could see nothing. After a few moments, he said,

slowly :

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Beulah, did I dream I saw you? Beulah!" She felt his hand put out, as if to feel for her.

"No, I am sitting by you, but will not talk to you now.

must keep quiet."

There was a short silence.

"But where am I? Not at home, I know."

You

She did not reply, and he repeated the question more earnestly. "You are in my house, Eugene, let that satisfy you."

His fingers closed over hers tightly, and soon he slept.

The sun was high in the sky when he again unclosed his eyes and found Dr. Asbury feeling his pulse. His mind was still bewildered and he looked around him, wonderingly.

"How do you feel, Graham ?" said the doctor.

"Feel! as if I had been standing on my head. What is the matter with me, doctor! Have I been sick?"

"Well-yes; you have not been exactly well, and feel stupid after a long nap. Take a spoonful of this nectar I have prepared for you. No wry faces, man! It will clear your head ?"

Eugene attempted to raise himself, but fell back exhausted, while, for the first time, he noticed his arm firmly incased in wood and bandages.

“What have you been doing to my arm? Why, I can't move it. I should

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, Graham; you injured it, and I bound it up, that is all. When gentlemen amuse themselves with such gymnastic feats as you performed, they must expect a little temporary inconvenience from crushed bones and overstrained muscles. Beulah, mind my directions about silence and quiet,"

The doctor walked out to escape further questioning. Eugene looked at his useless, stiffened arm, and then at Beulah, saying anxiously:

"What is the matter with me ?"

"You were thrown out of a buggy, and fractured your arm in the fall."

She thought it best to tell the truth at once.

Memory flew back to her deserted throne, and dimly the events of that evening's revel passed through his mind. A flush of shame rose to his temples, and turning his head toward the wall, he hid his face in the pillow. Then Beulah heard a deep, shuddering sigh, and a groan of remorseful agony. After a long silence, he said, in a tone of humiliation that drew tears to her eyes:

"How long have I been here ?"

She told him the number of days, and he immediately asked: "Have I been in any danger ?"

"Yes, very great danger; but that has all passed now, and if you will only be composed and careful you will soon be strong again."

"I heard my father talking to you, who else is here ?"

He looked at her with eager interest.

"No one else, except our kind matron. Mr. Graham came as soon as the letter reached him, and has not left the house since."

A look of indescribable sorrow and shame swept over his countenance, as he continued bitterly:

"And did Antoinette know all at once? Stop, Beulah, tell me the miserable truth. Did she know all, and still remain away ?"

"She knew all that had been communicated to Mr. Graham, when he came; and he has written to her every day. He is now writing to inform her that you are better."

She shrank from giving the pain she was conscious her words inflicted.

"I deserve it all! Yes, ingratitude, indifference, and desertion! If I had died, she would have heard it unmoved. Oh, Cornelia, Cornelia, it is a fearful retribution; more bitter than death!" Averting his fate, his whole frame trembled with ill concealed emotion.

“Eugene, you must compose yourself. Remember you jeopardize your life by this sort of excitement."

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'Why didn't you let me die? What have I to live for? A name disgraced, and a wife unloving and heartless! What has the future but wretchedness and shame ?"

"Not unless you will it so. You should want to live to retrieve your character, to take an honourable position, which, hitherto, you have recklessly forfeited; to make the world respect you, your wife revere you, and your child feel that she may be proud of her father! Ah, Eugene, all this the future calls you to do."

He looked up at her as she stood beside him, pale, thin, and weary, and his feeble voice faltered, as he asked:

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Beulah, my best friend, my sister, do you quite despise me?" She laid her hands softly on his, and stooping down pressed her lips to his forehead.

Eugene, once I feared that you had fallen even below my pity; but now I believe you will redeem yourself. I hope that, thoroughly reformed, you will command the respect of all who know you, and realize the proud aspirations I once indulged for you. That you can do this I feel assured; that you will, I do most sincerely trust. I have not yet lost faith in you, Eugene. I hope still."

She left him to ponder in solitude the humiliating result of his course of dissipation.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

EUGENE DESPONDING-HIS COLD-HEARTED WIFE-HE PROMISES REFORMATION-PHILOSOPHY-LINDSAY WISHES TO CRITICISE BEULAH'S WRITINGS-EUGENE'S PARTING.

HE hours of gradual convalescence were very trying to Beulah, now that the sense of danger no longer nerved her to almost superhuman endurance and exertion. Mr. Graham waited until his adopted son was able to sit up, and then returned to the watering-place, where his wife remained. Thus the entire charge of the invalid devolved on the tireless friends who had watched over him in the hour of peril. Beulah had endeavoured to banish the sorrow that pressed so heavily on her heart, and to dispel the gloom and despondency which seemed to have taken possession of the deserted husband. She read, talked, sang to him, and constantly strove to cheer him, by painting a future in which the past was to be effectually cancelled. Though well-nigh exhausted by incessant care and loss of sleep, she never complained of weariness, and always forced a smile of welcome to her lips when. the invalid had his chair wheeled to her side, or tottered out into the dining-room to join her. One morning in August, she sat on the little gallery at the rear of the house, with a table before her, engaged in drawing some of the clusters of blue, white, and pink convolvulus which festooned the pillars and balustrade. Eugene sat near her, with his thin face leaned on his hand, his thoughts evidently far removed from flowers. His arm was still in a sling, and he looked emaciated and dejected. Mrs. Williams had been

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