The following day, in obedience to the proclamation of the mayor of
the city, was celebrated as a season of special thanksgiving, and
the inmates of the asylum were taken to church to morning service.
After an early dinner, the matron gave them permission to amuse
themselves the remainder of the day as their various inclinations
prompted. There was an immediate dispersion of the assemblage, and
only Beulah lingered beside the matron's chair.
"Mrs. Williams, may I take Lilly with me, and go out into the woods
at the back of the asylum?"
"I want you at home this evening; but I dislike very much to refuse
you."
"Oh, never mind! if you wish me to do anything," answered the girl
cheerfully.
Tears rolled over the matron's face, and, hastily averting her head,
she wiped them away with the corner of her apron.
"Can I do anything to help you? What is the matter?"
"Never mind, Beulah; do you get your bonnet and go to the edge of
the woods--not too far, remember; and if I must have you, why I will
send for you."
"I would rather not go if it will be any trouble."
"No, dear; it's no trouble; I want you to go," answered the matron,
turning hastily away. Beulah felt very strongly inclined to follow,
and inquire what was in store for her; but the weight on her heart
pressed more heavily, and, murmuring to herself, "It will come time
enough, time enough," she passed on.
"May I come with you and Lilly?" entreated little Claudia, running
down the walk at full speed, and putting her curly head through the
palings to make the request.
"Yes, come on. You and Lily can pick up some nice smooth burrs to
make baskets of. But where is your bonnet?" "I forgot it." She ran
up, almost out of breath, and seized Beulah's hand.
"You forgot it, indeed! You little witch, you will burn as black as
a gypsy!"
"I don't care if I do. I hate bonnets."
"Take care, Claudy; the President won't have you all freckled and
tanned."
"Won't he?" queried the child, with a saucy sparkle in her black
eyes.
"That he won't. Here, tie on my hood, and the next time you come
running after me bareheaded, I will make you go back; do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear. I wonder why Miss Dorothy don't bleach off her
freckles; she looks like a--"
"Hush about her, and run on ahead."
"Do, pray, let me get my breath first. Which way are we going?"
"To the piney woods yonder," cried Lilly, clapping her hands in
childish glee; "won't we have fun, rolling and sliding on the
straw?" The two little ones walked on in advance.
The path along which their feet pattered so carelessly led to a
hollow or ravine, and the ground on the opposite side rose into
small hillocks, thickly wooded with pines. Beulah sat down upon a
mound of moss and leaves; while Claudia and Lillian, throwing off
their hoods, commenced the glorious game of sliding. The pine straw
presented an almost glassy surface, and, starting from the top of a
hillock, they slid down, often stumbling and rolling together to the
bottom. Many a peal of laughter rang out, and echoed far back in the
forest, and two blackbirds could not have kept up a more continuous
chatter. Apart from all this sat Beulah; she had remembered the
matron's words, and stopped just at the verge of the woods, whence
she could see the white palings of the asylum. Above her the winter
breeze moaned and roared in the pine tops; it was the sad but dearly
loved forest music that she so often stole out to listen to. Every
breath which sighed through the emerald boughs seemed to sweep a
sympathetic chord in her soul, and she raised her arms toward the
trees as though she longed to clasp the mighty musical box of nature
to her heart. The far-off blue of a cloudless sky looked in upon
her, like a watchful guardian; the sunlight fell slantingly, now
mellowing the brown leaves and knotted trunks, and now seeming to
shun the darker spots and recesses where shadows lurked. For a time
the girl forgot all but the quiet and majestic beauty of the scene.
She loved nature as only those can whose sources of pleasure have
been sadly curtailed, and her heart went out, so to speak, after
birds, and trees, and flowers, sunshine and stars, and the voices of
sweeping winds. An open volume lay on her lap; it was Longfellow's
Poems, the book Eugene had sent her, and leaves were turned down at
"Excelsior" and the "Psalm of Life." The changing countenance
indexed very accurately the emotions which were excited by this
communion with Nature. There was an uplifted look, a brave, glad,
hopeful light in the gray eyes, generally so troubled in their
expression. A sacred song rose on the evening air, a solemn but
beautiful hymn. She sang the words of the great strength-giving
poet, the "Psalm of Life":
"Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream;
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem."
It was wonderful what power and sweetness there was in her voice;
burst after burst of rich melody fell from her trembling lips. Her
soul echoed the sentiments of the immortal bard, and she repeated
again and again the fifth verse:
"In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life;
Be not like dumb, driven cattle,
Be a hero in the strife."
Intuitively she seemed to feel that an hour of great trial was at
hand, and this was a girding for the combat. With the shield of a
warm, hopeful heart, and the sword of a strong, unfaltering will,
she awaited the shock; but as she concluded her song the head bowed
itself upon her arms, the shadow of the unknown, lowering future had
fallen upon her face, and only the Great Shepherd knew what passed
the pale lips of the young orphan. She was startled by the sharp
bark of a dog, and, looking up, saw a gentleman leaning against a
neighboring tree, and regarding her very earnestly. He came forward
as she perceived him, and said with a pleasant smile:
"You need not be afraid of my dog. Like his master, he would not
disturb you till you finished your song. Down, Carlo; be quiet, sir.
My little friend, tell me who taught you to sing."
She had hastily risen, and a slight glow tinged her cheek at his
question. Though naturally reserved and timid, there was a self-
possession about her unusual in children of her age, and she
answered in a low voice, "I have never had a teacher, sir; but I
listen to the choir on Sabbath, and sing our Sunday-school hymns at
church."
"Do you know who wrote those words you sang just now? I was not
aware they had been set to music."
"I found them in this book yesterday, and liked them so much that I
tried to sing them by one of our hymn tunes." She held up the volume
as she spoke.
He glanced at the title, and then looked curiously at her. Beulah
chanced just then to turn toward the asylum, and saw one of the
oldest girls running across the common. The shadow on her face
deepened, and she looked around for Claudia and Lillian. They had
tired of sliding, and were busily engaged picking up pine burrs at
some little distance in the rear.
"Come, Claudy--Lilly--our matron has sent for us; come, make haste."
"Do you belong to the asylum?" asked the gentleman, shaking the
ashes from his cigar.
"Yes, sir," answered she, and, as the children came up, she bowed
and turned homeward.
"Wait a moment. Those are not your sisters, certainly?" His eyes
rested with unfeigned admiration on their beautiful faces.
"This one is, sir; that is not." As she spoke she laid her hand on
Lillian's head. Claudia looked shyly at the stranger, and then,
seizing Beulah's dress, exclaimed:
"Oh, Beulah, don't let us go just yet! I left such a nice, splendid
pile of burrs!"
"Yes, we must go; yonder comes Katy for us. Good-evening, sir."
"Good-evening, my little friend. Some of these days I shall come to
the asylum to see you all, and have you sing that song again."
She made no reply, but, catching her sister's hand, walked rapidly
homeward. Katy delivered Mrs. Williams' message, and assured Beulah
she must make haste, for Miss Dorothy was displeased that the
children were absent.
"What! is she there again, the hateful--"
Beulah's hand was over Claudia's mouth, and prevented the remainder
of the sentence. That short walk was painful, and conflicting hopes
and fears chased each other in the sister's heart, as she tightened
her hold on Lilly's hand.
"Oh, what a beautiful carriage!" cried Claudia, as they approached
the door, and descried an elegant carriage, glittering with silver
mountings, and drawn by a pair of spirited black horses.
"Yes, that it is, and there is a lady and gentleman here who must
be very rich, judging from their looks. They brought Miss White."
"What do they want, Katy?" asked Claudia.
"I don't know for certain, though I have my own thoughts," answered
the girl, with a knowing laugh that grated on Beulah's ears.
"Here, Beulah, bring them to the dormitory," said Mrs. Williams,
meeting them at the door and hurrying them upstairs. She hastily
washed Claudia's face and recurled her hair, while the same offices
were performed for Lillian by her sister.
"Don't rub my hand so hard; you hurt," cried out Claudia sharply, as
in perfect silence, and with an anxious countenance, the kind matron
dressed her.
"I only want to get it white and clean, beauty," was the
conciliatory reply.
"Well, I tell you that won't come off, because it's turpentine,"
retorted the self-willed little elf.
"Come, Beulah; bring Lilly along. Miss White is out of patience."
"What does all this mean?" said Beulah, taking her sister's hand.
"Don't ask me, poor child." As she spoke the good woman ushered the
trio into the reception room. None of the other children were
present. Beulah noted this circumstance, and, drawing a long breath,
looked around.
Miss White was eagerly talking to a richly dressed and very pretty
woman, while a gentleman stood beside them, impatiently twirling his
seal and watch-key.
All looked up, and Miss White exclaimed:
"Here they are! Now my dear Mrs. Grayson, I rather think you can be
suited. Come here, little ones." She drew Claudia to her side, while
Lilly clung closer to her sister.
"Oh, what beauties! Only look at them, Alfred!" Mrs. Grayson glanced
eagerly from one to the other.
"Very pretty children, indeed, my dear. Extremely pretty;
particularly the black-eyed one," answered her husband, with far
less ecstasy.
"I don't know; I believe I admire the golden-haired one most. She is
a perfect fairy. Come here, my love, and let me talk to you,"
continued she, addressing Lilly. The child clasped her sister's
fingers more firmly, and did not advance an inch.
"Do not hold her, Beulah. Come to the lady, Lillian," said Miss
White. As Beulah gently disengaged her hand, she felt as if the
anchor of hope had been torn from her hold; but, stooping down, she
whispered:
"Go to the lady, Lilly darling; I will not leave you."
Thus encouraged, the little figure moved slowly forward, and paused
in front of the stranger. Mrs. Grayson took her small, white hands
tenderly, and, pressing a warm kiss on her lips, said in a kind,
winning tone:
"What is your name, my dear?"
"Lillian, ma'am; but sister calls me Lilly."
"Who is 'sister'--little Claudia here?"
"Oh, no; sister Beulah." And the soft blue eyes turned lovingly
toward that gentle sister.
"Good Heavens, Alfred; how totally unlike! This is one of the most
beautiful children I have ever seen, and that girl yonder is ugly,"
said the lady, in an undertone to her husband, who was talking to
Claudia. It was said in a low voice, but Beulah heard every
syllable, and a glow of shame for an instant bathed her brow.
Claudia heard it too, and, springing from Mr. Grayson's knee, she
exclaimed angrily:
"She isn't ugly, any such thing; she is the smartest girl in the
asylum, and I love her better than anybody in the world."
"No, Beulah is not pretty, but she is good, and that is far better,"
said the matron, laying her trembling hand on Beulah's shoulder. A
bitter smile curled the girl's lips, but she did not move her eyes
from Lillian's face.
"Fanny, if you select that plain-spoken little one you will have
some temper to curb," suggested Mr. Grayson, somewhat amused by
Claudia's burst of indignation.
"Oh, my dear husband, I must have them both. Only fancy how lovely
they will be, dressed exactly alike. My little Lilly, and you
Claudia, will you come and be my daughters? I shall love you very
much, and that gentleman will be your papa. He is very kind. You
shall have big wax dolls, as high as your heads, and doll-houses,
and tea-sets, and beautiful blue and pink silk dresses, and every
evening I shall take you out to ride in my carriage. Each of you
shall have a white hat, with long, curling feathers. Will you come
and live with me, and let me be your mamma?"
Beulah's face assumed an ashen hue, as she listened to these coaxing
words. She had not thought of separation; the evil had never
presented itself in this form, and, staggering forward, she clutched
the matron's dress, saying hoarsely:
"Oh, don't separate us! Don't let them take Lilly from me! I will do
anything on earth, I will work my hands off. Oh, do anything, but
please, oh, please, don't give Lilly up. My own darling Lilly."
Claudia here interrupted: "I should like to go well enough, if you
will take Beulah too. Lil, are you going?"
"No, no." Lillian broke away from the stranger's clasping arm and
rushed toward her sister; but Miss White sat between them, and,
catching the child, she firmly, though very gently, held her back.
Lilly was very much afraid of her, and, bursting into tears, she
cried imploringly:
"Oh, sister! take me, take me!"
Beulah sprang to her side, and said, almost fiercely: "Give her to
me; she is mine, and you have no right to part us." She extended her
arms toward the little form struggling to reach her.
"The managers have decided that it is for the child's good that Mrs.
Grayson should adopt her. We dislike very much to separate sisters,
but it cannot be avoided; whole families can't be adopted by one
person, and you must not interfere. She will soon be perfectly
satisfied away from you, and instead of encouraging her to be
rebellious, you ought to coax her to behave and go peaceably,"
replied Miss White, still keeping Beulah at arm's length.
"You let go Lilly, you hateful, ugly, old thing you! She shan't go
if she don't want to? She does belong to Beulah," cried Claudia,
striding up and laying her hand on Lilly's arm.
"You spoiled, insolent little wretch!" muttered Miss White,
crimsoning to the roots of her fiery hair.
"I am afraid they will not consent to go. Fanny, suppose you take
Claudia; the other seems too reluctant," said Mr. Grayson, looking
at his watch.
"But I do so want that little blue-eyed angel. Cannot the matron
influence her?" She turned to her as she spoke. Thus appealed to,
Mrs. Williams took the child in her arms, and caressed her tenderly.
"My dear little Lilly, you must not cry and struggle so. Why will
you not go with this kind lady? She will love you very much."
"Oh, I don't want to!" sobbed she, pressing her wet cheeks against
the matron's shoulder.
"But, Lilly love, you shall have everything you want. Kiss me, like
a sweet girl, and say you will go to my beautiful home. I will give
you a cage full of the prettiest canary birds you ever looked at.
Don't you love to ride? My carriage is waiting at the door. You and
Claudia will have such a nice time." Mrs. Grayson knelt beside her,
and kissed her tenderly; still she clung closer to the matron.
Beulah had covered her face with her hands, and stood trembling like
a weed bowed before the rushing gale. She knew that neither
expostulation nor entreaty would avail now, and she resolved to bear
with fortitude what she could not avert. Lifting her head, she said
slowly:
"If I must give up my sister, let me do so as quietly as possible.
Give her to me; then perhaps she will go more willingly. Do not
force her away! Oh, do not force her!"
As she uttered these words her lips were white and cold, and the
agonized expression of her face made Mrs. Grayson shiver.
"Lilly, my darling! My own precious darling!" She bent over her
sister, and the little arms clasped her neck tightly, as she lifted
and bore her back to the dormitory.
"You may get their clothes ready, Mrs. Williams. Rest assured, my
dear Mrs. Grayson, they will go now without any further difficulty.
Of course we dislike to separate sisters, but it can't be helped
sometimes. If you like, I will show you over the asylum while the
children are prepared." Miss White led the way to the schoolroom.
"I am very dubious about that little one. Fanny, how will you ever
manage two such dispositions, one all tears and the other all fire
and tow?" said Mr. Grayson.
"A truce to your fears, Alfred. We shall get on charmingly after the
first few days. How proud I shall be with such jewels!" Beulah sat
down on the edge of the blue-curtained bed, and drew her idol close
to her heart. She kissed the beautiful face, and smoothed the golden
curls she had so long and so lovingly arranged, and, as the child
returned her kisses, she felt as if rude hands were tearing her
heart-strings loose. But she knew she must give her up. There was no
effort within her power which could avail to keep her treasure, and
that brave spirit nerved itself. Not a tear dimmed her eye, not a
sob broke from her colorless lips.
"Lilly, my own little sister, you must not cry any more. Let me wash
your face; you will make your head ache if you cry so."
"Oh, Beulah! I don't want to go away from you."
"My darling, I know you don't; but you will have a great many things
to make you happy, and I shall come to see you as often as I can. I
can't bear to have you go, either; but I cannot help it, and I want
you to go quietly, and be so good that the lady will love you."
"But to-night, when I go to bed, you will not be there to hear me
say my prayers. Oh, sister! why can't you go?"
"They do not want me, my dear Lilly; but you can kneel down and say
your prayers, and God will hear you just as well as if you were here
with me, and I will ask Him to love you all the more, and take care
of you--"
Here a little arm stole round poor Beulah's neck, and Claudia
whispered with a sob:
"Will you ask Him to love me too?"
"Yes, Claudy; I will."
"We will try to be good. Oh, Beulah--I love you so much, so very
much!" The affectionate child pressed her lips repeatedly to
Beulah's bloodless cheek.
"Claudy, if you love me, you must be kind to my little Lilly. When
you see that she is sad, and crying for me, you must coax her to be
as contented as possible, and always speak gently to her. Will you
do this for Beulah?"
"Yes, that I will! I promise you I will, and, what is more, I will
fight for her! I boxed that spiteful Charley's ears the other day
for vexing her, and I will scratch anybody's eyes out that dares to
scold her. This very morning I pinched Maggie black and blue for
bothering her, and I tell you I shall not let anybody impose on
her." The tears dried in her brilliant eyes, and she clinched her
little fist with an exalted opinion of her protective powers.
"Claudy, I do not ask you to fight for her; I want you to love her.
Oh, love her! always be kind to her," murmured Beulah.
"I do love her better than anything in the world, don't I, Lilly
dear!" She softly kissed one of the child's hands.
At this moment the matron entered, with a large bundle neatly
wrapped. Her eyes were red, and there were traces of tears on her
cheek. Looking tenderly down upon the trio, she said very gently:
"Come, my pets; they will not wait any longer for you. I hope you
will try to be good, and love each other, and Beulah shall come to
see you." She took Claudia's hand and led her down the steps. Beulah
lifted her sister, and carried her in her arms, as she had done from
her birth, and at every step kissed her lips and brow.
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson were standing at the front door; they both
looked pleased, as Lilly had ceased crying, and the carriage door
was opened to admit them.
"Ah, my dears, now for a nice ride; Claudia, jump in," said Mr.
Grayson, extending his hand to assist her. She paused, kissed her
kind matron, and then approached Beulah. She could not bear to leave
her, and, as she threw her arms around her, sobbed out:
"Good-by, dear, good Beulah. I will take care of Lilly. Please love
me, and ask God for me too." She was lifted into the carriage with
tears streaming over her face.
Beulah drew near to Mrs. Grayson, and said in a low but imploring
tone:
"Oh, madam, love my sister, and always speak affectionately to her,
then she will be good and obedient. I may come to see her often, may
I not?"
"Certainly," replied the lady, in a tone which chilled poor Beulah's
heart. She swallowed a groan of agony, and, straining the loved one
to her bosom, pressed her lips to Lilly's.
"God bless my little sister, my darling, my all!" She put the child
in Mr. Grayson's extended arms, and only saw that her sister looked
back appealingly to her. Miss White came up and said something which
she did not hear, and, turning hastily away, she went up to the
dormitory, and seated herself on Lilly's vacant bed. The child knew
not how the hours passed; she sat with her face buried in her hands,
until the light of a candle flashed into the darkened chamber, and
the kind voice of the matron fell on her ear.
"Beulah, will you try to eat some supper? Do, dear."
"No, thank you, I don't want anything."
"Poor child, I would have saved you all this had it been in my
power; but, when once decided by the managers, you know I could not
interfere. They disliked to separate you and Lily, but thought that,
under the circumstances, it was the best arrangement they could
make. Beulah, I want to tell you something, if you will listen to
me." She seated herself on the edge of the bed, and took one of the
girl's hands between both hers.
"The managers think it is best that you should go out and take a
situation. I am sorry I am forced to give you up, very sorry, for
you have always been a good girl, and I love you dearly; but these
things cannot be avoided, and I hope all will turn out for the best.
There is a place engaged for you, and Miss White wishes you to go
to-morrow. I trust you will not have a hard time. You are to take
care of an infant, and they will give you six dollars a month
besides your board and clothes. Try to do your duty, child, and
perhaps something may happen which will enable you to turn teacher."
"Well, I will do the best I can. I do not mind work, but then Lilly-
-" Her head went down on her arms once more.
"Yes, dear, I know it is very hard for you to part with her; but
remember, it is for her good. Mr. Grayson is very wealthy, and of
course Lilly and Claudy will have--"
"And what is money to my--" Again she paused abruptly.
"Ah, child, you do not begin to know! Money is everything in this
world to some people, and more than the next to other poor souls.
Well, well, I hope it will prove for the best as far as you are
concerned. It is early yet, but maybe you had better go to bed, as
you are obliged to leave in the morning."
"I could not sleep."
"God will help you, dear child, if you try to do your duty. All of
us have sorrows, and if yours have begun early, they may not last
long. Poor little thing, I shall always remember you in my prayers."
She kissed her gently, and left her, hoping that solitude would
soothe her spirits. Miss White's words rang in the girl's ears like
a knell. "She will soon be perfectly satisfied away from you."
Would she? Could that idolized sister learn to do without her, and
love her new friends as fondly as the untiring one who had cradled
her in her arms for six long years? A foreboding dread hissed
continually, "Do you suppose the wealthy and fashionable Mrs.
Grayson, who lives in that elegant house on ---- street, will suffer
her adopted daughter to associate intimately with a hired nurse?"
Again the light streamed into the room. She buried her face deeper
in her apron.
"Beulah," said a troubled, anxious voice.
"Oh, Eugene!" She sprang up with a dry sob, and threw herself into
his arms.
"I know it all, dear Beulah; but come down to Mrs. Williams' room;
there is a bright fire there, and your hands are as cold as ice. You
will make yourself sick sitting here without even a shawl around
you." He led her downstairs to the room occupied by the matron, who
kindly took her work to the dining room, and left them to talk
unrestrainedly.
"Sit down in this rocking-chair and warm your hands."
He seated himself near her, and as the firelight glowed on the faces
of both, they contrasted strangely. One was classical and full of
youthful beauty, the other wan, haggard, and sorrow-stained. He
looked about sixteen, and promised to become a strikingly handsome
man, while the proportions of his polished brow indicated more than
ordinary intellectual endowments. He watched his companion
earnestly, sadly, and, leaning forward, took one of her hands.
"Beulah, I see from your face that you have not shed a single tear.
I wish you would not keep your sorrow so pent up in your heart. It
grieves me to see you look as you do now."
"Oh, I can't help it! If it were not for you I believe I should die,
I am so very miserable. Eugene, if you could have seen our Lilly
cling to me, even to the last moment. It seems to me my heart will
break." She sank her weary head on his shoulder.
"Yes, darling, I know you are suffering very much; but remember that
'all things work together for good to them that love God.' Perhaps
he sees it is best that you should give her up for a while, and if
so, will you not try to bear it cheerfully, instead of making
yourself sick with useless grief?" He gently smoothed the hair from
her brow as he spoke. She did not reply. He did not expect that she
would, and continued in the same kind tone:
"I am much more troubled about your taking this situation. If I had
known it earlier I would have endeavored to prevent it; but I
suppose it cannot be helped now, for a while at least."
"As soon as possible I am determined you shall go to school; and
remember, dear Beulah, I am just as much grieved at your sorrows as
you are. In a few years I shall have a home of my own, and you shall
be the first to come to it. Never mind these dark, stormy days. Do
you remember what our minister said in his sermon last Sunday? 'The
darkest hour is just before daybreak.' Already I begin to see the
'silver lining' of clouds that a few years, or even months ago,
seemed heavy and cheerless. I have heard a great deal about the ills
and trials of this world, but I think a brave, hopeful spirit will
do much toward remedying the evil. For my part, I look forward to
the time when you and I shall have a home of our own, and then Lilly
and Claudy can be with us. I was talking to Mrs. Mason about it
yesterday; she loves you very much. I dare say all will be right; so
cheer up, Beulah, and do look on the bright side."
"Eugene, you are the only bright side I have to look on. Sometimes I
think you will get tired of me, and if you ever do I shall want to
die. Oh, how could I bear to know you did not love me!" She raised
her head and looked earnestly at his noble face.
Eugene laughingly repeated her words.
"Get tired of you, indeed--not I, little sister."
"Oh, I forgot to thank you for your book. I like it better than
anything I ever read. Some parts are so beautiful--so very grand. I
keep it in my basket, and read every moment I can spare."
"I knew you would like it, particularly 'Excelsior.' Beulah, I have
written 'excelsior' on my banner, and I intend, like that noble
youth, to press forward over every obstacle, mounting at every step,
until I, too, stand on the highest pinnacle, and plant my banner
where its glorious motto shall float over the world. That poem stirs
my very soul like martial music, and I feel as if I should like to
see Mr. Longfellow, to tell him how I thank him for having written
it. I want you to mark the passages you like best; and, now I think
of it, here is a pencil I cut for you to-day."
He drew it from his pocket and put it into her hand, while his face
glowed with enthusiasm.
"Thank you, thank you." Grateful tears sprang to her eyes; tears
which acute suffering could not wring from her. He saw the gathering
drops, and said gayly:
"If that is the way you intend to thank me I shall bring you no more
pencils. But you look very pale, and ought to be asleep, for I have
no doubt to-morrow will be a trying day for you. Do exert yourself
to be brave, and bear it all for a little while; I know it will not
be very long, and I shall come and see you just as often as
possible."
He rose as he spoke.
"Are you obliged to go so soon? Can't you stay with me a little
longer?" pleaded Beulah.
The boy's eyes filled as he looked at the beseeching, haggard face,
and he answered hastily:
"Not to-night, Beulah; you must go to sleep--you need it sadly."
"You will be cold walking home. Let me get you a shawl."
"No, I left my overcoat in the hall--here it is."
She followed him out to the door, as he drew it on and put on his
cap. The moonlight shone over the threshold, and he thought she
looked ghostly as it fell upon her face. He took her hand, pressed
it gently, and said:
"Good-night, dear Beulah."
"Good-by, Eugene. Do come and see me again, soon."
"Yes, I will. Don't get low-spirited as soon as I am out of sight,
do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear; I will try not to complain. Walk fast and keep warm."
She pressed his hand affectionately, watched his receding form as
long as she could trace its outline, and then went slowly back to
the dormitory. Falling on her knees by the side of Lilly's empty
couch, she besought God, in trembling accents, to bless her "darling
little sister and Claudy," and to give her strength to perform all
her duties contentedly and cheerfully.