"Shall I make your tea now?"

"Yes; and remember, Beulah, I shall expect you to make it every evening at this hour. Breakfast and dinner I take with my sister and Pauline in the dining room, but my evenings are always spent here.

There, make another cup for yourself."

A long silence ensued. Dr. Hartwell seemed lost in reverie, for he sat with his eyes fixed on the tablecloth, and his head resting on his hand. His features resumed their habitual expression of stern rigidity, and as Beulah looked at him she could scarcely believe that he was the same kind friend who had been so gentle and fatherly in his manner. Intuitively she felt then that she had to deal with a chaotic, pa.s.sionate, and moody nature, and, as she marked the knitting of his brows and the iron compression of his lips, her heart was haunted by grave forebodings. While she sat pondering his haughty, impenetrable appearance, a servant entered.

"Sir, there is a messenger at the door."

His master started slightly, pushed away his cup, and said:

"Is the buggy ready?"

"Yes, sir; waiting at the door--"

"Very well; I am coming."

The windows opened down to the floor, and led into a vine-covered piazza. He stepped up to one and stood a moment, as if loath to quit his sanctum; then, turning round, addressed Beulah:

"Ah, child, I had almost forgotten you. It is time you were asleep.

Do you know the way back to your room?"

"I can find it," said she, rising from the table.

"Good-night; let me see you at breakfast if you feel strong enough to join us."

He opened the door for her, and, hurrying out, Beulah found her own room without difficulty. Walking up to Harriet, whom she saw waiting for her, she said in a grave, determined manner:

"You have been very kind to me since I came here, and I feel grateful to you; but I have not been accustomed to have someone always waiting on me, and in future I shall not want you. I can dress myself without any a.s.sistance, so you need not come to me night and morning."

"I am obeying master's orders. He said I was to 'tend to you,"

answered Harriet, wondering at the independent spirit evinced by the newcomer.

"I do not want any tending, so you may leave me, if you please."

"Haven't you been here long enough to find out that you might as well fight the waves of the sea as my master's will? Take care, child, how you begin to countermand his orders, for I tell you now there are some in this house who will soon make it a handle to turn you out into the world again. Mind what I say."

"Do you mean that I am not wanted here?"

"I mean, keep your eyes open." Harriet vanished in the dark pa.s.sage, and Beulah locked the door, feeling that now she was indeed alone, and could freely indulge the grief that had so long sought to veil itself from curious eyes. Yet there was no disposition to cry. She sat down on the bed and mused on the strange freak of fortune which had so suddenly elevated the humble nurse into the possessor of that elegantly furnished apartment. There was no elation in the quiet wonder with which she surveyed the change in her position. She did not belong there, she had no claim on the master of the house, and she felt that she was trespa.s.sing on the rights of the beautiful Pauline. Rapidly plans for the future were written in firm resolve.

She would thankfully remain under the roof that had so kindly sheltered her, until she could qualify herself to teach. She would ask Dr. Hartwell to give her an education, which, once obtained, would enable her to repay its price. To her proud nature there was something galling in the thought of dependence, and, throwing herself on her knees for the first time in several weeks, she earnestly besought the G.o.d of orphans to guide and a.s.sist her.

CHAPTER IX.

"Do you wish her to commence school at once?"

"Not until her wardrobe has been replenished. I expect her clothes to be selected and made just as Pauline's are. Will you attend to this business, or shall I give directions to Harriet?"

"Certainly, Guy; I can easily arrange it. You intend to dress her just as I do Pauline?"

"As nearly as possible. Next week I wish her to begin school with Pauline, and Hansell will give her music lessons. Be so good as to see about her clothes immediately."

Dr. Hartwell drew on his gloves and left the room. His sister followed him to the door, where his buggy awaited him.

"Guy, did you determine about that little affair for Pauline? She has so set her heart on it."

"Oh, do as you please, May; only I am--"

"Stop, Uncle Guy! Wait a minute. May I have a birthday party? May I?" Almost out of breath, Pauline ran up the steps; her long hair floating over her face, which exercise had flushed to crimson.

"You young tornado! Look how you have crushed that cl.u.s.ter of heliotrope, rushing over the flower-beds as if there were no walks."

He pointed with the end of his whip to a drooping spray of purple blossoms.

"Yes; but there are plenty more. I say, may I?--may I?" She eagerly caught hold of his coat.

"How long before your birthday?"

"Just a week from to-day. Do, please, let me have a frolic!"

"Poor child! you look as if you needed some relaxation," said he, looking down into her radiant face, with an expression of mock compa.s.sion.

"Upon my word, Uncle Guy, it is awfully dull here. If it were not for Charon and Mazeppa I should be moped to death. Do, pray, don't look at me as if you were counting the hairs in my eyelashes. Come, say yes: do, Uncle Guy."

"Take your hands off of my coat, and have as many parties as you like, provided you keep to your own side of the house. Don't come near my study with your Babel, and don't allow your company to demolish my flowers. Mind, not a soul is to enter the greenhouse.

The parlors are at your service, but I will not have a regiment of wildcats tearing up and down my greenhouse and flower garden; mind that." He stepped into his buggy.

"Bravo! I have won my wager, and got the party too! Hugh Cluis bet me a papier-mache writing-desk that you would not give me a party.

When I send his invitation I will write on the envelope 'the writing-desk is also expected.' Hey, shadow, where did you creep from?" She fixed her merry eyes on Beulah, who just then appeared on the terrace. Dr. Hartwell leaned from the buggy, and looked earnestly at the quiet little figure.

"Do you want anything, Beulah?"

"No, sir; I thought you had gone. May I open the gate for you?"

"Certainly, if you wish to do something for me." His pale features relaxed, and his whole face lighted up, like a sun-flushed cloud.

Beulah walked down the avenue, lined on either side with venerable poplars and cedars, and opened the large gate leading into the city.

He checked his horse, and said:

"Thank you, my child. Now, how are you going to spend the day?

Remember you commence with school duties next week; so make the best of your holiday."

"I have enough to occupy me to-day. Good-by, sir."

"Good-by, for an hour or so." He smiled kindly and drove on, while she walked slowly back to the house, wondering why smiles were such rare things in this world, when they cost so little, and yet are so very valuable to mourning hearts. Pauline sat on the steps with an open book in her hand. She looked up as Beulah approached, and exclaimed gayly: