The girl addressed looked at least sixteen years of age, and, rising promptly, she come forward and led Beulah to a seat at her desk, which was constructed for two persons. The touch of her fingers sent a thrill through Beulah's frame, and she looked at her very earnestly.

Clara Sanders was not a beauty in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but there was an expression of angelic sweetness and purity in her countenance which fascinated the orphan. She remarked the scrutiny of the young stranger, and, smiling good-humoredly, said, as she leaned over and arranged the desk:

"I am glad to have you with me, and dare say we shall get on very nicely together. You look ill."

"I have been ill recently and have not yet regained my strength. Can you tell me where I can find some water? I feel rather faint."

Her companion brought her a gla.s.s of water. She drank it eagerly, and, as Clara resumed her seat, said in a low voice:

"Oh, thank you! You are very kind."

"Not at all. If you feel worse you must let me know." She turned to her books and soon forgot the presence of the newcomer.

The latter watched her, and noticed now that she was dressed in deep mourning. Was she too an orphan, and had this circ.u.mstance rendered her so kindly sympathetic? The sweet, gentle face, with its soft, brown eyes, chained her attention, and in the shaping of the mouth there was something very like Lilly's. Soon Clara left her for recitation, and then she turned to the new books which madam had sent to her desk. Thus pa.s.sed the morning, and she started when the recess bell rang its summons through the long room. Bustle, chatter, and confusion ensued. Pauline called to her to come into lunchroom, and touched her little basket as she spoke, but Beulah shook her head and kept her seat. Clara also remained.

"Pauline is calling you," said she gently.

"Yes, I hear; but I do not want anything." And Beulah rested her head on her hands.

"Don't you feel better than you did this morning?"

"Oh, I am well enough in body; a little weak, that is all."

"You look quite tired. Suppose you lean your head against me and take a short nap?"

"You are very good indeed; but I am not at all sleepy."

Clara was engaged in drawing, and, looking on, Beulah became interested in the progress of the sketch. Suddenly a hand was placed over the paper, and a tall, handsome girl, with black eyes and sallow complexion, exclaimed sharply:

"For Heaven's sake, Clara Sanders, do you expect to swim into the next world on a piece of drawing-paper? Come over to my seat and work out that eighth problem for me. I have puzzled over it all the morning, and can't get it right."

"I can show you here quite as well." Taking out her Euclid, she found and explained the obstinate problem.

"Thank you! I cannot endure mathematics, but father is bent upon my being 'thorough,' as he calls it. I think it is all thorough nonsense. Now, with you it is very different; you expect to be a teacher, and of course will have to acquire all these branches; but for my part I see no use in it. I shall be rejoiced when this dull school-work is over."

"Don't say that, Cornelia; I think our school days are the happiest, and feel sad when I remember that mine are numbered."

Here the bell announced recess over, and Cornelia moved away to her seat. A trembling hand sought Clara's arm.

"Is that Cornelia Graham?"

"Yes. Is she not very handsome?"

Beulah made no answer; she only remembered that this girl was Eugene's adopted sister, and, looking after the tall, queenly form, she longed to follow her and ask all the particulars of the storm.

Thus ended the first dreaded day at school, and, on reaching home, Beulah threw herself on her bed with a low, wailing cry. The long- pent sorrow must have vent, and she sobbed until weariness sank her into a heavy sleep.

Far out in a billowy sea, strewed with wrecks, and hideous with the ghastly, upturned faces of floating corpses, she and Eugene were drifting--now clinging to each other--now tossed asunder by howling waves. Then came a glimmering sail on the wide waste of waters; a little boat neared them, and Lilly leaned over the side and held out tiny, dimpled hands to lift them in. They were climbing out of their watery graves, and Lilly's long, fair curls already touched their cheeks, when a strong arm s.n.a.t.c.hed Lilly back, and struck them down into the roaring gulf, and above the white faces of the drifting dead stood Mrs. Grayson, sailing away with Lilly struggling in her arms. Eugene was sinking and Beulah could not reach him; he held up his arms imploringly toward her, and called upon her to save him, and then his head with its wealth of silken, brown locks disappeared. She ceased to struggle; she welcomed drowning now that he had gone to rest among coral temples. She sank down--down. The rigid corpses were no longer visible. She was in an emerald palace, and myriads of rosy sh.e.l.ls paved the floors. At last she found Eugene reposing on a coral bank, and playing with pearls; she hastened to join him, and was just taking his hand when a horrible phantom, seizing him in its arms, bore him away, and, looking in its face, she saw that it was Mrs. Chilton. With a wild scream of terror, Beulah awoke. She was lying across the foot of the bed, and both hands were thrown up, grasping the post convulsively. The room was dark, save where the moonlight crept through the curtains and fell slantingly on the picture of Hope and the Pilgrims, and by that dim light she saw a tall form standing near her.

"Were you dreaming, Beulah, that you shrieked so wildly?"

The doctor lifted her up, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Oh, Dr. Hartwell, I have had a horrible, horrible dream!" She shuddered, and clung to him tightly, as if dreading it might still prove a reality.

"Poor child! Come with me, and I will try to exorcise this evil spirit which haunts even your slumbers."

Keeping her hand in his, he led her down to his study, and seated her on a couch drawn near the window. The confused sound of many voices and the tread of dancing feet, keeping time to a band of music, came indistinctly from the parlors. Dr. Hartwell closed the door, to shut out the unwelcome sounds, and, seating himself before the melodeon, poured a flood of soothing, plaintive melody upon the air. Beulah sat entranced, while he played on and on, as if unconscious of her presence. Her whole being was inexpressibly thrilled; and, forgetting her frightful vision, her enraptured soul hovered on the very confines of fabled elysium. Sliding from the couch, upon her knees, she remained with her clasped hands pressed over her heart, only conscious of her trembling delight. Once or twice before she had felt thus, in watching a gorgeous sunset in the old pine grove; and now, as the musician seemed to play upon her heart-strings, calling thence unearthly tones, the tears rolled swiftly over her face. Images of divine beauty filled her soul, and n.o.bler aspirations than she had ever known took possession of her.

Soon the tears ceased, the face became calm, singularly calm; then lighted with an expression which nothing earthly could have kindled.

It was the look of one whose spirit, escaping from gross bondage, soared into realms divine, and proclaimed itself G.o.d-born. Dr.

Hartwell was watching her countenance, and, as the expression of indescribable joy and triumph flashed over it, he involuntarily paused. She waited till the last deep echoing tone died away, and then, approaching him, as he still sat before the instrument, she laid her hand on his knee, and said slowly:

"Oh, thank you! I can bear anything now."

"Can you explain to me how the music strengthened you? Try, will you?"

She mused for some moments, and answered thoughtfully:

"First, it made me forget the pain of my dream; then it caused me to think of the wonderful power which created music; and then, from remembering the infinite love and wisdom of the Creator, who has given man the power to call out this music, I thought how very n.o.ble man was, and what he was capable of doing; and, at last, I was glad because G.o.d has given me some of these powers; and, though I am ugly, and have been afflicted in losing my dear loved ones, yet I was made for G.o.d's glory in some way, and am yet to be shown the work he has laid out for me to do. Oh, sir! I can't explain it all to you, but I do know that G.o.d will prove to me that 'He doeth all things well.'"

She looked gravely up into the face beside her, and sought to read its baffling characters. He had leaned his elbow on the melodeon, and his wax-like fingers were thrust through his hair. His brow was smooth, and his mouth at rest, but the dark eyes, with their melancholy splendor, looked down at her moodily. They met her gaze steadily; and then she saw into the misty depths, and a shudder crept over her, as she fell on her knees, and said shiveringly:

"Oh, sir, can it be?"

He put his hand on her head, and asked quietly:

"Can what be, child?"

"Have you no G.o.d?"

His face grew whiter than was his wont. A scowl of bitterness settled on it, and the eyes burned with an almost unearthly brilliance, as he rose and walked away. For some time he stood before the window, with his arms folded; and, laying her head on the stool of the melodeon, Beulah knelt just as he left her It has been said, "Who can refute a sneer?" Rather ask, Who can compute its ruinous effects. To that kneeling figure came the thought, "If he, surrounded by wealth and friends, and blessings, cannot believe in G.o.d, what cause have I, poor, wretched, and lonely, to have faith in him?" The bare suggestion of the doubt stamped it on her memory, yet she shrank with horror from the idea, and an eager, voiceless prayer ascended from her heart that she might be shielded from such temptations in future. Dr. Hartwell touched her, and said, in his usual low, musical tones:

"It is time you were asleep. Do not indulge in any more horrible dreams, if you please. Good-night, Beulah. Whenever you feel that you would like to have some music, do not hesitate to ask me for it."

He held open the door for her to pa.s.s out. She longed to ask him what he lived for, if eternity had no joys for him; but, looking in his pale face, she saw from the lips and eyes that he would not suffer any questioning, and, awed by the expression of his countenance, she said "Good-night," and hurried away. The merry hum of childish voices again fell on her ear, and as she ascended the steps a bevy of white-clad girls emerged from a room near, and walked on just below her. Pauline's party was at its height. Beulah looked down on the fairy gossamer robes, and gayly tripping girls, and then hastened to her own room, while the thought presented itself:

"Why are things divided so unequally in this world? Why do some have all of joy, and some only sorrow's br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup to drain?" But the sweet voice of Faith answered, "What I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter," and, trusting the promise, she was content to wait.

CHAPTER X.

"Cornelia Graham, I want to know why you did not come to my party.

You might at least have honored me with an excuse." Such was Pauline's salutation, the following day, when the girls gathered in groups about the schoolroom.

"Why, Pauline, I did send an excuse; but it was addressed to your mother, and probably she forgot to mention it. You must acquit me of any such rudeness."