For a moment their eyes met steadily, and he smiled grimly.

"I intend to adopt that poor little orphan; that is all!"

"Where did you pick her up, at the hospital?" said she sneeringly.

"No, she has been hired as a nurse, at a boarding house." He folded his arms, and again they looked at each other.

"I thought you had had quite enough of protegees." She nervously clasped and unclasped her jet bracelet.

"Take care, May Ohilton! Mark me. Lift the pall from the past once more, and you and Pauline must find another home, another protector.

Now, will you see that a room is prepared as I directed?" He was very pale, and his eyes burned fiercely, yet his tone was calm and subdued. Mrs. Chilton bit her lips and withdrew. Dr. Hartwell walked up and down the room for a while, now and then looking sadly at the young stranger. She sat just as he had placed her, with her hands over her face. Kindly he bent down, and whispered:

"Will you trust me, Beulah?"

She made no answer; but he saw her brow wrinkle, and knew that she shuddered. The servant came in to say that the room had been arranged, as he had directed. However surprised she might have been at this sudden advent of the simply clad orphan in her master's study, there was not the faintest indication of it in her impenetrable countenance. Not even the raising of an eyebrow.

"Harriet, see that her feet are well bathed; and, when she is in bed, come for some medicine."

Then, drawing the hands from her eyes, he said to Beulah:

"Go with her, my child. I am glad I have you safe under my own roof, where no more cruel injustice can a.s.sail you."

He pressed her hand kindly, and, rising mechanically, Beulah accompanied Harriet, who considerately supported the drooping form.

The room to which she was conducted was richly furnished, and lighted by an elegant colored lamp, suspended from the ceiling. Mrs.

Chilton stood near an armchair, looking moody and abstracted.

Harriet carefully undressed the poor mourner, and, wrapping a shawl about her, placed her in the chair, and bathed her feet. Mrs.

Chilton watched her with ill-concealed impatience. When the little dripping feet were dried, Harriet lifted her, as if she had been an infant, and placed her in bed, then brought the medicine from the study, and administered a spoonful of the mixture. Placing her finger on the girl's wrist, she counted the rapid pulse, and, turning unconcernedly toward Mrs. Chilton, said:

"Miss May, master says you need not trouble about the medicine. I am to sleep in the room and take care of this little girl."

"Very well. See that she is properly attended to, as my brother directed. My head aches miserably, or I should remain myself."

She glanced at the bed, and left the room. Harriet leaned over the pillow and examined the orphan's countenance. The eyes were closed, but scalding tears rolled swiftly over the cheeks, and the hands were clasped over the brow, as if to still its throbbings. Harriet's face softened, and she said kindly:

"Poor thing! what ails you? What makes you cry so?"

Beulah pressed her head closer to the pillow, and murmured:

"I am so miserable! I want to die, and G.o.d will not take me."

"Don't say that till you see whether you've got the scarlet fever.

If you have, you are likely to be taken pretty soon, I can tell you; and if you haven't, why, it's all for the best. It is a bad plan to fly in the Almighty's face that way, and tell him what he shall do and what he shan't."

This philosophic response fell unheeded on poor Beulah's ears, and Harriet was about to inquire more minutely into the cause of her grief, but she perceived her master standing beside her, and immediately moved away from the bed. Drawing out his watch, he counted the pulse several times. The result seemed to trouble him, and he stood for some minutes watching the motionless form.

"Harriet, bring me a gla.s.s of ice-water."

Laying his cool hand on the hot forehead of the suffering girl, he said tenderly:

"My child, try not to cry any more to-night. It is very bitter, I know; but remember that, though Lilly has been taken from you, from this day you have a friend, a home, a guardian."

Harriet proffered the gla.s.s of water. He took it, raised the head, and put the sparkling draught to Beulah's parched lips. Without unclosing her eyes, she drank the last crystal drop, and, laying the head back on the pillow, he drew an armchair before the window at the further end of the room, and seated himself.

CHAPTER VII.

Through quiet, woody dells roamed Beulah's spirit, and, hand in hand, she and Lilly trod flowery paths and rested beside clear, laughing brooks. Life, with its grim realities, seemed but a flying mist. The orphan hovered on the confines of eternity's ocean, and its silent waves almost laved the feet of the weary child. The room was darkened, and the summer wind stole through the blinds stealthily, as if awed by the solitude of the sick-chamber. Dr.

Hartwell sat by the low French bedstead, holding one emaciated hand in his, counting the pulse which bounded so fiercely in the blue veins. A fold of white linen containing crushed ice lay on her forehead, and the hollow cheeks and thin lips were flushed to vermilion hue. It was not scarlet, but brain fever, and this was the fifth day that the sleeper had lain in a heavy stupor. Dr. Hartwell put back the hand he held, and, stooping over, looked long and anxiously at the flushed face. The breathing was deep and labored, and, turning away, he slowly and noiselessly walked up and down the floor. To have looked at him then, in his purple silk robe de chambre, one would have scarcely believed that thirty years had pa.s.sed over his head. He was tall and broad-chested, his head ma.s.sive and well formed, his face a curious study. The brow was expansive and almost transparent in its purity, the dark, hazel eyes were singularly brilliant, while the contour of lips and chin was partially concealed by a heavy mustache and board. The first glance at his face impressed strangers by its extreme pallor, but in a second look they were fascinated by the misty splendor of the eyes.

In truth, those were strange eyes of Guy Hartwell's. At times, searching and glittering like polished steel; occasionally lighting up with a dazzling radiance, and then as suddenly growing gentle, hazy, yet luminous; resembling the clouded aspect of a star seen through a thin veil of mist. His brown, curling hair was thrown back from the face, and exposed the outline of the ample forehead.

Perhaps utilitarians would have carped at the feminine delicacy of the hands, and certainly the fingers were slender and marvelously white. On one hand he wore an antique ring, composed of a cameo snake-head set round with diamonds. A proud, gifted, and miserable man was Guy Hartwell, and his characteristic expression of stern sadness might easily have been mistaken by casual observers for bitter misanthropy.

I have said he was about thirty, and though the handsome face was repellently cold and grave, it was difficult to believe that that smooth, fair brow had been for so many years uplifted for the handwriting of time. He looked just what he was, a baffling, fascinating mystery. You felt that his countenance was a volume of hieroglyphics which, could you decipher, would unfold the history of a checkered and painful career. Yet the calm, frigid smile which sat on his lip, and looked out defiantly from his deep-set eyes, seemed to dare you to an investigation. Mere physical beauty cannot impart the indescribable charm which his countenance possessed. Regularity of features is a valuable auxiliary, but we look on sculptured marble, perfect in its chiseled proportions, and feel that, after all, the potent spell is in the raying out of the soul, that imprisoned radiance which, in some instances, makes man indeed but "little lower than the angels." He paused in his echoless tread, and sat down once more beside his protegee. She had not changed her position, and the long lashes lay heavily on the crimson cheeks. The parched lips were parted, and, as he watched her, she murmured aloud:

"It is so sweet, Lilly; we will stay here always." A shadowy smile crossed her face, and then a great agony seemed to possess her, for she moaned long and bitterly. He tried to arouse her, and, for the first time since the night she entered his house, she opened her eyes and gazed vacantly at him.

"Are you in pain, Beulah? Why do you moan so?"

"Eugene, I knew it would be so, when you left me."

"Don't you know me, Beulah?" He put his face close to hers.

"They killed her, Eugene! I told you they would; they are going to bury her soon. But the grave can't hide her; I am going down with her into the darkness--she would be frightened, you know." Making a great effort, she sat upright. Dr. Hartwell put a gla.s.s containing medicine to her lips; she shrank back and shuddered, then raised her hand for the gla.s.s, and, looking fixedly at him, said: "Did Mrs.

Grayson say I must take it? Is it poison that kills quickly? There; don't frown, Eugene, I will drink it all for you." She swallowed the draught with a shiver. He laid her back on her pillow and renewed the iced-cloth on her forehead; she did not move her burning eyes from his face, and the refreshing coolness recalled the sad smile.

"Are we on the Alps, Eugene? I feel dizzy; don't let me fall. There is a great chasm yonder. Oh, I know now; I am not afraid; Lilly is down there--come on." Her arms drooped to her side, and she slept again.

Evening shadows crept on; soon the room was dark. Harriet entered with a shaded lamp, but her master motioned her out, and, throwing open the blinds, suffered the pure moonlight to enter freely. The window looked out on the flower garden, and the mingled fragrance of roses, jasmines, honeysuckles, and dew-laden four-o'clocks enveloped him as in a cloud of incense. A balmy moonlight June night in our beautiful sunny South--who shall adequately paint its witchery? Dr.

Hartwell leaned his head against the window, and glanced down at the parterre he had so fondly fostered. The golden moonlight mellowed every object, and not the gorgeous pictures of Persian poets surpa.s.sed the quiet scene that greeted the master. The sh.e.l.led serpentine walks were bordered with low, closely clipped ca.s.sina hedges; cl.u.s.ters of white and rose oleander, scarlet geraniums, roses of countless variety, beds of verbena of every hue, and patches of brilliant annuals, all looked up smilingly at him. Just beneath the window the clasping tendrils of a clematis were wound about the pedestal of a marble Flora, and a cl.u.s.ter of the delicate purple blossoms peeped through the fingers of the G.o.ddess. Further off, a fountain flashed in the moonlight, murmuring musically in and out of its reservoir, while the diamond spray bathed the sculptured limbs of a Venus. The sea breeze sang its lullaby through the boughs of a luxuriant orange tree near, and silence seemed guardian spirit of the beautiful spot, when a whip-poor-will whirred through the air, and, perching on the snowy brow of the Aphrodite, began his plaintive night-hymn. In childhood Guy Hartwell had been taught by his nurse to regard the melancholy chant as ominous of evil; but as years threw their shadows over his heart, darkening the hopes of his boyhood, the sad notes of the lonely bird became gradually soothing, and now in the prime of life he loved to listen to the shy visitor, and ceased to remember that it boded ill. With an ardent love for the beautiful, in all its Protean phases, he enjoyed communion with nature as only an imaginative, aesthetical temperament can. This keen appreciation of beauty had been fostered by travel and study.

Over the vast studio of nature he had eagerly roamed; midnight had seen him gazing enraptured on the loveliness of Italian scenery, and found him watching the march of constellations from the lonely heights of the Hartz; while the thunder tones of awful Niagara had often hushed the tumults of his pa.s.sionate heart, and bowed his proud head in humble adoration. He had searched the storehouses of art, and collected treasures that kindled divine aspirations in his soul, and wooed him for a time from the cemetery of memory. With a nature so intensely aesthetical, and taste so thoroughly cultivated, he had, in a great measure, a.s.similated his home to the artistic beau ideal. Now as he stood inhaling the perfumed air, he forgot the little sufferer a few yards off--forgot that Azrail stood on the threshold, beckoning her to brave the dark floods; and, as his whole nature became permeated (so to speak) by the intoxicating beauty that surrounded him, he extended his arms, and exclaimed triumphantly:

"Truly thou art my mother, dear old earth! I feel that I am indeed nearly allied to thy divine beauty! Starry nights, and whispering winds, and fragrant flowers! yea, and even the breath of the tempest! all, all are parts of my being."

"Guy, there is a messenger waiting at the door to see you. Some patient requires prompt attendance." Mrs. Chilton stood near the window, and the moonlight flashed over her handsome face. Her brother frowned and motioned her away, but, smiling quietly, she put her beautifully molded hand on his shoulder, and said:

"I am sorry I disturbed your meditations, but if you will practice-- "

"Who sent for me?"

"I really don't know."

"Will you be good enough to inquire?"

"Certainly." She glided gracefully from the room.

The whip-poor-will flew from his marble perch, and, as the mournful tones died away, the master sighed, and returned to the bedside of his charge. He renewed the ice on her brow, and soon after his sister re-entered.

"Mr. Vincent is very sick, and you are wanted immediately."