"Yes; he has been nursing poor Tom Hamil, but he died about an hour
ago, and Hal is released. I look for Hartwell hourly. You do keep up
amazingly! Bless you, Beulah!" Wringing her hand, he descended the
stairs.
Re-entering the room Beulah sat down beside Clara, and taking one
burning hand in her cool palms, pressed it softly, saying in an
encouraging tone: "I feel so much relieved about Willie; he is a great deal better;
and I think Mrs. Hoyt's fever is abating. You were not taken so
severely as Willie, and if you will go to sleep quietly I believe
you will only have a light attack."
"Did those downstairs have black vomit?" asked Clara shudderingly.
"Lizzie had it; the others did not. Try not to think about it. Go to
sleep."
"What was that the doctor said about Dr. Hartwell? I could not hear
very well, you talked so low. Ah, tell me, Beulah."
"Only that he is coming home soon--that was all. Don't talk any
more."
Clara closed her eyes, but tears stole from beneath the lashes and
coursed rapidly down her glowing cheeks. The lips moved in prayer,
and her fingers closed tightly over those of her companion. Beulah
felt that her continued vigils and exertions were exhausting her.
Her limbs trembled when she walked, and there was a dull pain in her
head which she could not banish. Her appetite had long since
forsaken her, and it was only by the exertion of a determined will
that she forced herself to eat. She was warmly attached to Clara,
and the dread of losing this friend caused her to suffer keenly.
Occasionally she stole away to see the other sufferers, fearing that
when Mrs. Hoyt discovered Lizzie's death the painful intelligence
would seal her own fate. It was late at night. She had just returned
from one of these hasty visits, and, finding that Hal was as
attentive as anyone could be, she threw herself, weary and anxious,
into an armchair beside Clara's bed. The crimson face was turned
toward her, the parched lips parted, the panting breath labored and
irregular. The victim was delirious; the hazel eyes, inflamed and
vacant, rested on Beulah's countenance, and she murmured: "He will never know! Oh, no! how should he? The grave will soon shut
me in, and I shall see him no more--no more!" She shuddered and
turned away.
Beulah leaned her head against the bed, and, as a tear slid down
upon her hand, she thought and said with bitter sorrow: "I would rather see her the victim of death than have her drag out
an aimless, cheerless existence, rendered joyless by this hopeless
attachment!"