She wondered whether Dr. Hartwell suspected this love. He was

remarkably quick-sighted, and men, as well as women, were very vain

and wont to give even undue weight to every circumstance which

flattered their self-love. She had long seen this partiality; would

not the object of it be quite as penetrating? Clara was very pretty;

nay, at times she was beautiful. If conscious of her attachment,

could he ever suffer himself to be influenced by it? No; impossible!

There were utter antagonisms of taste and temperament which rendered

it very certain that she would not suit him for a companion. Yet she

was very lovable. Beulah walked softly across the room and leaned

out of the window. An awful stillness brooded over the city.

"The moving moon went up the sky,

And nowhere did abide;

Softly she was going up,

And a star or two beside."

The soft beams struggled to pierce the murky air, dense with smoke

from the burning pitch. There was no tread on the pavement--all was

solemn as Death, who held such mad revel in the crowded graveyards.

Through the shroud of smoke she could see the rippling waters of the

bay, as the faint southern breeze swept its surface. It was a

desolation realizing all the horrors of the "Masque of the Red

Death," and as she thought of the mourning hearts in that silent

city, of Clara's danger and her own, Beulah repeated sadly those

solemn lines: "'Like clouds that rake the mountain summit,

Or waves that own no curbing hand,

How fast has brother followed brother,

From sunshine to the sunless land!'"

Clasping her hands, she added earnestly: "I thank thee, my Father! that the Atlantic rolls between Eugene and

this 'besom of destruction.'"

A touch on her shoulder caused her to look around, and her eyes

rested on her guardian. She started, but did not speak, and held out

her hand. He looked at her long and searchingly; his lip trembled,

and, instead of taking her offered hand, he passed his arm around

her and drew her to his bosom. She looked up with surprise; and,

bending his haughty head, he kissed her pale brow for the first

time. She felt then that she would like to throw her arms round his

neck and tell him how very glad she was to see him again--how

unhappy his sudden departure had made her; but a feeling she could

not pause to analyze prevented her from following the dictates of

her heart; and, holding her off, so as to scan her countenance, Dr.

Hartwell said: "How worn and haggard you look! Oh, child! your rash obstinacy has

tortured me beyond expression."




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