"Harriet, bring me a cup of strong coffee."

Dr. Hartwell had returned late in the afternoon of the second day,

and, travel-worn and weary, threw himself down on the sofa in his

study. There was a pale severity in his face which told that his

reflections during his brief absence had been far from pleasant, and

as he swept back the hair from his forehead, and laid his head on

the cushion, the whole countenance bespoke the bitterness of a proud

but miserable man. He remained for some time with closed eyes, and

when the coffee was served drank it without comment. Harriet busied

herself about the room, doing various unnecessary things, and

wondering why her master did not inquire concerning home affairs.

Finally, having exhausted every pretext for lingering, she coughed

very spasmodically once or twice, and, putting her hand on the knob

of the door, said deferentially: "Do you want anything else, sir? The bathroom is all ready."

"Has my sister been to the asylum?"

"No, sir."

"Go and arrange Beulah's room."

She retired; and, springing up, he paced the floor, striving to

master the emotion which so unwontedly agitated him. His lips

writhed, and the thin nostrils expanded, but he paused before the

melodeon, sat down and played several pieces, and gradually the

swollen veins on his brow lost their corded appearance, and the

mouth resumed its habitual compression. Then, with an exterior as

calm as the repose of death, he took his hat, and went toward the

parlor. Mr. Lockhart was reclining on one of the sofas, Pauline sat

on an ottoman near him, looking over a book of prints, and Mrs.

Chilton, tastefully attired, occupied the piano-stool. Witching

strains of music greeted her brother, as he stopped at the door and

looked in. In the mirror opposite she saw his image reflected, and

for an instant her heart beat rapidly; but the delicate fingers flew

over the keys as skillfully as before, and only the firm setting of

the teeth betokened the coming struggle. He entered, and, walking up

to the invalid, said cordially: "How are you, Percy? better, I hope." While one hand clasped his

friend's, the other was laid with brotherly freedom on the sick

man's head.

"Of course I am. There was no malady in Eden, was there? Verily,

Guy, in your delightful home, I am growing well again."

"Ah! so much for not possessing Ithuriel's spear. I am glad to find

you free from fever."

"Howd'y-do, uncle! Don't you see me?" said Pauline, reaching up her

hand.




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