“Thank you, sir, for remembering me so kindly, and supplying all my wants so—­”

“Beulah, there are tears on your lashes.  What is the matter?” interrupted the doctor, pointing to the drops which had fallen on the rosewood frame of the melodeon.

“Is it not enough to bring tears to my eyes when I think of all your kindness?” She hurried away without suffering him to urge the matter.

The prospect of hearing Sontag gave her exquisite pleasure, and she dressed with trembling eagerness, while Harriet leaned on the bureau and wondered what would happen next.  Except to attend church and visit Clara and Mrs. Williams, Beulah had never gone out before; and the very seclusion in which she lived rendered this occasion one of interest and importance.  As she took her cloak and ran downstairs the young heart throbbed violently.  Would her fastidious guardian be satisfied with her appearance?  She felt the blood gush over her face as she entered the room; but he did not look at her, continued to read the newspaper he held, and said, from behind the extended sheet: 

“I will join you directly.”

She poured out the tea with an unsteady hand.  Dr. Hartwell took his silently; and, as both rose from the table, handed her a paper, saying: 

“The carriage is not quite ready yet.  There is a programme.”

As she glanced over it he scanned her closely, and an expression of satisfaction settled on his features.  She wore a dark blue silk (one he had given her some weeks before), which exquisitely fitted her slender, graceful figure, and was relieved by a lace collar, fastened with a handsome cameo pin, also his gift.  The glossy black hair was brushed straight back from the face, in accordance with the prevailing style, and wound into a knot at the back of the head.  On either side of this knot she wore a superb white camellia, which contrasted well with the raven hair.  Her face was pale, but the expression was one of eager expectation.  As the carriage rattled up to the door he put his hand on her shoulder, and said: 

“You look very well to-night, my child.  Those white japonicas become you.”

She breathed freely once more.

At the door of the concert hall he gave her his arm, and, while the pressure of the crowd detained them a moment at the entrance, she clung to him with a feeling of dependence utterly new to her.  The din of voices, the dazzling glare of the gas-lights bewildered her, and she walked on mechanically, till the doctor entered his seat and placed her beside him.  The brilliant chandeliers shone down on elegant dresses, glittering diamonds, and beautiful women, and, looking forward, Beulah was reminded of the glowing descriptions in the “Arabian Nights.”  She observed that many curious eyes were bent upon her, and ere she had been seated five minutes more than one lorgnette was leveled at her.  Everybody knew Dr. Hartwell, and she saw him constantly returning the bows of recognition which assailed him from the ladies in their vicinity.  Presently he leaned his head on his hand, and she could not forbear smiling at the ineffectual attempts made to arrest his attention.  The hall was crowded, and, as the seats filled to their utmost capacity she was pressed against her guardian.  He looked down at her, and whispered: