“I do not wish you to make any deduction in my favor.  I will take the room at thirty dollars,” answered Beulah rather haughtily.

“Very well.  When will you want it?”

“Immediately.  Be kind enough to have it in readiness for me.  I shall come this afternoon.  Could you give me some window curtains?  I should like it better, if you could do so without much inconvenience.”

“Oh, certainly! they were taken down yesterday to be washed.  Everything shall be in order for you.”

It was too warm to walk home again, and Beulah called a carriage.  The driver had not proceeded far when a press of vehicles forced him to pause a few minutes.  They happened to stand near the post office, and, as Beulah glanced at the eager crowd collected in front, she started violently on perceiving her guardian.  He stood on the corner, talking to a gentleman of venerable aspect, and she saw that he looked harassed.  She was powerfully impelled to beckon him to her, and at least obtain a friendly adieu; but again pride prevailed.  He had deliberately left her, without saying good-by, and she would not force herself on his notice.  Even as she dropped her veil to avoid observation the carriage rolled on, and she was soon at Dr. Hartwell’s door.  Unwilling to reflect on the steps she had taken, she busied herself in packing her clothes and books.  On every side were tokens of her guardian’s constant interest and remembrance—­pictures, vases, and all the elegant appendages of a writing-desk.  At length the last book was stowed avay and nothing else remained to engage her.  The beautiful little Nuremberg clock on the mantel struck two, and, looking up, she saw the solemn face of Harriet, who was standing in the door.  Her steady, wondering gaze disconcerted Beulah, despite her assumed indifference.

“What is the meaning of all this commotion?  Hal says you ordered the carriage to be ready at five o’clock to take you away from here.  Oh, child! what are things coming to?  What will master say?  What won’t he say?  What are you quitting this house for, where you have been treated as well as if it belonged to you?  What ails you?”

“Nothing.  I have always intended to leave here as soon as I was able to support myself.  I can do so now, very easily, and am going to board.  Your master knows I intend to teach.”

“But he has no idea that you are going to leave here before he comes home, for he gave us all express orders to see that you had just what you wanted.  Oh, he will be in a tearing rage when he hears of it!  Don’t anger him, child!  Do, pray, for mercy’s sake, don’t anger him!  He never forgets anything!  When he once sets his head he is worse than David or the Philistines!  If he is willing to support you it is his own lookout.  He is able, and his money is his own.  His kin won’t get it.  He and his brother don’t speak; and as for Miss May! they never did get along in peace, even before he was married.  So, if he chooses to give some of his fortune to you, it is nobody’s business but his own; and you are mighty simple, I can tell you, if you don’t stay here and take it.”