spirits I ever knew; she is a consistent Christian.  When we were married, I watched her very closely.  I tell you, child, I hoped very much that I should find some glaring incongruity in her conduct which would have sanctioned my skepticism.  I was continually on the lookout for defects of character that might cast contempt on the religion she professed.  I did not expect her to prove so pure-hearted, unselfish, humble, and genuinely pious as I found her.  I do most sincerely revere such religion as hers.  Ah! if it were not so rare I should never have been so skeptical.  She has taught me that the precepts of the Bible do regulate the heart and purify the life; and to you, child, I will say, candidly, ’Almost she has persuaded me to be a Christian.’  Whatever of—­”

He said no more, for at this moment the door opened, and Mrs. Asbury entered.  She welcomed Beulah with a cordial sincerity, singularly soothing to the orphan’s heart, and, keeping her hand in a tight clasp, asked several questions, which her husband cut short by drawing her to his side.

“Where have you been straying to, madam?”

“Where you must stray to, sir, just as soon as you start out this evening on your round of visits.”

She softly smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead.  She was a noble-looking woman, with a tranquil countenance that betokened a serene, cloudless soul; and as she stood beside her husband, his eyes rested on her face with an expression bordering on adoration.  Beulah could not avoid wondering why such women were so very rare, and the thought presented itself with painful force, “If Cornelia Graham and I had had such mothers, we might both have been happier and better.”  Probably something of what crossed her mind crept into her countenance, for the doctor asked laughingly: 

“In the name of Venus! what are you screwing up your lips and looking so ugly about?”

“I suppose one reason is that I must go home.”  She rose, with a suppressed sigh.

“I am disposed to think it much more probable that you were envying me my wife.  Come, confess.”

“I was wishing that I had such a mother.”

With some sudden impulse she threw her arms round Mrs. Asbury’s neck, and hid her face on her shoulder.

“Then let me be your mother, my dear child,” said she, pressing the girl affectionately to her heart and kissing her pale cheek.

“Are you troubled about anything, my dear?” continued Mrs. Asbury, surprised at this manifestation of feeling in one usually so cold and reserved.

“An orphan heart mourns its dead idols,” answered Beulah, raising her hand and withdrawing from the kind arm that encircled her.  Mrs. Asbury interpreted a quick glance from her husband, and did not press the matter further; but, at parting, she accompanied Beulah to the front door, and earnestly assured her that if she could in any way advise or assist her she would consider it both a privilege and a pleasure to do so.  Returning to the library, she laid her soft hand on her husband’s arm, and said anxiously: