“I am not afraid; but this is only one garret room.  Are the others occupied?”

“Yes—­by carpets in summer and rats in winter,” laughed Annie.

“I suppose I may have a candle?” said Beulah, as the porter deposited her trunk and withdrew.

“Yes, this one is for you.  Ma is always uneasy about fire, so don’t set anything in a blaze to keep yourself warm.  Here, hold the light at the top of the steps till I get down to the next floor, then there is a hall-lamp.  Good-night.”

“Good-night.”  Beulah bolted the door, and surveyed her new apartment.  Certainly it was sufficiently cheerless, but its isolated position presented to her a redeeming feature.  Thought she, “I can sit up here, and read just as late as I please.  Oh!  I shall have so much time to myself these long, long nights.”  Unpacking her trunk, she hung her dresses on the hooks, placed the books Mrs. Mason and Eugene had given her on the table, and, setting the candle beside them, smiled in anticipation of the many treats in store for her.  She read several chapters in her Bible, and then, as her head ached and her eyes grew heavy, she sank upon her knees.  Ah! what an earnest, touching petition ascended to the throne of the Father; prayers, first for Lilly and Claudia, and lastly for herself.

“Help me, O Lord! not to be troubled and angry when I hear that I am so ugly; and make me remember that I am your child.”  Such was her final request, and she soon slept soundly, regardless of the fact that she was now thrown upon the wide, though not altogether cold or unloving, world.

CHAPTER IV.

Day after day passed monotonously, and, except a visit from Eugene, there was no link added to the chain which bound Beulah to the past.  That brief visit encouraged and cheered the lonely heart, yearning for affectionate sympathy, yet striving to hush the hungry cry and grow contented with its lot.  During the second week of her stay little Johnny was taken sick, and he had become so fond of his new attendant that no one else was permitted to hold him.  Often she paced the chamber floor for hours, lulling the fretful babe with softly sung tunes of other days, and the close observer, who could have peered at such times into the downcast eyes, might have easily traced in the misty depths memories that nestled in her heart’s sanctuary.  The infant soon recovered, and one warm, sunny afternoon, when Mrs. Martin directed Beulah to draw him in his wicker carriage up and down the pavement before the door, she could no longer repress the request which had trembled on her lips more than once, and asked permission to take her little charge to Mrs. Grayson’s.  A rather reluctant assent was given, and soon the carriage was drawn in the direction of Mr. Grayson’s elegant city residence.  A marvelous change came over the wan face of the nurse as she paused at the marble steps, guarded on either