The hours of gradual convalescence were very trying to Beulah, now that the sense of danger no longer nerved her to almost superhuman endurance and exertion.  Mr. Graham waited until his adopted son was able to sit up, and then returned to the watering-place where his wife remained.  Thus the entire charge of the invalid devolved on the tireless friends who had watched over him in the hour of peril.  Beulah had endeavored to banish the sorrow that pressed so heavily on her heart, and to dispel the gloom and despondency which seemed to have taken possession of the deserted husband.  She read, talked, sang to him, and constantly strove to cheer him by painting a future in which the past was to be effectually canceled.  Though well-nigh exhausted by incessant care and loss of sleep, she never complained of weariness, and always forced a smile of welcome to her lips when the’ invalid had his chair wheeled to her side, or tottered out into the dining room to join her.  One morning in August she sat on the little gallery at the rear of the house, with a table before her, engaged in drawing some of the clusters of blue, white, and pink convolvulus which festooned the pillars and balustrade.  Eugene sat near her, with his thin face leaning on his hand, his thoughts evidently far removed from flowers.  His arm was still in a sling, and he looked emaciated and dejected.  Mrs. Williams had been talking to him cheerfully about some money matters he had promised to arrange for her so soon as he was well enough to go to his office; but, gathering up her working materials, the old lady went into the kitchen, and the two sat for some time in silence.  One of his long-drawn sighs arrested Beulah’s attention, and she said kindly: 

“What is the matter, brother mine?  Are you tired of watching my clumsy fingers?  Shall I finish that essay of Macaulay’s you were so much interested in yesterday, or will you have another of Bryant’s poems?” She laid down her pencil, quite ready to divert his mind by reading.

“No; do not quit your drawing; I should not enjoy even Macaulay to-day.”

He threw his head back, and sighed again.

“Why, Eugene?  Don’t you feel as well as usual this morning?  Remember your family will arrive to-day; you should be the happiest man living.”

“Oh, Beulah! don’t mock me.  I cannot bear it.  My life seems a hopeless blank.”

“You ought not to talk so despondingly; you have everything to live for.  House your energies.  Be indeed a man.  Conquer this weak, repining spirit.  Don’t you remember the motto on the tombstone at St. Gilgen?

  “’Look not mournfully on the past—­it comes not back;
    Enjoy the present—­it is thine. 
    Go forth to meet the shadowy future
    With a manly heart, and without fear.’”