To Beulah this blow was peculiarly severe, and never had the sense of her orphanage been more painfully acute than when she returned from the funeral to her lonely home.  But to sorrow her nature was inured; she had learned to bear grief, and only her mourning dress and subdued manner told how deeply she felt this trial.  Now she took Cornelia in her arms and kissed her fondly, while the child returned her caresses with a warmth which proved how sincerely she loved her.

“May I have some flowers, auntie?” cried she, patting Beulah’s pale cheek with her plump, dimpled hands.

“Yes; just as many as you can carry home.  Go gather some.”

She sprang off, and the two sat watching the flutter of her white dress among the flower-beds.  She piled her little apron as full as possible, and came back panting and delighted.  Beulah looked down at the beautiful beaming face, and, twining one of the silky curls over her finger, said musingly: 

“Eugene, she always reminds me of Lilly.  Do you see the resemblance?”

“Not in her features; in size and gay heedlessness of manner she is like Lilly as I saw her last.”

“Yes; Lilly’s eyes were blue, and your child’s are dark, like your own; but she never comes up and puts her arms round my neck without recalling bygone years.  I could shut my eyes and fancy my lost darling was once more mine.  Ah! how carefully memory gathers up the golden links of childhood and weaves the chain that binds our hearts to the olden time!  Sometimes I think I am only dreaming, and shall wake to a happy reality.  If I could have Lilly back, oh, what a sunshine it would shed over my heart and life!  But this may not be; and I can only love Cornelia instead.”

Her long, black lashes were weighed down with unshed tears, and there was a touching sadness in her low voice.  Cornelia stood by her side, busily engaged in dressing Beulah’s hair with some of the roses and scarlet geranium she had gathered.  She noticed the unusual melancholy written in the quiet face, and said impatiently: 

“With all my flowers you won’t look gay!  It must be this black dress.  Don’t wear such ugly, dark things; I wish you wouldn’t.  I want to see you look beautiful, like mother.”

“Cornelia, go and break that cluster of yellow berries yonder,” said her father; and when she had left them he turned to his companion and asked: 

“Beulah, have you reflected on what I said the last time I saw you?”

“Yes, Eugene.”

“With what result?”

“My former decision is only confirmed the more I ponder the subject.”

“You have seen nothing of Reginald, then?  He was here, on some legal business, last week.”

“No; he has been in the city several times during the last four years, but never comes here; and, except that one letter, which I did not answer, I have heard nothing from him.  I doubt whether we ever meet again.”