“’Let me, then, be up and doing,
       With a heart for any fate,
      Still achieving, still pursuing,
       Learn to labor, and to wait!’”

“Yes, learn to labor and to wait.  The heart cries out fiercely for its recompense; is loath to wait.  But I can conquer even this.  I will be patient and hopeful.  Duty is its own recompense.”

Mrs. Asbury spared no exertion to make the orphan happy in her house.  She treated her with the gentle frankness which characterized her deportment toward her daughters; and to identify her with her own family, often requested her to assist in her household plans.  She thoroughly understood and appreciated Beulah’s nature, and perfect confidence existed between them.  It was no sooner known that Beulah was an inmate of the house than many persons, curious to see one of whom rumor spoke so flatteringly, availed themselves of the circumstance to make her acquaintance.  Almost unconsciously, she soon found herself the center of a circle of literary people whom she had often heard of, but had never known previously.  Gradually her reserve melted away, and her fine colloquial powers developed themselves; but she wearied of the visitors—­wearied even of the themes discussed, and, having passed her life in seclusion, found in solitude a degree of enjoyment which society could not confer.  Helen had married a planter, and resided at some distance from the city, but Georgia and her husband remained at home.  Thus, imperceptibly, time wore on.  Eugene often came and spent an hour with Beulah; and, still more frequently, Cornelia was sent to while away an evening with her merry prattle.  Very steadily Eugene advanced in his profession; the applause of the world cheered him on, and an enviable reputation was his at last.  Grasping ambition lured him, step by step; and it was evident that he aimed at a seat beside Reginald Lindsay.  Rejoiced at his entire reformation, and proud of his success, Beulah constantly encouraged his aspirations.  Antoinette was as gay and indifferent as ever, and Eugene divided his heart between his child and his ambition.

By a system of rigid economy in the disposal of her time, Beulah not only attended to her school duties, her music, and her books, but found leisure, after writing her magazine articles, to spend some time each day with the family under whose roof she resided.  Dr. Asbury’s health was rather feeble, and of late his eyes had grown so dim as to prevent his reading or writing.  This misfortune was to a great extent counterbalanced by his wife’s devoted attention, and often Beulah shared the duties of the library.  One bright Sunday afternoon she walked out to the cemetery, which she visited frequently.  In one corner of a small lot, inclosed by a costly iron railing, stood a beautiful marble monument, erected by Mr. Grayson over Lilly’s grave.  It represented two angels bearing the child up to its God.  Just opposite, in the next lot, was a splendid mausoleum of the finest