entrance.  The great central gate was chained, but the little side gate was completely broken from its hinges, and lay on the ground.  Alas! this was but the beginning.  As she entered she saw, with dismay, that the yard was full of stray cattle.  Cows, sheep, goats browsed about undisturbed among the shrubbery which her guardian had tended so carefully.  She had not been here since he sold it; but even Charon saw that something was strangely amiss.  He bounded off, and soon cleared the inclosure of the herd which had become accustomed to grazing here.  Beulah walked slowly up the avenue; the aged cedars whispered hoarsely above her as she passed, and the towering poplars, whose ceaseless silvery rustle had an indescribable charm for her in summers past, now tossed their bare boughs toward her in mute complaining of the desolation which surrounded them.  The reckless indifference of tenants has deservedly grown into a proverb, and here Beulah beheld an exemplification of its truth.  Of all the choice shrubbery which it had been the labor of years to collect and foster; not a particle remained.  Hoses, creepers, bulbs—­all were destroyed, and only the trees and hedges were spared.  The very outline of the beds was effaced in many places, and, walking round the paved circle in front of the door, she paused abruptly at the desolation which greeted her.  Here was the marble basin of the fountain half filled with rubbish, as though it had been converted into a receptacle for trash, and over the whole front of the house the dark glossy leaves of the creeping ivy clung in thick masses.  She looked around on all sides, but only ruin and neglect confronted her.  She remembered the last time she came here, and recalled the beautiful Sunday morning when she saw her guardian standing by the fountain, feeding his pigeons.  Ah, how sadly changed!  She burst into tears, and sat down on the steps.  Charon ran about the yard for some time; then came back, looked up at the somber house, howled, and lay down at her feet.  Where was the old master?  Wandering among Eastern pagodas, while his home became a retreat for owls.

“He has forgotten us, Charon!  He has forgotten his two best friends--you and I—­who love him so well!  Oh, Charon, he has forgotten us!” cried she, almost despairingly.  Charon gave a melancholy groan of assent, and nestled closer to her.  Five years had gone since he left his native land, and, for once, her faith was faint and wavering.  But, after some moments, she looked up at the calm sky arching above her, and, wiping away her tears, added resignedly: 

“But he will come!  God will bring him home when he sees fit!  I can wait!  I can wait!”

Charon’s great, gleaming black eyes met hers wistfully; he seemed dubious of his master’s return.  Beulah rose, and he obeyed the signal.

“Come, Charon, it is getting late; but we will come back some day, and live here.”

It was dusk when she entered the library and found Mrs. Asbury discussing the political questions of the day with her husband.  She had just finished reading aloud one of Reginald’s Congressional speeches, and advocated it warmly, while the doctor reprobated some portion of his course.