muttering as they rocked themselves to rest after the scourging of the tempest.  Gray clouds hung low, and scudded northward:  everything looked dull and gloomy.  She turned from the window and glanced around the room.  It was at all times a painful pleasure to come here, and now, particularly, the interior impressed her sadly.  Here were the paintings and statues she had long been so familiar with, and here, too, the melodeon which at rare intervals she opened.  The house was very quiet; not a sound came up from below; she raised the lid of the instrument, and played a plaintive prelude.  Echoes seven or eight years old suddenly fell on her ears; she had not heard one note of this air since she left Dr. Hartwell’s roof.  It was a favorite song of his; a German hymn he had taught her, and now after seven years she sang it.  It was a melancholy air, and, as her trembling voice rolled through the house, she seemed to live the old days over again.  But the words died away on her lips; she had overestimated her strength; she could not sing it.  The marble images around her, like ghosts of the past, looked mutely down at her grief.  She could not weep; her eyes were dry, and there was an intolerable weight on her heart.  Just before her stood the Niobe, rigid and woeful; she put her hands over her eyes, and drooped her face on the melodeon.  Gloom and despair crouched at her side, their gaunt hands tugging at the anchor of hope.  The wind rose and howled round the corners of the house; how fierce it might be on trackless seas, driving lonely barks down to ruin and strewing the main with ghastly upturned faces!  She shuddered and groaned.  It was a dark hour of trial, and she struggled desperately with the phantoms that clustered about her.  Then there came other sounds:  Charon’s shrill, frantic bark and whine of delight.  For years she had not heard that peculiar bark, and started up in wonder.  On the threshold stood a tall form, with a straw hat drawn down over the features; but Charon’s paws were on the shoulders and his whine of delight ceased not.  He fell down at his master’s feet and caressed them.  Beulah looked an instant, and sprang into the doorway, holding out her arms, with a wild, joyful cry.

“Come at last!  Oh, thank God!  Come at last!” Her face was radiant, her eyes burned, her glowing lips parted.

Leaning against the door, with his arms crossed over his broad chest, Dr. Hartwell stood, silently regarding her.  She came close to him, and her extended arms trembled; still he did not move, did not speak.

“Oh, I knew you would come; and, thank God, now you are here.  Come home at last!”

She looked up at him so eagerly; but he said nothing.  She stood an instant irresolute, then threw her arms around his neck and laid her head on his bosom, clinging closely to him.  He did not return the embrace, but looked down at the beaming face and sighed; then he put his hand softly on her head, and smoothed the rippling hair.  A brilliant smile broke over her features, as she felt the remembered touch of his fingers on her forehead, and she repeated in the low tones of deep gladness: