“Well, Guy.”

He started, and, turning from the window, approached her.

“May, I want a room arranged for this child as soon as possible. 
Will you see that a hot footbath is provided?  When it is ready, send
Harriet for her.”

His sister’s lips curled as she looked searchingly at the figure on the sofa, and said coldly: 

“What freak now, Guy?”

For a moment their eyes met steadily, and he smiled grimly.

“I intend to adopt that poor little orphan; that is all!”

“Where did you pick her up, at the hospital?” said she sneeringly.

“No, she has been hired as a nurse, at a boarding house.”  He folded his arms, and again they looked at each other.

“I thought you had had quite enough of protegees.”  She nervously clasped and unclasped her jet bracelet.

“Take care, May Ohilton!  Mark me.  Lift the pall from the past once more, and you and Pauline must find another home, another protector.  Now, will you see that a room is prepared as I directed?” He was very pale, and his eyes burned fiercely, yet his tone was calm and subdued.  Mrs. Chilton bit her lips and withdrew.  Dr. Hartwell walked up and down the room for a while, now and then looking sadly at the young stranger.  She sat just as he had placed her, with her hands over her face.  Kindly he bent down, and whispered: 

“Will you trust me, Beulah?”

She made no answer; but he saw her brow wrinkle, and knew that she shuddered.  The servant came in to say that the room had been arranged, as he had directed.  However surprised she might have been at this sudden advent of the simply clad orphan in her master’s study, there was not the faintest indication of it in her impenetrable countenance.  Not even the raising of an eyebrow.

“Harriet, see that her feet are well bathed; and, when she is in bed, come for some medicine.”

Then, drawing the hands from her eyes, he said to Beulah: 

“Go with her, my child.  I am glad I have you safe under my own roof, where no more cruel injustice can assail you.”

He pressed her hand kindly, and, rising mechanically, Beulah accompanied Harriet, who considerately supported the drooping form.  The room to which she was conducted was richly furnished, and lighted by an elegant colored lamp, suspended from the ceiling.  Mrs. Chilton stood near an armchair, looking moody and abstracted.  Harriet carefully undressed the poor mourner, and, wrapping a shawl about her, placed her in the chair, and bathed her feet.  Mrs. Chilton watched her with ill-concealed impatience.  When the little dripping feet were dried, Harriet lifted her, as if she had been an infant, and placed her in bed, then brought the medicine from the study, and administered a spoonful of the mixture.  Placing her finger on the girl’s wrist, she counted the rapid pulse, and, turning unconcernedly toward Mrs. Chilton, said: