“Ah, yes! the doctor called to see me about you—­wants you to take the Latin course.  For the present, my dear, you will sit with Miss Sanders.  Clara, take this young lady with you.”

The girl addressed looked at least sixteen years of age, and, rising promptly, she come forward and led Beulah to a seat at her desk, which was constructed for two persons.  The touch of her fingers sent a thrill through Beulah’s frame, and she looked at her very earnestly.

Clara Sanders was not a beauty in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but there was an expression of angelic sweetness and purity in her countenance which fascinated the orphan.  She remarked the scrutiny of the young stranger, and, smiling good-humoredly, said, as she leaned over and arranged the desk: 

“I am glad to have you with me, and dare say we shall get on very nicely together.  You look ill.”

“I have been ill recently and have not yet regained my strength.  Can you tell me where I can find some water?  I feel rather faint.”

Her companion brought her a glass of water.  She drank it eagerly, and, as Clara resumed her seat, said in a low voice: 

“Oh, thank you!  You are very kind.”

“Not at all.  If you feel worse you must let me know.”  She turned to her books and soon forgot the presence of the newcomer.

The latter watched her, and noticed now that she was dressed in deep mourning.  Was she too an orphan, and had this circumstance rendered her so kindly sympathetic?  The sweet, gentle face, with its soft, brown eyes, chained her attention, and in the shaping of the mouth there was something very like Lilly’s.  Soon Clara left her for recitation, and then she turned to the new books which madam had sent to her desk.  Thus passed the morning, and she started when the recess bell rang its summons through the long room.  Bustle, chatter, and confusion ensued.  Pauline called to her to come into lunchroom, and touched her little basket as she spoke, but Beulah shook her head and kept her seat.  Clara also remained.

“Pauline is calling you,” said she gently.

“Yes, I hear; but I do not want anything.”  And Beulah rested her head on her hands.

“Don’t you feel better than you did this morning?”

“Oh, I am well enough in body; a little weak, that is all.”

“You look quite tired.  Suppose you lean your head against me and take a short nap?”

“You are very good indeed; but I am not at all sleepy.”

Clara was engaged in drawing, and, looking on, Beulah became interested in the progress of the sketch.  Suddenly a hand was placed over the paper, and a tall, handsome girl, with black eyes and sallow complexion, exclaimed sharply: 

“For Heaven’s sake, Clara Sanders, do you expect to swim into the next world on a piece of drawing-paper?  Come over to my seat and work out that eighth problem for me.  I have puzzled over it all the morning, and can’t get it right.”