“Oh, sir, can it be?”

He put his hand on her head, and asked quietly: 

“Can what be, child?”

“Have you no God?”

His face grew whiter than was his wont.  A scowl of bitterness settled on it, and the eyes burned with an almost unearthly brilliance, as he rose and walked away.  For some time he stood before the window, with his arms folded; and, laying her head on the stool of the melodeon, Beulah knelt just as he left her It has been said, “Who can refute a sneer?” Rather ask, Who can compute its ruinous effects.  To that kneeling figure came the thought, “If he, surrounded by wealth and friends, and blessings, cannot believe in God, what cause have I, poor, wretched, and lonely, to have faith in him?” The bare suggestion of the doubt stamped it on her memory, yet she shrank with horror from the idea, and an eager, voiceless prayer ascended from her heart that she might be shielded from such temptations in future.  Dr. Hartwell touched her, and said, in his usual low, musical tones: 

“It is time you were asleep.  Do not indulge in any more horrible dreams, if you please.  Good-night, Beulah.  Whenever you feel that you would like to have some music, do not hesitate to ask me for it.”

He held open the door for her to pass out.  She longed to ask him what he lived for, if eternity had no joys for him; but, looking in his pale face, she saw from the lips and eyes that he would not suffer any questioning, and, awed by the expression of his countenance, she said “Good-night,” and hurried away.  The merry hum of childish voices again fell on her ear, and as she ascended the steps a bevy of white-clad girls emerged from a room near, and walked on just below her.  Pauline’s party was at its height.  Beulah looked down on the fairy gossamer robes, and gayly tripping girls, and then hastened to her own room, while the thought presented itself: 

“Why are things divided so unequally in this world?  Why do some have all of joy, and some only sorrow’s brimming cup to drain?” But the sweet voice of Faith answered, “What I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter,” and, trusting the promise, she was content to wait.

CHAPTER X.

“Cornelia Graham, I want to know why you did not come to my party.  You might at least have honored me with an excuse.”  Such was Pauline’s salutation, the following day, when the girls gathered in groups about the schoolroom.

“Why, Pauline, I did send an excuse; but it was addressed to your mother, and probably she forgot to mention it.  You must acquit me of any such rudeness.”

“Well, but why didn’t you come?  We had a glorious time.  I have half a mind not to tell you what I heard said of you, but I believe you may have it second-hand.  Fred Vincent was as grum as a preacher all the evening, and when I asked him what on earth made him so surly and owlish, he said, ’It was too provoking you would not come, for no one else could dance the schottisch to his liking.’  Now there was a sweet specimen of manners for you!  You had better teach your beau politeness.”