She was soon seated beside him in the buggy, and Mazeppa’s swift feet had borne them some distance from home ere either spoke.  The road ran near the bay, and while elegant residences lined one side, the other was bounded by a wide expanse of water, rippling, sparkling, glowing in the evening sunlight.  Small sail boats, with their gleaming canvas, dotted the blue bosom of the bay; and the balmy breeze, fresh from the gulf, fluttered the bright pennons that floated from their masts.  Beulah was watching the snowy wall of foam, piled on either side of the prow of a schooner, and thinking how very beautiful it was, when the buggy stopped suddenly, and Dr. Hartwell addressed a gentleman on horseback: 

“Percy, you may expect me; I am coming as I promised.”

“I was about to remind you of your engagement.  But, Guy, whom have you there?”

“My protegee I told you of.  Beulah, this is Mr. Lockhart.”

The rider reined his horse near her side, and, leaning forward as he raised his hat, their eyes met.  Both started visibly, and, extending his hand, Mr. Lockhart said eagerly: 

“Ah, my little forest friend!  I am truly glad to find you again.”

She shook hands very quietly, but an expression of pleasure stole over her face.  Her guardian observed it, and asked: 

“Pray, Percy, what do you know of her?”

“That she sings very charmingly,” answered his friend, smiling at Beulah.

“He saw me once when I was at the asylum,” said she,

“And was singing part of the regime there?”

“No, Guy.  She was wandering about the piney woods, near the asylum, with two beautiful elves, when I chanced to meet her.  She was singing at the time.  Beulah, I am glad to find you out again; and in future, when I pay the doctor long visits, I shall expect you to appear for my entertainment.  Look to it, Guy, that she is present.  But I am fatigued with my unusual exercise, and must return home.  Good-by, Beulah; shake hands.  I am going immediately to my room, Guy; so come as soon as you can.”  He rode slowly on, while Dr. Hartwell shook the reins, and Mazeppa sprang down the road again.  Beulah had remarked a great alteration in Mr. Lockhart’s appearance; he was much paler, and bore traces of recent and severe illness.  His genial manner and friendly words had interested her, and, looking up at her guardian, she said timidly: 

“Is he ill, sir?”

“He has been, and is yet quite feeble.  Do you like him?”

“I know nothing of him, except that he spoke to me one evening some months ago.  Does he live here, sir?”

“No; he has a plantation on the river, but is here on a visit occasionally.  Much of his life has been spent in Europe, and thither he goes again very soon.”

The sun had set.  The bay seemed a vast sheet of fire, as the crimson clouds cast their shifting shadows on its bosom; and, forgetting everything else, Beulah leaned out of the buggy, and said almost unconsciously: