By the pale moonlight she could see that her master’s face was rigid as steel; but his voice was even calmer than usual when he asked:  “Are you sure she is now at the asylum?”

“Yes, sir; sure.”

“Very well; she is safe then for the present.  Does anyone know that you heard the conversation?”

“Not a soul, sir, except yourself.”

“Keep the matter perfectly quiet till I come home.  I shall be away a day, or perhaps longer.  Meantime, see that Beulah does not get out of your sight.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir—­I do.”

The buggy rolled swiftly on, and Harriet returned to the house by a circuitous route, surmising that “Miss May’s” eyes might detect her movements.

The same night Clara Sanders sat on the doorstep of her tumble cottage home.  The moonlight crept through the clustering honeysuckle and silvered the piazza floor with grotesque fretwork, while it bathed lovingly the sad face of the girlish watcher.  Her chin rested in her palms, and the soft eyes were bent anxiously on the countenance of her infirm and aged companion.

“Grandpa, don’t look so troubled.  I am very sorry, too, about the diploma; but if I am not to have it, why, there is no use in worrying about it.  Madam St. Cymon is willing to employ me as I am, and certainly I should feel grateful for her preference, when there are several applicants for the place.  She told me this evening that she thought I would find no difficulty in performing what would be required of me.”

This was uttered in a cheerful tone, which might have succeeded very well had the sorrowful face been veiled.

“Ah, Clara, you don’t dream of the burden you are taking upon yourself!  The position of assistant teacher in an establishment like Madam St. Cymon’s is one that you are by nature totally unfitted for.  Child, it will gall your spirit; it will be unendurable.”  The old man sighed heavily.

“Still, I have been educated with an eye to teaching, and though I am now to occupy a very subordinate place, the trials will not be augmented.  On the whole, I do not know but it is best as it is.  Do not try to discourage me.  It is all I can do, and I am determined I will not despond about what can’t be helped.”

“My dear child, I did not mean to depress you.  But you are so young to bow your neck to such a yoke!  How old are you?” He turned round to look at her.

“Only sixteen and a few months.  Life is before me yet, an untrodden plain.  Who knows but this narrow path of duty may lead to a calm, sweet resting-place for us both?  I was thinking just now of that passage from your favorite Wallenstein:” 

   “My soul’s secure!  In the night only, Friedland’s stars can beam.’

“The darkness has come down upon us, grandpa; let us wait patiently for the uprising of stars.  I am not afraid of the night.”

There was silence for some moments; then the old man rose, and, putting back the white locks which had fallen over his face, asked, in a subdued tone: