“Henceforth my sister and myself are parted, whether you will it or not, whether you come back or otherwise.  Once for all, if you would serve her, come, for on this condition only will I provide for her.  Pauline does not suit me; you do.  I can make you a friend, in some sort a companion.  Beulah, you want to come to me; I see it in your eyes; but I see too that you want conditions.  What are they?”

“Will you always treat Pauline just as kindly as if you had never taken me to your house?”

“Except having a separate home, she shall never know any difference.  I promise you this.  What else?”

“Will you let me go to the public school instead of Madam St. Cymon’s?”

“Why, pray?”

“Because the tuition is free.”

“And you are too proud to accept any aid from me?”

“No, sir; I want your counsel and guidance, and I want to be with you to show you that I do thank you for all your goodness; but I want to cost you as little as possible.”

“You do not expect to depend on me always, then?” said he, smiling despite himself.

“No, sir; only till I am able to teach.  If you are willing to do this, I shall be glad to go back, very glad; but not unless you are.”  She looked as firm as her guardian.

“Better stipulate also that you are to wear nothing more expensive than bit calico.”  He seemed much amused.

“Indeed, sir, I am not jesting at all.  If you will take care of me while I am educating myself, I shall be very grateful to you; but I am not going to be adopted.”

“Very well.  Then I will try to take care of you.  I have signed your treaty; are you ready to come home?”

“Yes, sir; glad to come.”  Her fingers closed confidingly over his, and they joined Mrs. Williams in the hall below.  A brief explanation from Beulah sufficed for the rejoicing matron, and soon she was borne rapidly from the asylum.  Dr. Hartwell was silent until they reached home, and Beulah was going to her own room, when he asked suddenly: 

“What was it that you wished to ask me about the evening of the ride?”

“That I might go to the public school.”

“What put that into your head?” “As an independent orphan, I am insulted at Madam St. Cymon’s.”

“By whom?” His eyes flashed.

“No matter now, sir.”

“By whom?  I ask you.”

“Not by Pauline.  She would scorn to be guilty of anything so ungenerous.”

“You do not mean to answer my question, then?”

“No, sir.  Do not ask me to do so, for I cannot.”

“Very well.  Get ready for tea.  Mr. Lockhart is here.  One word more.  You need fear no further interference from anyone.”

He walked on, and, glad to be released, Beulah hastened to her own room, with a strange feeling of joy on entering it again.  Harriet welcomed her warmly, and, without alluding to her absence, assisted in braiding the heavy masses of hair, which required arranging.  Half an hour after, Dr. Hartwell knocked at the door, and conducted her downstairs.  Mrs. Chilton rose and extended her hand, with an amicable expression of countenance for which Beulah was not prepared.  She could not bring herself to accept the hand, but her salutation was gravely polite.