threw the fragment into the grate.  She longed to see the covered face, but dared not unfasten the sable folds, which had grown rusty with age.  Sometimes she fancied her presence annoyed him; but if she absented herself at all during the evening he invariably inquired the cause.  He had most scrupulously avoided all reference to matters of faith; she had endeavored several times to direct the conversation to religious topics, but he adroitly eluded her efforts, and abstained from any such discussion; and though on Sabbath she generally accompanied Mrs. Watson to church, he never alluded to it.  Occasionally, when more than ordinarily fatigued by the labors of the day, he had permitted her to read aloud to him from some of his favorite volumes, and these brief glimpses had given her an intense longing to pursue the same paths of investigation.  She revered and admired him; nay, she loved him; but it was more earnest gratitude than genuine affection.  Love casteth out fear, and most certainly she feared him.  She had entered her seventeenth year, and, feeling that she was no longer a child, her pride sometimes rebelled at the calm, commanding manner he maintained toward her.

They found Clara kneeling beside her insensible grandfather, while two or three middle-aged ladies sat near the hearth, talking in undertones.  Beulah put her arms tenderly around her friend ere she was aware of her presence, and the cry of blended woe and gladness with which Clara threw herself on Beulah’s bosom told her how well-timed that presence was.  Three years of teaching and care had worn the slight young form, and given a troubled, strained, weary look to the fair face.  Thin, pale, and tearful, she clung to Beulah, and asked, in broken accents, what would become of her when the aged sleeper was no more.

“Our good God remains to you, Clara.  I was a shorn lamb, and he tempered the winds for me.  I was very miserable, but he did not forsake me.”

Clara looked at the tall form of the physician, and, while her eyes rested upon him with a species of fascination, she murmured: 

“Yes, you have been blessed indeed!  You have him.  He guards and cares for your happiness; but I, oh, I am alone!”

“You told me he had promised to be your friend.  Best assured he will prove himself such,” answered Beulah, watching Clara’s countenance as she spoke.

“Yes, I know; but—­” She paused, and averted her head, for just then he drew near and said gravely: 

“Beulah, take Miss Clara to her own room, and persuade her to rest.  I shall remain probably all night; at least until some change takes place.”

“Don’t send me away,” pleaded Clara mournfully.