“Are you going home now, sir?”

“Yes; but you must stay with that poor girl yonder.  Can’t you prevail on her to come and spend a few days with you?”

“I rather think not,” answered Beulah, resolved not to try.

“You look pale, my child.  Watching is not good for you.  It is a long time since you have seen death.  Strange that people will not see it as it is.  Passing strange.”

“What do you mean?” said she, striving to interpret the smile that wreathed his lips.

“You will not believe if I tell you.  ’Life is but the germ of Death, and Death the development of a higher Life.’”

“Higher in the sense of heavenly immortality?”

“You may call it heavenly if you choose.  Stay here till the funeral is over, and I will send for you.  Are you worn out, child?” He had withdrawn his arm, and now looked anxiously at her colorless face.

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you so very pale?”

“Did you ever see me, sir, when I was anything else?”

“I have seen you look less ghostly.  Good-by.”  He left the house without even shaking hands.

The day which succeeded was very gloomy, and, after the funeral rites had been performed, and the second day looked in, Beulah’s heart rejoiced at the prospect of returning home.  Clara shrank from the thought of being left alone, the little cottage was so desolate.  She would give it up now, of course, and find a cheap boarding house; but the furniture must be rubbed and sent down to an auction room, and she dreaded the separation from all the objects which linked her with the past.

“Clara, I have been commissioned to invite you to spend several days with me, until you can select a boarding house.  Dr. Hartwell will be glad to have you come.”

“Did he say so?” asked the mourner, shading her face with her hand.

“He told me I must bring you home with me,” answered Beulah.

“Oh, how good, how noble he is!  Beulah, you are lucky, lucky indeed.”  She dropped her head on her arms.

“Clara, I believe there is less difference in our positions than you seem to imagine.  We are both orphans, and in about a year I too shall be a teacher.  Dr. Hartwell is my guardian and protector, but he will be a kind friend to you also.”

“Beulah, you are mad to dream of leaving him and turning teacher!  I am older than you, and have traveled over the very track that you are so eager to set out upon.  Oh, take my advice; stay where you are!  Would you leave summer sunshine for the icebergs of Arctic night?  Silly girl, appreciate your good fortune.”

“Can it be possible, Clara, that you are fainting so soon?  Where are all your firm resolves?  If it is your duty, what matter the difficulties?” She looked down pityingly on her companion, as in olden time one of the athletae might have done upon a drooping comrade.

“Necessity knows no conditions, Beulah.  I have no alternative but to labor in that horrible treadmill round, day after day.  You are more fortunate; can have a home of elegance, luxury, and—­”