Beulah - Page 128/348

"Who told you there was yellow fever at the hospital?"

"Dr. Asbury said so; and, what is more, Hal has had it himself, and

nursed people who had it; and he says it is the worst sort of yellow

fever."

"I am not afraid of it," said Beulah, looking up for the first time.

"I am dreadfully afraid of it," answered Clara, with a nervous

shudder.

"Then you had better leave town as quick as possible, for folks who

are easily scared always catch it soonest."

"Nonsense!" cried Beulah, noting the deepening pallor of Clara's

face.

"Oh, I will warrant, if everybody else--every man, woman, and child

in the city--takes it, you won't! Miss Beulah, I should like to know

what you are afraid of!" muttered Harriet, scanning the orphan's

countenance, and adding, in a louder tone: "Have you heard anything

from master?"

"No." Beulah bit her lips to conceal her emotion.

"Hal hears from him. He was in New York when he wrote the last

letter." She took a malicious pleasure in thus torturing her

visitor; and, determined not to gratify her by any manifestation of

interest or curiosity, Beulah took up a couple of volumes and turned

to the door, saying: "Come, Clara, you must each have a bouquet. Harriet, where are the

flower scissors? Dr. Hartwell never objected to my carefully cutting

even his choicest flowers. There! Clara, listen to the cool rippling

of the fountain. How I have longed to hear its silvery murmur once

more!"

They went out into the front yard. Clara wandered about the flower

beds, gathering blossoms which were scattered in lavish profusion on

all sides; and, leaning over the marble basin, Beulah bathed her

brow in the crystal waters. There were bewitching beauty and

serenity in the scene before her, and as Charon nestled his great

head against her hand she found it very difficult to realize the

fact that she had left this lovely retreat for the small room at

Mrs. Hoyt's boarding house. It was not her habit, however, to

indulge in repinings, and, though her ardent appreciation of beauty

rendered the place incalculably dear to her, she resolutely gathered

a cluster of flowers, bade adieu to Harriet, and descended the

avenue. Charon walked soberly beside her, now and then looking up,

as if to inquire the meaning of her long absence and wonder at her

sudden departure. At the gate she patted him affectionately on the

head and passed out; he made no attempt to follow her, but barked

violently, and then lay down at the gate, whining mournfully.