"The sickness is abating, is it not, Beulah?"
"Yes, very perceptibly; but more from lack of fresh victims than
anything else. I hope we shall have a white frost soon."
"It has been very horrible! I shudder when I think of it," said
Clara.
"Then don't think of it," answered her companion.
"Oh, how can I help it? I did not expect to live through it. I was
sure I should die when that chill came on. You have saved me, dear
Beulah!" Tears glistened in her soft eyes.
"No; God saved you."
"Through your instrumentality," replied Clara, raising her friend's
hand to her lips.
"Don't talk any more; the doctor expressly enjoined quiet for you."
"I am glad to owe my recovery to him also. How noble and good he is-
-how superior to everybody else!" murmured the sick girl.
Beulah's lips became singularly compact, but she offered no comment.
She walked up and down the room, although so worn out that she could
scarcely keep herself erect. When the doctor came she escaped
unobserved to her room, hastily put on her bonnet, and ran down the
steps for a short walk. It was perfect Elysium to get out once more
under the pure sky and breathe the air, as it swept over the bay,
cool, sweet, and invigorating. The streets were still quiet, but
hearses and carts, filled with coffins, no longer greeted her on
every side, and she walked for several squares. The sun went down,
and, too weary to extend her ramble, she slowly retraced her steps.
The buggy no longer stood at the door, and, after seeing Mrs. Hoyt
and trying to chat pleasantly, she crept back to Clara.
"Where have you been?" asked the latter.
"To get a breath of fresh air and see the sun set."
"Dr. Hartwell asked for you. I did not know what had become of you."
"How do you feel to-night?" said Beulah, laying her hand softly on
Clara's forehead.
"Better, but very weak. You have no idea how feeble I am. Beulah, I
want to know whether--"
"You were told to keep quiet, so don't ask any questions, for I will
not answer one."
"You are not to sit up to-night; the doctor said I would not require
it."
"Let the doctor go back to the North and theorize in his medical
conventions! I shall sleep here by your bed, on this couch. If you
feel worse, call me. Now, good-night; and don't open your lips
again." She drew the couch close to the bed, and, shading the lamp,
threw her weary frame down to rest; ere long she slept. The
pestilential storm had spent its fury. Daily the number of deaths
diminished; gradually the pall of silence and desolation which had
hung over the city vanished. The streets resumed their usual busy
aspect, and the hum of life went forward once more. At length
fugitive families ventured home again; and though bands of crape,
grim badges of bereavement, met the eye on all sides, all rejoiced
that Death had removed his court--that his hideous carnival was
over. Clara regained her strength very slowly; and when well enough
to quit her room, walked with the slow, uncertain step of
feebleness. On the last day of October she entered Beulah's
apartment, and languidly approached the table, where the latter was
engaged in drawing.