"Cornelia, you are not able to bear this excitement. For the
present, let Eugene and his future rest and try to compose yourself.
You are so nervous you can scarcely sit still."
The colorless face, with its gleaming eyes, was suddenly lifted;
and, throwing her arms round Beulah's neck, Cornelia rested her
proud head on the orphan's shoulder.
"Be my friend while I live. Oh, give me some of your calm
contentment, some of your strength!"
"I am your friend, Cornelia; I will always be such; but every soul
must be sufficient for itself. Do not look to me; lean upon your own
nature; it will suffice for all its needs."
With the young teacher, pity was almost synonymous with contempt;
and, as she looked at the joyless face of her companion, she could
not avoid thinking her miserably weak.