Beulah - Page 45/348

It was in the gray light of dawning day that Beulah awoke to

consciousness. For some moments after unclosing her eyes they

wandered inquiringly about the room, and finally rested on the tall

form of the watcher, as he stood at the open window. Gradually

memory gathered up its scattered links, and all the incidents of

that hour of anguish rushed vividly before her. The little table,

with its marble sleeper; then a dim recollection of having been

carried to a friendly shelter.

Was it only yesterday evening, and had she slept?

The utter prostration which prevented her raising her

head, and the emaciated appearance of her hands, told her "no." Too

feeble even to think, she moaned audibly. Dr. Hartwell turned and

looked at her. The room was still in shadow, though the eastern sky

was flushed, and he stepped to the bedside. The fever had died out,

the cheeks were very pale, and the unnaturally large, sunken eyes

lusterless. She looked at him steadily, yet with perfect

indifference. He leaned over, and said eagerly: "Beulah, do you know me?"

"Yes; I know you."

"How do you feel this morning?"

"I am very weak, and my head seems confused. How long have I been

here?"

"No matter, child, if you are better." He took out his watch, and,

after counting her pulse, prepared some medicine, and gave her a

potion. Her features twitched, and she asked tremblingly, as if

afraid of her own question: "Have they buried her?"

"Yes; a week ago."

She closed her eyes with a groan, and her face became convulsed;

then she lay quite still, with a wrinkled brow. Dr. Hartwell sat

down by her, and, taking one of her wasted little hands in his, said

gently: "Beulah, you have been very ill. I scarcely thought you would

recover; and now, though much better, you must not agitate yourself,

for you are far too weak to bear it."

"Why didn't you let me die? Oh, it would have been a mercy!" She put

her hand over her eyes, and a low cry wailed through the room.

"Because I wanted you to get well, and live here, and be my little

friend, my child. Now, Beulah, I have saved you, and you belong to

me. When you are stronger we will talk about all you want to know;

but to-day you must keep quiet, and not think of what distresses

you. Will you try?"

The strong, stern man shuddered, as she looked up at him with an

expression of hopeless desolation, and said slowly: "I have nothing but misery to think of."