The following day, in obedience to the proclamation of the mayor of the city, was celebrated as a season of special thanksgiving, and the inmates of the asylum were taken to church to morning service. After an early dinner, the matron gave them permission to amuse themselves the remainder of the day as their various inclinations prompted. There was an immediate dispersion of the assemblage, and only Beulah lingered beside the matron's chair.

"Mrs. Williams, may I take Lilly with me, and go out into the woods at the back of the asylum?"

"I want you at home this evening; but I dislike very much to refuse you."

"Oh, never mind! if you wish me to do anything," answered the girl cheerfully.

Tears rolled over the matron's face, and, hastily averting her head, she wiped them away with the corner of her apron.

"Can I do anything to help you? What is the matter?"

"Never mind, Beulah; do you get your bonnet and go to the edge of the woods—not too far, remember; and if I must have you, why I will send for you."

"I would rather not go if it will be any trouble."

"No, dear; it's no trouble; I want you to go," answered the matron, turning hastily away. Beulah felt very strongly inclined to follow, and inquire what was in store for her; but the weight on her heart pressed more heavily, and, murmuring to herself, "It will come time enough, time enough," she passed on.

"May I come with you and Lilly?" entreated little Claudia, running down the walk at full speed, and putting her curly head through the palings to make the request.

"Yes, come on. You and Lily can pick up some nice smooth burrs to make baskets of. But where is your bonnet?" "I forgot it." She ran up, almost out of breath, and seized Beulah's hand.

"You forgot it, indeed! You little witch, you will burn as black as a gypsy!"

"I don't care if I do. I hate bonnets."

"Take care, Claudy; the President won't have you all freckled and tanned."

"Won't he?" queried the child, with a saucy sparkle in her black eyes.

"That he won't. Here, tie on my hood, and the next time you come running after me bareheaded, I will make you go back; do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear. I wonder why Miss Dorothy don't bleach off her freckles; she looks like a—"

"Hush about her, and run on ahead."

"Do, pray, let me get my breath first. Which way are we going?"

"To the piney woods yonder," cried Lilly, clapping her hands in childish glee; "won't we have fun, rolling and sliding on the straw?" The two little ones walked on in advance.

The path along which their feet pattered so carelessly led to a hollow or ravine, and the ground on the opposite side rose into small hillocks, thickly wooded with pines. Beulah sat down upon a mound of moss and leaves; while Claudia and Lillian, throwing off their hoods, commenced the glorious game of sliding. The pine straw presented an almost glassy surface, and, starting from the top of a hillock, they slid down, often stumbling and rolling together to the bottom. Many a peal of laughter rang out, and echoed far back in the forest, and two blackbirds could not have kept up a more continuous chatter. Apart from all this sat Beulah; she had remembered the matron's words, and stopped just at the verge of the woods, whence she could see the white palings of the asylum. Above her the winter breeze moaned and roared in the pine tops; it was the sad but dearly loved forest music that she so often stole out to listen to. Every breath which sighed through the emerald boughs seemed to sweep a sympathetic chord in her soul, and she raised her arms toward the trees as though she longed to clasp the mighty musical box of nature to her heart. The far-off blue of a cloudless sky looked in upon her, like a watchful guardian; the sunlight fell slantingly, now mellowing the brown leaves and knotted trunks, and now seeming to shun the darker spots and recesses where shadows lurked. For a time the girl forgot all but the quiet and majestic beauty of the scene. She loved nature as only those can whose sources of pleasure have been sadly curtailed, and her heart went out, so to speak, after birds, and trees, and flowers, sunshine and stars, and the voices of sweeping winds. An open volume lay on her lap; it was Longfellow's Poems, the book Eugene had sent her, and leaves were turned down at "Excelsior" and the "Psalm of Life." The changing countenance indexed very accurately the emotions which were excited by this communion with Nature. There was an uplifted look, a brave, glad, hopeful light in the gray eyes, generally so troubled in their expression. A sacred song rose on the evening air, a solemn but beautiful hymn. She sang the words of the great strength-giving poet, the "Psalm of Life":

"Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream;
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem."

It was wonderful what power and sweetness there was in her voice; burst after burst of rich melody fell from her trembling lips. Her soul echoed the sentiments of the immortal bard, and she repeated again and again the fifth verse:

"In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life;
Be not like dumb, driven cattle,
Be a hero in the strife."

Intuitively she seemed to feel that an hour of great trial was at hand, and this was a girding for the combat. With the shield of a warm, hopeful heart, and the sword of a strong, unfaltering will, she awaited the shock; but as she concluded her song the head bowed itself upon her arms, the shadow of the unknown, lowering future had fallen upon her face, and only the Great Shepherd knew what passed the pale lips of the young orphan. She was startled by the sharp bark of a dog, and, looking up, saw a gentleman leaning against a neighboring tree, and regarding her very earnestly. He came forward as she perceived him, and said with a pleasant smile:

"You need not be afraid of my dog. Like his master, he would not disturb you till you finished your song. Down, Carlo; be quiet, sir. My little friend, tell me who taught you to sing."

She had hastily risen, and a slight glow tinged her cheek at his question. Though naturally reserved and timid, there was a self- possession about her unusual in children of her age, and she answered in a low voice, "I have never had a teacher, sir; but I listen to the choir on Sabbath, and sing our Sunday-school hymns at church."

"Do you know who wrote those words you sang just now? I was not aware they had been set to music."

"I found them in this book yesterday, and liked them so much that I tried to sing them by one of our hymn tunes." She held up the volume as she spoke.

He glanced at the title, and then looked curiously at her. Beulah chanced just then to turn toward the asylum, and saw one of the oldest girls running across the common. The shadow on her face deepened, and she looked around for Claudia and Lillian. They had tired of sliding, and were busily engaged picking up pine burrs at some little distance in the rear.

"Come, Claudy—Lilly—our matron has sent for us; come, make haste."

"Do you belong to the asylum?" asked the gentleman, shaking the ashes from his cigar.

"Yes, sir," answered she, and, as the children came up, she bowed and turned homeward.

"Wait a moment. Those are not your sisters, certainly?" His eyes rested with unfeigned admiration on their beautiful faces.

"This one is, sir; that is not." As she spoke she laid her hand on Lillian's head. Claudia looked shyly at the stranger, and then, seizing Beulah's dress, exclaimed:

"Oh, Beulah, don't let us go just yet! I left such a nice, splendid pile of burrs!"

"Yes, we must go; yonder comes Katy for us. Good-evening, sir."

"Good-evening, my little friend. Some of these days I shall come to the asylum to see you all, and have you sing that song again."

She made no reply, but, catching her sister's hand, walked rapidly homeward. Katy delivered Mrs. Williams' message, and assured Beulah she must make haste, for Miss Dorothy was displeased that the children were absent.

"What! is she there again, the hateful—"

Beulah's hand was over Claudia's mouth, and prevented the remainder of the sentence. That short walk was painful, and conflicting hopes and fears chased each other in the sister's heart, as she tightened her hold on Lilly's hand.

"Oh, what a beautiful carriage!" cried Claudia, as they approached the door, and descried an elegant carriage, glittering with silver mountings, and drawn by a pair of spirited black horses.

"Yes, that it is, and there is a lady and gentleman here who must be very rich, judging from their looks. They brought Miss White."

"What do they want, Katy?" asked Claudia.

"I don't know for certain, though I have my own thoughts," answered the girl, with a knowing laugh that grated on Beulah's ears.

"Here, Beulah, bring them to the dormitory," said Mrs. Williams, meeting them at the door and hurrying them upstairs. She hastily washed Claudia's face and recurled her hair, while the same offices were performed for Lillian by her sister.

"Don't rub my hand so hard; you hurt," cried out Claudia sharply, as in perfect silence, and with an anxious countenance, the kind matron dressed her.

"I only want to get it white and clean, beauty," was the conciliatory reply.

"Well, I tell you that won't come off, because it's turpentine," retorted the self-willed little elf.

"Come, Beulah; bring Lilly along. Miss White is out of patience."

"What does all this mean?" said Beulah, taking her sister's hand.

"Don't ask me, poor child." As she spoke the good woman ushered the trio into the reception room. None of the other children were present. Beulah noted this circumstance, and, drawing a long breath, looked around.

Miss White was eagerly talking to a richly dressed and very pretty woman, while a gentleman stood beside them, impatiently twirling his seal and watch-key.

All looked up, and Miss White exclaimed:

"Here they are! Now my dear Mrs. Grayson, I rather think you can be suited. Come here, little ones." She drew Claudia to her side, while Lilly clung closer to her sister.

"Oh, what beauties! Only look at them, Alfred!" Mrs. Grayson glanced eagerly from one to the other.

"Very pretty children, indeed, my dear. Extremely pretty; particularly the black-eyed one," answered her husband, with far less ecstasy.

"I don't know; I believe I admire the golden-haired one most. She is a perfect fairy. Come here, my love, and let me talk to you," continued she, addressing Lilly. The child clasped her sister's fingers more firmly, and did not advance an inch.

"Do not hold her, Beulah. Come to the lady, Lillian," said Miss White. As Beulah gently disengaged her hand, she felt as if the anchor of hope had been torn from her hold; but, stooping down, she whispered:

"Go to the lady, Lilly darling; I will not leave you."

Thus encouraged, the little figure moved slowly forward, and paused in front of the stranger. Mrs. Grayson took her small, white hands tenderly, and, pressing a warm kiss on her lips, said in a kind, winning tone:

"What is your name, my dear?"

"Lillian, ma'am; but sister calls me Lilly."

"Who is 'sister'—little Claudia here?"

"Oh, no; sister Beulah." And the soft blue eyes turned lovingly toward that gentle sister.

"Good Heavens, Alfred; how totally unlike! This is one of the most beautiful children I have ever seen, and that girl yonder is ugly," said the lady, in an undertone to her husband, who was talking to Claudia. It was said in a low voice, but Beulah heard every syllable, and a glow of shame for an instant bathed her brow. Claudia heard it too, and, springing from Mr. Grayson's knee, she exclaimed angrily:

"She isn't ugly, any such thing; she is the smartest girl in the asylum, and I love her better than anybody in the world."

"No, Beulah is not pretty, but she is good, and that is far better," said the matron, laying her trembling hand on Beulah's shoulder. A bitter smile curled the girl's lips, but she did not move her eyes from Lillian's face.

"Fanny, if you select that plain-spoken little one you will have some temper to curb," suggested Mr. Grayson, somewhat amused by Claudia's burst of indignation.

"Oh, my dear husband, I must have them both. Only fancy how lovely they will be, dressed exactly alike. My little Lilly, and you Claudia, will you come and be my daughters? I shall love you very much, and that gentleman will be your papa. He is very kind. You shall have big wax dolls, as high as your heads, and doll-houses, and tea-sets, and beautiful blue and pink silk dresses, and every evening I shall take you out to ride in my carriage. Each of you shall have a white hat, with long, curling feathers. Will you come and live with me, and let me be your mamma?"

Beulah's face assumed an ashen hue, as she listened to these coaxing words. She had not thought of separation; the evil had never presented itself in this form, and, staggering forward, she clutched the matron's dress, saying hoarsely:

"Oh, don't separate us! Don't let them take Lilly from me! I will do anything on earth, I will work my hands off. Oh, do anything, but please, oh, please, don't give Lilly up. My own darling Lilly."

Claudia here interrupted: "I should like to go well enough, if you will take Beulah too. Lil, are you going?"

"No, no." Lillian broke away from the stranger's clasping arm and rushed toward her sister; but Miss White sat between them, and, catching the child, she firmly, though very gently, held her back. Lilly was very much afraid of her, and, bursting into tears, she cried imploringly:

"Oh, sister! take me, take me!"

Beulah sprang to her side, and said, almost fiercely: "Give her to me; she is mine, and you have no right to part us." She extended her arms toward the little form struggling to reach her.

"The managers have decided that it is for the child's good that Mrs. Grayson should adopt her. We dislike very much to separate sisters, but it cannot be avoided; whole families can't be adopted by one person, and you must not interfere. She will soon be perfectly satisfied away from you, and instead of encouraging her to be rebellious, you ought to coax her to behave and go peaceably," replied Miss White, still keeping Beulah at arm's length.

"You let go Lilly, you hateful, ugly, old thing you! She shan't go if she don't want to? She does belong to Beulah," cried Claudia, striding up and laying her hand on Lilly's arm.

"You spoiled, insolent little wretch!" muttered Miss White, crimsoning to the roots of her fiery hair.

"I am afraid they will not consent to go. Fanny, suppose you take Claudia; the other seems too reluctant," said Mr. Grayson, looking at his watch.

"But I do so want that little blue-eyed angel. Cannot the matron influence her?" She turned to her as she spoke. Thus appealed to, Mrs. Williams took the child in her arms, and caressed her tenderly.

"My dear little Lilly, you must not cry and struggle so. Why will you not go with this kind lady? She will love you very much."

"Oh, I don't want to!" sobbed she, pressing her wet cheeks against the matron's shoulder.

"But, Lilly love, you shall have everything you want. Kiss me, like a sweet girl, and say you will go to my beautiful home. I will give you a cage full of the prettiest canary birds you ever looked at. Don't you love to ride? My carriage is waiting at the door. You and Claudia will have such a nice time." Mrs. Grayson knelt beside her, and kissed her tenderly; still she clung closer to the matron.

Beulah had covered her face with her hands, and stood trembling like a weed bowed before the rushing gale. She knew that neither expostulation nor entreaty would avail now, and she resolved to bear with fortitude what she could not avert. Lifting her head, she said slowly:

"If I must give up my sister, let me do so as quietly as possible. Give her to me; then perhaps she will go more willingly. Do not force her away! Oh, do not force her!"

As she uttered these words her lips were white and cold, and the agonized expression of her face made Mrs. Grayson shiver.

"Lilly, my darling! My own precious darling!" She bent over her sister, and the little arms clasped her neck tightly, as she lifted and bore her back to the dormitory.

"You may get their clothes ready, Mrs. Williams. Rest assured, my dear Mrs. Grayson, they will go now without any further difficulty. Of course we dislike to separate sisters, but it can't be helped sometimes. If you like, I will show you over the asylum while the children are prepared." Miss White led the way to the schoolroom.

"I am very dubious about that little one. Fanny, how will you ever manage two such dispositions, one all tears and the other all fire and tow?" said Mr. Grayson.

"A truce to your fears, Alfred. We shall get on charmingly after the first few days. How proud I shall be with such jewels!" Beulah sat down on the edge of the blue-curtained bed, and drew her idol close to her heart. She kissed the beautiful face, and smoothed the golden curls she had so long and so lovingly arranged, and, as the child returned her kisses, she felt as if rude hands were tearing her heart-strings loose. But she knew she must give her up. There was no effort within her power which could avail to keep her treasure, and that brave spirit nerved itself. Not a tear dimmed her eye, not a sob broke from her colorless lips.

"Lilly, my own little sister, you must not cry any more. Let me wash your face; you will make your head ache if you cry so."

"Oh, Beulah! I don't want to go away from you."

"My darling, I know you don't; but you will have a great many things to make you happy, and I shall come to see you as often as I can. I can't bear to have you go, either; but I cannot help it, and I want you to go quietly, and be so good that the lady will love you."

"But to-night, when I go to bed, you will not be there to hear me say my prayers. Oh, sister! why can't you go?"

"They do not want me, my dear Lilly; but you can kneel down and say your prayers, and God will hear you just as well as if you were here with me, and I will ask Him to love you all the more, and take care of you—"

Here a little arm stole round poor Beulah's neck, and Claudia whispered with a sob:

"Will you ask Him to love me too?"

"Yes, Claudy; I will."

"We will try to be good. Oh, Beulah—I love you so much, so very much!" The affectionate child pressed her lips repeatedly to Beulah's bloodless cheek.

"Claudy, if you love me, you must be kind to my little Lilly. When you see that she is sad, and crying for me, you must coax her to be as contented as possible, and always speak gently to her. Will you do this for Beulah?"

"Yes, that I will! I promise you I will, and, what is more, I will fight for her! I boxed that spiteful Charley's ears the other day for vexing her, and I will scratch anybody's eyes out that dares to scold her. This very morning I pinched Maggie black and blue for bothering her, and I tell you I shall not let anybody impose on her." The tears dried in her brilliant eyes, and she clinched her little fist with an exalted opinion of her protective powers.

"Claudy, I do not ask you to fight for her; I want you to love her.
Oh, love her! always be kind to her," murmured Beulah.

"I do love her better than anything in the world, don't I, Lilly dear!" She softly kissed one of the child's hands.

At this moment the matron entered, with a large bundle neatly wrapped. Her eyes were red, and there were traces of tears on her cheek. Looking tenderly down upon the trio, she said very gently:

"Come, my pets; they will not wait any longer for you. I hope you will try to be good, and love each other, and Beulah shall come to see you." She took Claudia's hand and led her down the steps. Beulah lifted her sister, and carried her in her arms, as she had done from her birth, and at every step kissed her lips and brow.

Mr. and Mrs. Grayson were standing at the front door; they both looked pleased, as Lilly had ceased crying, and the carriage door was opened to admit them.

"Ah, my dears, now for a nice ride; Claudia, jump in," said Mr. Grayson, extending his hand to assist her. She paused, kissed her kind matron, and then approached Beulah. She could not bear to leave her, and, as she threw her arms around her, sobbed out:

"Good-by, dear, good Beulah. I will take care of Lilly. Please love me, and ask God for me too." She was lifted into the carriage with tears streaming over her face.

Beulah drew near to Mrs. Grayson, and said in a low but imploring tone:

"Oh, madam, love my sister, and always speak affectionately to her, then she will be good and obedient. I may come to see her often, may I not?"

"Certainly," replied the lady, in a tone which chilled poor Beulah's heart. She swallowed a groan of agony, and, straining the loved one to her bosom, pressed her lips to Lilly's.

"God bless my little sister, my darling, my all!" She put the child in Mr. Grayson's extended arms, and only saw that her sister looked back appealingly to her. Miss White came up and said something which she did not hear, and, turning hastily away, she went up to the dormitory, and seated herself on Lilly's vacant bed. The child knew not how the hours passed; she sat with her face buried in her hands, until the light of a candle flashed into the darkened chamber, and the kind voice of the matron fell on her ear.

"Beulah, will you try to eat some supper? Do, dear."

"No, thank you, I don't want anything."

"Poor child, I would have saved you all this had it been in my power; but, when once decided by the managers, you know I could not interfere. They disliked to separate you and Lily, but thought that, under the circumstances, it was the best arrangement they could make. Beulah, I want to tell you something, if you will listen to me." She seated herself on the edge of the bed, and took one of the girl's hands between both hers.

"The managers think it is best that you should go out and take a situation. I am sorry I am forced to give you up, very sorry, for you have always been a good girl, and I love you dearly; but these things cannot be avoided, and I hope all will turn out for the best. There is a place engaged for you, and Miss White wishes you to go to-morrow. I trust you will not have a hard time. You are to take care of an infant, and they will give you six dollars a month besides your board and clothes. Try to do your duty, child, and perhaps something may happen which will enable you to turn teacher."

"Well, I will do the best I can. I do not mind work, but then Lilly-
-" Her head went down on her arms once more.

"Yes, dear, I know it is very hard for you to part with her; but remember, it is for her good. Mr. Grayson is very wealthy, and of course Lilly and Claudy will have—"

"And what is money to my—" Again she paused abruptly.

"Ah, child, you do not begin to know! Money is everything in this world to some people, and more than the next to other poor souls. Well, well, I hope it will prove for the best as far as you are concerned. It is early yet, but maybe you had better go to bed, as you are obliged to leave in the morning."

"I could not sleep."

"God will help you, dear child, if you try to do your duty. All of us have sorrows, and if yours have begun early, they may not last long. Poor little thing, I shall always remember you in my prayers." She kissed her gently, and left her, hoping that solitude would soothe her spirits. Miss White's words rang in the girl's ears like a knell. "She will soon be perfectly satisfied away from you."

Would she? Could that idolized sister learn to do without her, and love her new friends as fondly as the untiring one who had cradled her in her arms for six long years? A foreboding dread hissed continually, "Do you suppose the wealthy and fashionable Mrs. Grayson, who lives in that elegant house on —— street, will suffer her adopted daughter to associate intimately with a hired nurse?"

Again the light streamed into the room. She buried her face deeper in her apron.

"Beulah," said a troubled, anxious voice.

"Oh, Eugene!" She sprang up with a dry sob, and threw herself into his arms.

"I know it all, dear Beulah; but come down to Mrs. Williams' room; there is a bright fire there, and your hands are as cold as ice. You will make yourself sick sitting here without even a shawl around you." He led her downstairs to the room occupied by the matron, who kindly took her work to the dining room, and left them to talk unrestrainedly.

"Sit down in this rocking-chair and warm your hands."

He seated himself near her, and as the firelight glowed on the faces of both, they contrasted strangely. One was classical and full of youthful beauty, the other wan, haggard, and sorrow-stained. He looked about sixteen, and promised to become a strikingly handsome man, while the proportions of his polished brow indicated more than ordinary intellectual endowments. He watched his companion earnestly, sadly, and, leaning forward, took one of her hands.

"Beulah, I see from your face that you have not shed a single tear. I wish you would not keep your sorrow so pent up in your heart. It grieves me to see you look as you do now."

"Oh, I can't help it! If it were not for you I believe I should die, I am so very miserable. Eugene, if you could have seen our Lilly cling to me, even to the last moment. It seems to me my heart will break." She sank her weary head on his shoulder.

"Yes, darling, I know you are suffering very much; but remember that 'all things work together for good to them that love God.' Perhaps he sees it is best that you should give her up for a while, and if so, will you not try to bear it cheerfully, instead of making yourself sick with useless grief?" He gently smoothed the hair from her brow as he spoke. She did not reply. He did not expect that she would, and continued in the same kind tone:

"I am much more troubled about your taking this situation. If I had known it earlier I would have endeavored to prevent it; but I suppose it cannot be helped now, for a while at least."

"As soon as possible I am determined you shall go to school; and remember, dear Beulah, I am just as much grieved at your sorrows as you are. In a few years I shall have a home of my own, and you shall be the first to come to it. Never mind these dark, stormy days. Do you remember what our minister said in his sermon last Sunday? 'The darkest hour is just before daybreak.' Already I begin to see the 'silver lining' of clouds that a few years, or even months ago, seemed heavy and cheerless. I have heard a great deal about the ills and trials of this world, but I think a brave, hopeful spirit will do much toward remedying the evil. For my part, I look forward to the time when you and I shall have a home of our own, and then Lilly and Claudy can be with us. I was talking to Mrs. Mason about it yesterday; she loves you very much. I dare say all will be right; so cheer up, Beulah, and do look on the bright side."

"Eugene, you are the only bright side I have to look on. Sometimes I think you will get tired of me, and if you ever do I shall want to die. Oh, how could I bear to know you did not love me!" She raised her head and looked earnestly at his noble face.

Eugene laughingly repeated her words.

"Get tired of you, indeed—not I, little sister."

"Oh, I forgot to thank you for your book. I like it better than anything I ever read. Some parts are so beautiful—so very grand. I keep it in my basket, and read every moment I can spare."

"I knew you would like it, particularly 'Excelsior.' Beulah, I have written 'excelsior' on my banner, and I intend, like that noble youth, to press forward over every obstacle, mounting at every step, until I, too, stand on the highest pinnacle, and plant my banner where its glorious motto shall float over the world. That poem stirs my very soul like martial music, and I feel as if I should like to see Mr. Longfellow, to tell him how I thank him for having written it. I want you to mark the passages you like best; and, now I think of it, here is a pencil I cut for you to-day."

He drew it from his pocket and put it into her hand, while his face glowed with enthusiasm.

"Thank you, thank you." Grateful tears sprang to her eyes; tears which acute suffering could not wring from her. He saw the gathering drops, and said gayly:

"If that is the way you intend to thank me I shall bring you no more pencils. But you look very pale, and ought to be asleep, for I have no doubt to-morrow will be a trying day for you. Do exert yourself to be brave, and bear it all for a little while; I know it will not be very long, and I shall come and see you just as often as possible."

He rose as he spoke.

"Are you obliged to go so soon? Can't you stay with me a little longer?" pleaded Beulah.

The boy's eyes filled as he looked at the beseeching, haggard face, and he answered hastily:

"Not to-night, Beulah; you must go to sleep—you need it sadly."

"You will be cold walking home. Let me get you a shawl."

"No, I left my overcoat in the hall—here it is."

She followed him out to the door, as he drew it on and put on his cap. The moonlight shone over the threshold, and he thought she looked ghostly as it fell upon her face. He took her hand, pressed it gently, and said:

"Good-night, dear Beulah."

"Good-by, Eugene. Do come and see me again, soon."

"Yes, I will. Don't get low-spirited as soon as I am out of sight, do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear; I will try not to complain. Walk fast and keep warm."

She pressed his hand affectionately, watched his receding form as long as she could trace its outline, and then went slowly back to the dormitory. Falling on her knees by the side of Lilly's empty couch, she besought God, in trembling accents, to bless her "darling little sister and Claudy," and to give her strength to perform all her duties contentedly and cheerfully.