"I feel so much relieved about Willie; he is a great deal better; and I think Mrs. Hoyt's fever is abating. You were not taken so severely as Willie, and if you will go to sleep quietly I believe you will only have a light attack." "Did those downstairs have black vomit?" asked Clara shudderingly. "Lizzie had it; the others did not. Try not to think about it. Go to sleep." "What was that the doctor said about Dr. Hartwell? I could not hear very well, you talked so low. Ah, tell me, Beulah." "Only that he is coming home soon--that was all. Don't talk any more." Clara closed her eyes, but tears stole from beneath the lashes and coursed rapidly down her glowing cheeks. The lips moved in prayer, and her fingers closed tightly over those of her companion. Beulah felt that her continued vigils and exertions were exhausting her. Her limbs trembled when she walked, and there was a dull pain in her head which she could not banish. Her appetite had long since forsaken her, and it was only by the exertion of a determined will that she forced herself to eat. She was warmly attached to Clara, and the dread of losing this friend caused her to suffer keenly. Occasionally she stole away to see the other sufferers, fearing that when Mrs. Hoyt discovered Lizzie's death the painful intelligence would seal her own fate. It was late at night. She had just returned from one of these hasty visits, and, finding that Hal was as attentive as anyone could be, she threw herself, weary and anxious, into an armchair beside Clara's bed. The crimson face was turned toward her, the parched lips parted, the panting breath labored and irregular. The victim was delirious; the hazel eyes, inflamed and vacant, rested on Beulah's countenance, and she murmured: "He will never know! Oh, no! how should he? The grave will soon shut me in, and I shall see him no more--no more!" She shuddered and turned away. Beulah leaned her head against the bed, and, as a tear slid down upon her hand, she thought and said with bitter sorrow: "I would rather see her the victim of death than have her drag out an aimless, cheerless existence, rendered joyless by this hopeless attachment!" She wondered whether Dr. Hartwell suspected this love. He was remarkably quick-sighted, and men, as well as women, were very vain and wont to give even undue weight to every circumstance which flattered their self-love. She had long seen this partiality; would not the object of it be quite as penetrating? Clara was very pretty; nay, at times she was beautiful. If conscious of her attachment, could he ever suffer himself to be influenced by it? No; impossible! There were utter antagonisms of taste and temperament which rendered it very certain that she would not suit him for a companion. Yet she was very lovable. Beulah walked softly across the room and leaned out of the window. An awful stillness brooded over the city.