It was a vigil Beulah never forgot. The night seemed interminable, as if the car of time were driven backward, and she longed inexpressibly for the dawning of day. Four o'clock came at last; silence brooded over the town; the western breeze had sung itself to rest, and there was a solemn hush, as though all nature stood still to witness the struggle between dusky Azrael and a human soul. Clara slept. The distant stars looked down encouragingly from their homes of blue, and once more the lonely orphan bent her knee in supplication before the throne of Jehovah. But a cloud seemed hovering between her heart and the presence-chamber of Deity. In vain she prayed, and tried to believe that life would be spared in answer to her petitions. Faith died in her soul, and she sat with her eyes riveted upon the face of her friend. The flush of consuming fever paled, the pulse was slow and feeble, and by the gray light of day Beulah saw that the face was strangely changed. For several hours longer she maintained her watch; still the doctor did not come, and while she sat with Clara's fingers clasped in her, the brown eyes opened, and looked dreamily at her. She leaned over and, kissing the wan cheek, asked eagerly: "How do you feel, darling?" "Perfectly weak and helpless. How long have I been sick?" "Only a few days. You are a great deal better now." She tenderly smoothed the silky hair that clustered in disorder round the face. Clara seemed perplexed; she thought for a moment, and said feebly: "Have I been very ill?" "Well--yes. You have been right sick. Had some fever, but it has left you." Clara mused again. Memory came back slowly, and at length she asked: "Did they all die?" "Did who die?" "All those downstairs." She shuddered violently. "Oh, no! Mrs. Hoyt and Willie are almost well. Try to go to sleep again, Clara." Several minutes glided by; the eyes closed, and, clasping Beulah's fingers tightly, she asked again: "Have I had any physician?" "Yes. I thought it would do no harm to have Dr. Asbury see you," answered Beulah carelessly. She saw an expression of disappointment pass sadly over the girl's countenance; and, thinking it might be as well to satisfy her at once, she continued, as if speaking on indifferent topics: "Dr. Hartwell came home since you were taken sick, and called to see you two or three times." A faint glow tinged the sallow cheek, and while a tremor crept over her lips she said almost inaudibly: "When will he come again?" "Before long, I dare say. Indeed, there is his step now. Dr. Asbury is with him." She had not time to say more, for they came in immediately, and, with a species of pity she noted the smile of pleasure which curved Clara's mouth as her guardian bent down and spoke to her. While he took her thin hand and fixed his eyes on her face, Dr. Asbury looked over his shoulder, and said bluntly: