"All of the last exists merely in your imagination. We will say no more about it, if you please." She immediately began a brilliant overture, and Clara retreated to the window. With night the roar of the tempest increased; the rain fell with a dull, uninterrupted patter, the gale swept furiously on, and the heaving, foaming waters of the bay gleamed luridly beneath the sheet-lightning. Clara stood looking out, and before long Beulah joined her; then the former said suddenly: "Do you remember that, about six years ago, a storm like this tossed the 'Morning Star' far from its destined track, and for many days it was unheard of? Do you remember, too, that it held one you loved; and that, in an agony of dread lest he should find a grave among coral beds, you bowed your knee in prayer to Almighty God, imploring him to calm the tempest, hush the gale, and save him who was so dear to you? Ah, Beulah, you distrusted human pilots then!" As Beulah made no reply, she fancied she was pondering her words. But memory had flown back to the hour when she knelt in prayer for Eugene, and she thought she could far better have borne his death then, in the glorious springtime of his youth, than know that he had fallen from his noble height. Then she could have mourned his loss and cherished his memory ever after; now she could only pity and despise his folly. What was that early shipwreck she so much dreaded, in comparison with the sea of vice, whose every wave tossed him helplessly on to ruin. He had left her an earnest believer in religion; he came back scoffing at everything sacred. This much she had learned from Cornelia. Was there an intimate connection between the revolutions in his nature? Misled by her silence, Clara said eagerly: "You were happy in that early faith. Oh, Beulah, you will never find another so holy, so comforting!" Beulah frowned and looked up impatiently. "Clara, I am not to be persuaded into anything. Leave me to myself. You are kind, but mistaken." "If I have said too much, forgive me; I was actuated by sincere affection and pity for your state of mind." "I am not an object of pity by any means," replied Beulah very coldly. Clara was unfortunate in her expressions; she seemed to think so, and turned away. But, conscious of having spoken hastily, Beulah caught her hand, and exclaimed frankly: "Do not be hurt with me; I did not intend to wound you. Forgive me, Clara. Don't go. When are you to leave for your new home?" "Day after to-morrow. Mr. Arlington seems anxious that I should come immediately. He has three children--a son and two daughters. I hope they are amiable; I dread lest they prove unruly and spoiled. If so, woe to their governess." "Does Mr. Arlington reside in the village to which you directed your letter?"