Mr. Graham remained at the cottage, and, having written to Antoinette of the imminent danger in which he found her husband, urged her to lose no time in joining him. Unluckily, he was ignorant of all the information which is so essential in the occupation of nursing. He was anxious to do everything in his power; but, like the majority of persons on such occasions, failed wretchedly in his attempts. Almost as restless and nervous as the sick man, he only increased the difficulties he would fain have remedied, and Beulah finally prevailed upon him to abandon his efforts and leave the room, where his constant movements annoyed and irritated the sufferer. Eugene recognized no one, but his eyes followed Beulah continually; and when his delirium was at its height only her voice and clasp of his hand could in any degree soothe him. In his ravings she noticed two constantly conflicting emotions: a stern bitterness of feeling toward his wife and an almost adoring fondness for his infant child. Of the latter he talked incessantly, and vowed that she, at least, should love him. As the weary days crept by Beulah started at every sound, fancying that the wife had certainly come; but hour after hour found only Mrs. Williams and the orphan guarding the deserted husband. Gradually the fever abated, and a death-like stupor succeeded. Mr. Graham stole about the house like a haunting spirit, miserable and useless, and in the solemn stillness of midnight only Beulah sat by the pillow, where a head now rested motionless as that of a corpse. Mrs. Williams was asleep on a couch at the opposite end of the room, and, in the dim, spectral light of the shaded lamp, the watcher and her charge looked unearthly. Faint from constant vigils, Beulah threw her arm on the bed and leaned her head upon it, keeping her eyes on the colorless face before her. Who that has watched over friends, hovering upon the borders of the spiritland, needs to be told how dreary was the heart of the solitary nurse? And to those who have not thus suffered and endured, no description would adequately portray the desolation and gloom. The stars were waning, when Eugene moved, threw up his hand over the pillow, and, after a moment, opened his eyes. Beulah leaned forward, and he looked at her fixedly, as if puzzled; then said feebly: "Beulah, is it you?" A cry of joy rolled to her lips; but she hushed it, and answered tremblingly: "Yes, Eugene; it is Beulah." His eyes wandered about the room, and then rested again on her countenance, with a confused, perplexed expression. "Am I at home? What is the matter?" "Yes, Eugene; at home among your best friends. Don't talk any more; try to sleep again." With a great joy in her heart she extinguished the light, so that he could see nothing. After a few moments he said slowly: "Beulah, did I dream I saw you? Beulah!" She felt his hand put out, as if to feel for her. "No; I am sitting by you, but will not talk to you now. You must keep quiet."