"I know her nature too well to hope that. A woman who prefers to dance and ride with gentlemen rather than remain in her luxurious home with her babe and her duties, cannot be won from her moth-like life. No, no! I despair of happiness from her society and affection, and, if at all, must derive it from other sources. My child is the one living blossom amidst all my withered hopes. She is the only treasure I have, except your friendship. She shall never blush for her father's degradation. Henceforth, though an unhappy man, I shall prove myself a temperate one. I cannot trust my child's education to Antoinette; she is unworthy the sacred charge; I must fit myself to form her character. Oh, Beulah, if I could make her such a woman as you are, then I could indeed bear my lot patiently! I named her Cornelia, but henceforth she shall be called Beulah also, in token of her father's gratitude to his truest friend." "No, Eugene; call her not after me, lest some of my sorrows come upon her young head. Oh, no! name her not Beulah; let her be called Cornelia. I would not have her soul shrouded as mine has been." Beulah spoke vehemently, and, laying her hand on his arm, she added: "Eugene, to-day you will leave me and go back to your own house, to your family; but before you go, I ask you, if not for your sake, for that of your child, to promise me solemnly that you will never again touch intoxicating drinks of any kind. Oh, will you promise? Will you reform entirely?" There was a brief pause, and he answered slowly: "I promise, Beulah. Nay, my friend, I swear I will abstain in future. Ah, I will never disgrace my angel child! Never, so help me Heaven!" The sound of approaching steps interrupted the conversation, and, expecting to see Antoinette and her infant, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Graham, Beulah looked up quickly, and perceived Mr. Lindsay. "Does my advent startle you, that you look so pale and breathless?" said he, smiling as he took her hand. "I am certainly very much surprised to see you here, sir." "And I am heartily glad you have come, Reginald," cried Eugene, returning his friend's tight clasp. "I intended coming to nurse you, Graham, as soon as I heard of the accident, but my mother's illness prevented my leaving home. I need not ask about your arm; I see it still requires cautious handling; but how are you otherwise? Regaining your strength, I hope?" "Yes; gradually. I am better than I deserve to be, Reginald." "That remains to be proved in future, Graham. Come, get well as rapidly as possible; I have a plan to submit to you, the earliest day you are strong enough to discuss business topics. Miss Beulah, let me sharpen your pencil." He took it from her, trimmed it carefully, and handed it back; then drew her portfolio near him, and glanced over the numerous unfinished sketches.