"You have murdered her! I knew it would be so, when you took my darling from my arms, and refused my prayer! Aye, my prayer! I knelt and prayed you, in the name of God, to let me see her once more; to let me hold her to my heart, and kiss her lips, and forehead, and little slender hands. You scorned a poor girl's prayer; you taunted me with my poverty, and locked me from my darling, my Lilly, my all! Oh, woman! you drove me wild, and I cursed you and your husband. Ha! Has your wealth and splendor saved her? God have mercy upon me, I feel as if I could curse you eternally. Could you not have sent for me before she died? Oh, if I could only have taken her in my arms, and seen her soft angel eyes looking up to me, and felt her little arms around my neck, and heard her say 'sister' for the last time! Would it have taken a dime from your purse, or made you less fashionable, to have sent for me before she died? 'Such measure as ye mete, shall be meted to you again.' May you live to have your heart trampled and crushed, even as you have trampled mine!" Her arm sank to her side, and once more the blazing eyes were fastened on the young sleeper; while Mrs. Grayson, cowering like a frightened child, left the room. Beulah fell on her knees, and, crossing her arms on the table, bowed her head; now and then broken, wailing tones passed the white lips. Dr. Hartwell stood in a recess of the window, with folded arms and tightly compressed mouth, watching the young mourner. Once he moved toward her, then drew back, and a derisive smile distorted his features, as though he scorned himself for the momentary weakness. He turned suddenly away, and reached the door, but paused to look back. The old straw bonnet, with its faded pink ribbon, had fallen off, and heavy folds of black hair veiled the bowed face. He noted the slight, quivering form, and the thin hands, and a look of remorseful agony swept over his countenance. A deadly pallor settled on cheek and brow, as, with an expression of iron resolve, he retraced his steps, and, putting his hand on the orphan's shoulder, said gently: "Beulah, this is no place for you. Come with me, child." She shrank from his touch, and put up one hand, waving him off. "Your sister died with the scarlet fever, and Claudia is now very ill with it. If you stay here you will certainly take it yourself." "I hope I shall take it." He laid his fingers on the pale, high brow, and, softly drawing back the thick hair, said earnestly: "Beulah, come home with me. Be my child; my daughter." Again her hand was raised to put him aside. "No. You too would hate me for my ugliness. Let me hide it in the grave with Lilly. They cannot separate us there." He lifted her head; and, looking down into the haggard face, answered kindly: "I promise you I will not think you ugly. I will make you happy. Come to me, child." She shook her head with a moan. Passing his arm around her, he raised her from the carpet, and leaned her head against him.