How long he sat there, she never knew, for soon she slept, and when hours after she waked, the lamp was burning dimly, and only Harriet was in the room. A week passed, and the girl saw no one except the nurse and physician. One sunny afternoon she looped back the white curtains, and sat down before the open window. Harriet had dressed her in a blue calico wrapper, which made her wan face still more ghastly, and the folds of black hair, which the gentle fingers of the kind nurse had disentangled, lay thick about her forehead, like an ebon wreath on the brow of a statue. Her elbows rested on the arms of the easy-chair, and the weary head leaned upon the hands. Before her lay the flower garden, brilliant and fragrant; further on a row of Lombardy poplars bounded the yard, and beyond the street stretched the west common. In the distance rose a venerable brick building, set, as it were, in an emerald lawn, and Beulah looked only once, and knew it vas the asylum. It was the first time she had seen it since her exodus, and the long-sealed fountain could no longer be restrained. Great hot tears fell over the bent face, and the frail form trembled violently. For nearly fourteen years that brave spirit had battled, and borne, and tried to hope for better things. With more than ordinary fortitude, she had resigned herself to the sorrows that came thick and fast upon her, and, trusting in the eternal love and goodness of God, had looked to him for relief and reward. But the reward came not in the expected way. Hope died; faith fainted; and bitterness and despair reigned in that once loving and gentle soul. Her father had not been spared in answer to her frantic prayers. Lilly had been taken, without even the sad comfort of a farewell, and now, with the present full of anguish, and the future shrouded in dark forebodings, she sobbed aloud: "All alone! All alone! Oh, father! Oh, Lilly, Lilly!" "Do pray, chile, don't take on so; you will fret yourself sick again," said Harriet, compassionately patting the drooped head. "Don't talk to me--don't speak to me!" cried Beulah passionately. "Yes; but I was told not to let you grieve yourself to death, and you are doing your best. Why don't you put your trust in the Lord?" "I did, and he has forgotten me." "No, chile. He forgets not even the little snow-birds. I expect you wanted to lay down the law for him, and are not willing to wait until he sees fit to bless you. Isn't it so?" "He never can give me back my dead." "But he can raise up other friends for you, and he has. It is a blessed thing to have my master for a friend and a protector. Think of living always in a place like this, with plenty of money, and nothing to wish for. Chile, you don't know how lucky--"