Subsequently, Mr. Lockhart requested Beulah to sing her forest song for him again. The blood surged quickly into her face, and, not without confusion, she begged him to excuse her. He insisted, and tried to draw her from her seat; but, sinking further back into the corner, she assured him she could not; she never sang, except when alone. Dr. Hartwell smiled, and, looking at her curiously, said: "I never heard her even attempt to sing. Beulah, why will you not try to oblige him?" "Oh, sir! my songs are all connected with sorrows. I could not sing them now; indeed, I could not." And as the memory of Lilly, hushed by her lullaby, rose vividly before her, she put her hands over her eyes and wept quietly. "When you come home from your Oriental jaunt, she will be able to comply with your request. Meantime, Percy, come into the study; I want a cigar and game of chess." Beulah quitted the parlor at the same time, and was mounting the steps, when she heard Mr. Lockhart ask: "Guy, what are you going to do with that solemn-looking child?" "Going to try to show her that the world is not altogether made up of brutes." She heard no more; but, long after she laid her head upon the pillow, pondered on the kind fate which gave her so considerate, so generous a guardian; and, in the depths of her gratitude, she vowed to show him that she reverenced and honored him. CHAPTER XIII Three years passed swiftly, unmarked by any incidents of interest, and one dreary night in December Beulah sat in Dr. Hartwell's study, wondering what detained him so much, later than usual. The lamp stood on the tea-table, and the urn awaited the master's return. The room, with its books, statues, paintings, and melodeon, was unaltered, but time had materially changed the appearance of the orphan. She had grown tall, and the mazarine blue merino dress fitted the slender form with scrupulous exactness. The luxuriant black hair was combed straight back from the face, and wound into a circular knot, which covered the entire back of the head, and gave a classical outline to the whole. The eyelashes were longer and darker, the complexion had lost its sickly hue, and, though there was no bloom on the cheeks, they were clear and white. I have spoken before of the singular conformation of the massive brow, and now the style in which she wore her hair fully exposed the outline. The large gray eyes had lost their look of bitterness, but more than ever they were grave, earnest, restless, and searching; indexing a stormy soul. The whole countenance betokened that rare combination of mental endowments, that habitual train of deep, concentrated thought, mingled with somewhat dark passion, which characterizes the eagerly inquiring mind that struggles to lift itself far above common utilitarian themes. The placid element was as wanting in her physiognomy as in her character, and even the lines of the mouth gave evidence of strength and restlessness, rather than peace.