"Who told you there was yellow fever at the hospital?"
"Dr. Asbury said so; and, what is more, Hal has had it himself, and nursed people who had it; and he says it is the worst sort of yellow fever."
"I am not afraid of it," said Beulah, looking up for the first time.
"I am dreadfully afraid of it," answered Clara, with a nervous shudder.
"Then you had better leave town as quick as possible, for folks who are easily scared always catch it soonest."
"Nonsense!" cried Beulah, noting the deepening pallor of Clara's face.
"Oh, I will warrant, if everybody else—every man, woman, and child in the city—takes it, you won't! Miss Beulah, I should like to know what you are afraid of!" muttered Harriet, scanning the orphan's countenance, and adding, in a louder tone: "Have you heard anything from master?"
"No." Beulah bit her lips to conceal her emotion.
"Hal hears from him. He was in New York when he wrote the last letter." She took a malicious pleasure in thus torturing her visitor; and, determined not to gratify her by any manifestation of interest or curiosity, Beulah took up a couple of volumes and turned to the door, saying:
"Come, Clara, you must each have a bouquet. Harriet, where are the flower scissors? Dr. Hartwell never objected to my carefully cutting even his choicest flowers. There! Clara, listen to the cool rippling of the fountain. How I have longed to hear its silvery murmur once more!"