"Through your instrumentality," replied Clara, raising her friend's hand to her lips.
"Don't talk any more; the doctor expressly enjoined quiet for you."
"I am glad to owe my recovery to him also. How noble and good he is- -how superior to everybody else!" murmured the sick girl.
Beulah's lips became singularly compact, but she offered no comment. She walked up and down the room, although so worn out that she could scarcely keep herself erect. When the doctor came she escaped unobserved to her room, hastily put on her bonnet, and ran down the steps for a short walk. It was perfect Elysium to get out once more under the pure sky and breathe the air, as it swept over the bay, cool, sweet, and invigorating. The streets were still quiet, but hearses and carts, filled with coffins, no longer greeted her on every side, and she walked for several squares. The sun went down, and, too weary to extend her ramble, she slowly retraced her steps. The buggy no longer stood at the door, and, after seeing Mrs. Hoyt and trying to chat pleasantly, she crept back to Clara.
"Where have you been?" asked the latter.
"To get a breath of fresh air and see the sun set."
"Dr. Hartwell asked for you. I did not know what had become of you."
"How do you feel to-night?" said Beulah, laying her hand softly on
Clara's forehead.
"Better, but very weak. You have no idea how feeble I am. Beulah, I want to know whether—"
"You were told to keep quiet, so don't ask any questions, for I will not answer one."