"You are not so strong as I should like to see you. You have a sort of spiritual look that I don't at all fancy."
"I dare say I shall soon be well again." This was said with an effort, and a sigh quickly followed.
Beulah rang the bell for a cup of coffee, and, taking down a book, drew her chair near the lamp.
"What! studying already?" cried Clara impatiently.
"And why not? Life is short at best, and rarely allows time to master all departments of knowledge. Why should I not seize every spare moment?"
"Oh, Beulah! though you are so much younger, you awe me. I told your guardian to-day that you were studying yourself into a mere shadow. He smiled, and said you were too willful to be advised. You talk to me about not looking well! You never have had any color, and lately you have grown very thin and hollow-eyed. I asked the doctor if he did not think you were looking ill, and he said that you had changed very much since the summer. Beulah, for my sake, please don't pore over your books so incessantly." She took Beulah's hand gently in both hers.
"Want of color is as constitutional with me as the shape of my nose. I have always been pale, and study has no connection with it. Make yourself perfectly easy on my account."
"You are very willful, as your guardian says!" cried Clara impatiently.
"Yes; that is like my sallow complexion—constitutional," answered
Beulah, laughing, and opening a volume of Carlyle as she spoke.
"Oh, Beulah, I don't know what will become of you!" Tears sprang into Clara's eyes.