"Very well. See that she is properly attended to, as my brother directed. My head aches miserably, or I should remain myself."
She glanced at the bed, and left the room. Harriet leaned over the pillow and examined the orphan's countenance. The eyes were closed, but scalding tears rolled swiftly over the cheeks, and the hands were clasped over the brow, as if to still its throbbings. Harriet's face softened, and she said kindly:
"Poor thing! what ails you? What makes you cry so?"
Beulah pressed her head closer to the pillow, and murmured:
"I am so miserable! I want to die, and God will not take me."
"Don't say that till you see whether you've got the scarlet fever. If you have, you are likely to be taken pretty soon, I can tell you; and if you haven't, why, it's all for the best. It is a bad plan to fly in the Almighty's face that way, and tell him what he shall do and what he shan't."
This philosophic response fell unheeded on poor Beulah's ears, and Harriet was about to inquire more minutely into the cause of her grief, but she perceived her master standing beside her, and immediately moved away from the bed. Drawing out his watch, he counted the pulse several times. The result seemed to trouble him, and he stood for some minutes watching the motionless form.
"Harriet, bring me a glass of ice-water."
Laying his cool hand on the hot forehead of the suffering girl, he said tenderly:
"My child, try not to cry any more to-night. It is very bitter, I know; but remember that, though Lilly has been taken from you, from this day you have a friend, a home, a guardian."