He pressed her hand kindly, and, rising mechanically, Beulah
accompanied Harriet, who considerately supported the drooping form.
The room to which she was conducted was richly furnished, and
lighted by an elegant colored lamp, suspended from the ceiling. Mrs.
Chilton stood near an armchair, looking moody and abstracted.
Harriet carefully undressed the poor mourner, and, wrapping a shawl
about her, placed her in the chair, and bathed her feet. Mrs.
Chilton watched her with ill-concealed impatience. When the little
dripping feet were dried, Harriet lifted her, as if she had been an
infant, and placed her in bed, then brought the medicine from the
study, and administered a spoonful of the mixture. Placing her
finger on the girl's wrist, she counted the rapid pulse, and,
turning unconcernedly toward Mrs. Chilton, said: "Miss May, master says you need not trouble about the medicine. I am
to sleep in the room and take care of this little girl."
"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."