feet were bruised we now see only springing flowers; where childish lips drank from some Marab verdure and garlands woo us back.  Over the rustling leaves a tiny form glided to Beulah’s side; a pure infantine face with golden curls looked up at her, and a lisping voice of unearthly sweetness whispered in the autumn air.  Here she had often brought Lilly and filled her baby fingers with asters and goldenrod; and gathered bright scarlet leaves to please her childish fancy.  Bitter waves had broken over her head since then; shadows had gathered about her heart.  Oh, how far off were the early years!  How changed she was; how different life and the world seemed to her now!  The flowery meadows were behind her, with the vestibule of girlhood, and now she was a woman, with no ties to link her with any human being; alone, and dependent only on herself.  Verily she might have exclaimed in the mournful words of Lamb: 

 “All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.”

She sat looking at the wild flowers in her hand; a sad, dreamy light filled the clear gray eyes, and now and then her brow was plowed by some troubled thought.  The countenance told of a mind perplexed and questioning.  The “cloud no bigger than a man’s hand” had crept up from the horizon of faith, and now darkened her sky; but she would not see the gathering gloom; shut her eyes resolutely to the coming storm.  As the cool October wind stirred the leaves at her feet, and the scarlet and gold cloud-flakes faded in the west, she rose and walked slowly homeward.  She was too deeply pondering her speculative doubts to notice Dr. Hartwell’s buggy whirling along the street; did not see his head extended, and his cold, searching glance; and of course he believed the blindness intentional and credited it to pique or anger.  On reaching home she endeavored by singing a favorite hymn to divert the current of her thoughts, but the shadows were growing tenacious and would not be banished so easily.  “If a man die shall he live again?” seemed echoing on the autumn wind.  She took up her Bible and read several chapters, which she fancied would uncloud her mind; but in vain.  Restlessly she began to pace the floor; the lamplight gleamed on a pale, troubled face.  After a time the door opened and Clara came in.  She took a seat without speaking, for she had learned to read Beulah’s countenance, and saw at a glance that she was abstracted and in no mood for conversation.  When the tea bell rang Beulah stopped suddenly in the middle of the room.

“What is the matter?” asked Clara.

“I feel as if I needed a cup of coffee, that is all.  Will you join me?”

“No; and if you take it you will not be able to close your eyes.”

“Did you have a pleasant ride?” said Beulah, laying her hand on her companion’s shoulder and looking gravely down into the sweet face, which wore an expression she had never seen there before.

“Oh, I shall never forget it! never!” murmured Clara.