^AHvaaiB^ y 0Aavaaiii ^E-UNIVER% ^ctflS-JWttUte L rf\ < i i \ L.OF-CALIfOff/ I 1 f j^HIBRARY ^ : OF-CAUFO I 3 .jvURANtfl % a ^ ^HIBRARYfl, i ir ~ 1 1 Ml I 8 r 1 POPULAR NOVELS. B Y AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON. 1. BEULAH . . $1.75 2. MACARIA. . 1.75 8. INEZ. . .1.75 4. ST. ELMO. . $2.00 5. VASHTI. . . 2.00 6. INFELICE. . 2.00 'Who has not read with rare delight the novels of Augusta Evans? Her strange, wonderful, and fascinating style; the profound depths to which she sinks the probe into human nature, touching its most sacred chords and springs; the intense interest thrown around her characters, and the very marked peou,- liarities of her principal figures, con spire to gbe an unusual interest to the works of this eminent Southern authoress." All published uniform with this volume, and sent free by mail, on receipt of priie, by G. \V. CARLETON & CQ., Publisher*, New York. BE U L A H AUGUSTA J. EVANS, - 1 MACAMA," " ST. ELMO," " UNTIL DEATH C8 DO PART '" TO, WO. NEW YORK : Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. M DCCC LXXVI. EHTERBD according to Act of Congress, ta the yeai 1858, bv DERBY A JAOKSCtf in tbe CUrk's Office of the District Court of me waited States, for the Southern District of Wew York. JOHN F. Taow & SON, PRINTERS, 205-313 EAST laTH ST., NEW YORK. TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTEB PAGE 1 7 II 15 III 31 IV 38 V 48 YI 53 VII 60 VIII 67 IX 81 X 94 XI 114 XII 121 XIII . 132 XIV 148 XV 158 XVI 168 XVII 188 XVIII 206 XIX. . . 223 XX 240 XXI 259 XXII. . 275 XXIII . .293 XXIV '309 XXV 326 XXVI 339 XXVII 348 XXVIII 359 XXIX 373 XXX 386 XXXI 395 XXXII 405 XXXIII. ........ 41 (i XXXIV 42<) XXXV 442 XXXVI. . 4f>:i XXXVII. . ~ 464 XXXVIIT 474 XXXIX. . 484 XL 497 XLI. 505 BE UL AH, CHAPTER I. A JANUARY sua had passed the zenith, and the slanting raji flainea over the window-panes of a large brick building, bearing in its front in golden letters the inscription, " Orphan Asylum." The structure was commodious, and surrounded by wide galleries, while the situation offered a silent tribute to the discretion ana good sense of the board of managers, who selected the suburbs ) instead of the more densely populated portion of the city. The whitewashed palings inclosed, as a front yard or lawn, rather more than an acre of ground, sown in grass and studded with trees, among which the shelled walks meandered gracefully. A long avenue of elms and poplars extended from the gate to the principal entrance, and imparted to the Asylum an imposing and venerable aspect. There was very little .shrubbery, but here and there orange boughs bent beneath their load of golden fruitage, while the glossy foliage, stirred by the wind, trembled and glistened in the sunshine. Beyond the inclosure stretched ho common, dotted with occasional clumps of pine and leafless oaks, through which glimpses of the city might be had. Building and grounds wore a quiet, peaceful, inviting look, singularly appropriate for the purpose designated by the inscription, '* Orphan Asylum," a haven for the desolate and miserable 8 BEULAH. The front door was closed, but upon the broad granite steps, where the sunlight lay warm and tempting, sat a trio of the inmates. In the foreground was a slight fairy.. form, "a wee winsome thing," with coral lips, and large, soft blue eyes, set in a frame of short, clustering golden curls. She looked about sis jears old, and was clad, like her companions, in canary-colored flannel dress, and b.ne check apron. Lillian was the pet of the Asylum and now her rosy cheek rested upon her tiny white palm, as though she wearied of the picture-book which lay at her feet. The figure beside her, was one whose marvellous hearty riveted the gaze of ail who chanced to see her. The chiH could have been but a few months older than Lillian, yet the brilliant black eyes, the neculiar curve of the dimpled mouth, and long, dark ringlets, gave to the oval face a inaturer and tnor<} piquant loveliness. The cast of Claudia's countenance bo^Doke her foreign parentage, and told of the warm, fierce Italian blood that glowed in her cheeks. There was fascinating grace in every movement, even in the easy indolence of her position, as she bent on one knee to curl Lillian's locks over her finger. On the upper step, in the rear of these two, sat a girl whose age could not have been very accurately guessed from her countenance, and whose features contrasted strangely with those of her companions. At a first casual glance, one thought her rather homely, nay, decidedly ugly ; yet, to the curious physio- gnomist, this face presented greater attractions than either of the others. Header, I here paint you the portrait of that quiet little figure, whose history is contained in the following pages. A pair of large grey eyes set beneath an overhanging forehead, a boldly-projectiug-forehead, broad and smooth ; a rather large but finely cut mouth, an irreproachable nose, of the order fur- thest removed from aquiline, and heavy black eyebrows, which, instead of arching, stretched straight across and nearly met. There was not a vestige of color in her cheeks; face, neck, am] hands wore a sickly pallor, and a mass of rippling, jetty hair, drawn smoothly over the temples, rendered this marble-liki BET7LAH. 8 whiteness more apparent. Unlike the younger children. Beulab was busily sewing upon what seemed the counterpart of thelf aprons ; and the sad expression of the countenance, the lips firmly compressed, as if to prevent the utterance of complaint showed that she had become acquainted with cares and sorrows, \ of which they were yet happily ignorant. Her eyes were beat i down on her work, and the long, black lashes nearly touches her cold cheeks. " Sister Beulah, ought Claudy to say that ?" cried Lillian, turning round and laying her hand upon the piece of sewing. " Say what, Lilly ? I was not listening to you." " She said she hoped that largest robin redbreast would gel drunk, and tumble down. He would be sure to bump some of his pretty bright feathers out, if he rolled over the shells two 01 three times," answered Lilly, pointing to a China-tree near, where a flock of robins were eagerly chirping over the feast of berries. " Why, Claudy 1 how can you wish the poor little fellow such ' bad luck ?" The dark, thoughtful eyes, full of deep meaning, rested on Claudia's radiant face. ^ " Oh ! you nee'd not think I am a bear, or a hawk, ready to swallow the darling little beauty alive ! I would not have him lose a feather for the world ; but I should like the fun of seeing him stagger and wheel over and over, and tumble off the limb, BO that I might run and catch him in my apron. Do you think / would give him to our matron to make a pie ? No, you might take off my fingers first 1" and the little elf snapped them pmphatically in Beulah's face. " Make a pie of robics, indeed ! I would starve before 1 would eat a piece of it," chimed in Lilly, with childish horror at the thought. Claudia laughed with mingled mischief and chagrin. " You jay you would not eat a bit of roby-pie tc save your life! Well, you did it last week, anyhow." " Oh, Claudy, I didn't 1" 10 B E U L A H . " Oh, but you did ! Don't you remember Susan picked up a bird ?ast week that fell out of this very tree, and gave it to out matron ? Well, didn't we have bird-pie for dinner I" " Yes, but one poor little fellow would not make a pie." " They bad some birds, already that came from the market, nd I heard Mrs. Williams tell Susan to put it in with tha others. So, you see, you did eat roby-pie, and I didn't, for I knew what was in it. I saw its head wrung off !" "Well, I hope I did not get any of roby : I won't eat any more pie till they have all gone," was Lilly's consolatory reflec- tion. Chancing to glance toward the gate, she exclaimed : " There is a carriage." " What is to day ? let me see, Wednesday : yes, this is the even- ing for the ladies to meet here. Lil, is my face right clean ? because that red-headed Miss Dorothy always takes particular pains to look at it. She rubbed her pocket-handkerchief over it the other day. I do hate her, don't you ?" cried Claudia, spring- ing up and buttoning the baud of her apron sleeve, which had become unfastened. " Why, Claudy, I am astonished to hear you talk so : Miss Dorothy helps to buy food and clothes for us, and you ought to be ashamed to speak of her as you do." As she delivered this reprimand, Beulah snatched up a small volume and hid it in her work-basket. " I don't believe she gives us much. I do hate her, and T can't help it, she is so ugly, and cross, and vinegar-faced. I should not like her to look at my mug of milk. You don't love her either, any more than I do, only you won't say anything about her. But kiss me, and I promise I will be good, and not make faces at her in my apron." Beulah stooped down and warmly kissed the suppliant, then took her little sister's hand and led her into the house, just as the carriage reached the door. The children presented a pleasant spectacle as they entered the long dining-room, and ranged themselves for inspection. Twenty-eight heirs of orphanage, varying in years, from one crawling infant, t BEULAH. li arell-nigh grown girls, all neatly clad, and with smiling, contented faces, if we except one grave countenance, which might have been remarked by the close observer. The weekly visiting com- mittee consisted of four of the lady managers, but to-day the number was swelled to six. A glance at the inspectors sufficed to inform Beulah that something of more than ordinary interest had convened them on the present occasion, and she was passing oil to her accustomed place, when her eyes fell upon a familiar face, partially concealed by a straw bonnet. It was her Sabbath Bchool teacher ; a sudden glad light flashed over the girl's countenance, and the pale lips disclosed a set of faultlessly beau- tiful teeth, as she smiled and hastened to her friend. " How do you do, Mrs. Mason ? I am so glad to see you !" " Thank you, Beulah, I have been promising myself this plea- sure a great while. I saw. Eugene this morning, and told him I was coming out. He sent you a book and a message. Here is the book. You are to mark the passages you like particularly, and study them well until he comes. When did you see him last?" Mrs. Mason put the volume in her hand as she spoke. " It has been more than a week since he was here, and I was afraid he was sick. He is very kind and good to remember the book he promised me, and I thank you very much, Mr Mason, for bringing it." The face was radiant with new-born joy, but it all dice 1 out when Miss Dorothea White (little Claudia's par- ticular aversion) fixed her pale blue eyes upon her, and asked, in a sharp, discontented tone : " What ails that girl, Mrs. Williams ? she does not work 'jnough, or she would have some blood in her cheeks. Has she been sick ?" " No, madam, she has not been sick exactly, but somehow sh f never looks strong and hearty like the others. She works well ( " enough. There is not a better or more industrious girl in th asylum, but I rather think she studies too much. She will sit ujr Hid read of nights, when the others are all sound asleep ; an not admit of any luch expenditure. As the best thing for her, I should move t# BEULAH. IS bind her out to a mantna-maker or milliner, but she tould not stand tho confinement. She would go off with consumption it ur door and lay down on your truckle-bed, and swallowed your last draught 1" " There is not a word about Chatterton in that sketch," said the doctor. B E U L A H . 49 She started, looked up, and answered slowly : " No, not a word, not a word. He was buried among pau- pers, you know." " What made you think of him ?" " I thought that instead of resting in the Abbey, under sculp- tured marble, his bones were scattered, nobody knows where I often think of him." " Why ?" " Because he was so miserable and uncared-for ; because sometimes I feel exactly as he did." As she uttered these words, she compressed her lips in a manner which plaiuly said, " There 1 I have no more to say, so do not question me." He had learned to read her countenance, and as he felt the J infant's pulse, pointed to the crib, saying': " You must lay him down now ; he seems fast asleep." " No, I may as well hold him." " Girl, will you follow my directions ?" said he, sharply. Beulah looked up at him for a moment, then rose and placed the boy in his crib, while a sort of grim smile distorted her fea- tures. The doctor mixed some medicine, and setting the glass on the table, put both hands in his pockets and walked up to the nurse. Her head was averted. " Beulah, will you be good enough to look at me ?" She fixed her eyes proudly on his, and her beautiful teeth gleamed through the parted lips. " Do you know that Eugene is going away very soon, to bo absent at least fire years ?" An incredulous smile flitted over her face, but the ashen hue of death settled there. " I am in earnest. He leaves for Europe next week, to be gone a long time." She extended her hands pleadingly, and said in a hoarse whisper : " Are you sure ?" " Quite sure ; his passage is already engaged in a packet that 50 BEULAH. will sail early next week. What will Decome of yaa io hii absence ?" The strained eyes met his, vacantly ; the icy hands dropped, and she fell forward against him. Guy Hartwell placed the slight attenuated form on the sofa and stood with folded arms looking down at the colorless face. His high white brow clouded, and a fierce light kindled in his piercing, dark eyes, as through closed teeth came the rather indistinct words : " It is madness to indulge the thought ; I was a fool to dream of it. She would prove heartless, like all of her sex, and repay me with black ingratitude. Let her fight the battle of life unaided." He sprinkled a handful of water in the upturned face, and : ^i a few minutes saw the eyelids tremble, and knew from the look of suffering, that with returning consciousness came the keen pangs of grief. She covered her face with her hands, and alter a little while, asked : " Shall I ever see him again ?" " He will come here to-night to tell you about his trip. But what will become of you in his absence ? answer me that 1" " God only knows 1" Dr. Hartwell wrote the directions for Johnny's medicine, and placing the slip of paper on the glass, took his hat and left the room. Beulah sat with her head pressed against the foot of the crib stunned, taking no note of the lapse of time. " Twilight grey, Had in her sober livery all things clad." The room had grown dark, save where a mellow ray stole through the western window. Beulah rose mechanically, lighted the lamp, and shaded it so as to shield the eyes of the sleeping boy. The door was open, and glancing up, she saw Eugene on the threshold. Her arms were thrown around him, with a kn? cry of mingled joy and grief. BEULAH. 61 " Oh, Eugene ! please don't leave me ! Whom have I n. the rorld but you ?" "Beulah, dear, I must go. Only think of the privilege of being at a German University! I never dreamed of such a piect of good luck. Don't cry so ; I shall come back some of these days, such an erudite, such an elegant young man, you will hardly know me. Only five years. I am almost seventeen now j time passes very quickly, and you will scarcely miss me before I shall be at home again." He lifted up her face, and laughed gaily as he spoke. " When are you to go ?" " The vessel sails Wednesday three days from now. I shall be very busy until then. Beulah, what glorious letters I shall write you from the old world ! I am to see all Europe before I return ; that is, my father says I shall. He is coming on, in two or three years, with Cornelia, and we are all to travel toge ther. Won't it be glorious ?" " Yes, for you. But, Eugene, my heart seems to die, when I think of those coming five years. How shall I live without you T Oh, what shall I do ?" " There, Beulah I do not look so wretched. You will have a thousand things to divert your mind. My father says he will see that you are sent to the public school. You know the tui tion is free, and he thinks he can find some good, kind family, where you will be taken care of till your education is finished. Your studies will occupy you closely, and you will have quite enough to think of, without troubling yourself about my absence. Of course, you will write to me constantly, and each letter will be (ike having a nice, quiet chat together. Oh, dear ! can't you get np a smile, and look less forlorn ? You never would look oa he bright side." "Because I never had any to look on, except you and Lilly ; and when you are gone, everything will be dark dark 1" sh groaned, and covered her face with her hands " Not unless you determine to make it so. If I did net know 52 B E U L A H . that m/ father would attend to your education, I should not b ^~so delighted to go. Certainly, Beulah, in improving yourself, you will have very little leisure to sit down and repine that youl lot is not among the brightest. Do try to hope that things may change for the better. If they do not, why, I shall not spend eternity in Europe ; and when I come home, of course, I shall take care of you myself." She stood with one hand resting on his arm, and while he talked on, carelessly, of her future, she fixed her eyes on his coun- tenance, thinking of the desolate hours in store for her, when the mighty Atlantic billows surged between her and the noble classic face she loved so devotedly. A shadowy panorama of Doming years glided before her, and trailing clouds seemed gathered about the path her little feet must tread. A vague foreboding discovered to her the cheerlcssness, and she shivered m anticipating the dreariuess that awaited her. But there was time enough for the raging of the storm ; why rush so eagerly to meet it ? She closed her eyes to shut out the grim vision, &nd listened resolutely to the plans suggested for her approval. When Eugene rose to say " good night," it was touching to note the eiforts she made to appear hopeful ; the sob swallowed, lest it should displease him ; the trembling lips forced into a smile, and the heavy eyelids lifted bravely to meet his glance. When I he door closed after his retreating form, the hands were clasped convulsively, and the white, tearless face, mutely revealed the desolation which that loving heart locked in its darkened B E U L A a , 5 b CHAPTER VI. SEVERAL tedious weeks had rolled away, since Eugen Graham left his sunny southern home, to seek learning in the venerable universities of the old world. Blue-eyed May, the carnival mouth of the year, had clothed the earth with verdure, and enamelled it with flowers of every hue, scattering her trea- sures before the rushing car of summer. During the winter, scarlet fever had hovered threateningly over the city, but as the spring advanced, hopes were entertained that all danger -had passed. Consequently, when it was announced that the disease had made its appearance in a very malignant form, in the hcuse adjoining Mrs. Martin's, she determined to send her children immediately out of town. A relative living at some distance uj. the river, happened to be visiting her at the time, and as shf intended returning home the following day, kindly offered to take charge of the children, until all traces of the disease had vanished. To this plan, Beulah made no resistance, though the memory of her little sister haunted her hourly. What could she do ? Make one last attempt to see her, and if again refused, then it mattered not whither she went. When the pre- parations for their journey had been completed, and Johnny slept soundly in his crib, Beulah put on her old straw-bonnet, and set out for Mr. Grayson's residence. The sun was low in the sky, and the evening breeze rippling the waters of the bay, stirred the luxuriant foliage of the ancient china-trees that bordered the pavements. The orphan's heart was heavy with nndeGned dread ; such a dread as had oppressed her the day of oer separation from her sister. " Coming events cast theh shadows before," %nd she was conscious that the sun-set glow could not dispel (Hi BRULAH. the spectral gloom which enveloped her. She walked OL. will her head bowed, like one stooping from an impending blow and when at last the crouching lions confronted her, she felt as if her heart had suddenly frozen. There stood the doctor's buggy She sprang up the steps, and stretched out her hand for the bolt of the door. Long streamers of crape floated through hef fingers. She stood still a moment, then threw open the door and rushed in. The hall floor was covered to muffle the tread not a sound reached her, save the stirring of the chiua-trees outside. Her hand was on the balustrade to ascend the steps, but her eyes fell upon a piece of crape fastened to the parlor iloor, and pushing it ajar she looked in. The furniture was draped ; even the mirrors, and pictures, and on a small oblong '-able in the centre of the room, lay a shrouded form. An overpowering perfume of crushed flowers filled the air, and Beulah stood on the threshold, with her hands extended, and her eyes fixed upon the table. There were two children; Lilly might yet live, and an unvoiced prayer went up to God, that the dead might be Claudia. Then like scathing lightning came the recollection of her curse ; " May God answer their prayers, as they answered mine." With rigid limbs she tottered to the table, and laid her hand on the velvet pall; with closed eyes she drew it down, then held her breath and looked. There lay her idol, in the marble arms of death. Ah ! how match- lessly beautiful, wrapped in her last sleep I The bright golden curls glittered around the snowy brow, and floated like wander- ing sunlight over the arms and shoulders. The tiny waxen fingers clasped each other as in life, and the delicately chiselled lips were just parted, as though the sleeper whispered. Beu laVo gaze dwelt upon this mocking loveliness, then the arms were thrown wildly up, and with a long, wailing cry, her head sank heavily on the velvet cushion, beside the cold face of her dead darling. How long it rested there, she never knew Earth seemed to pass away ; darkness closed over her, and for a time she had no pain, no sorrow ; she and Lilly were BEULAH 5fl together. All was black, and she had no feeling. Then she wai lifted, and the motion aroused her torpid faculties ; she moaned and opened her eyes. Dr. Hartwell was placing her on a sofa, and Mrs. Graysou stood by the table with a handkerchief over her eyes. With returning consciousness came a raving despair f Beulah sprang from the strong arm that strove to detain her aad laying one clinched hand on the folded fingers of the dead, raised the other fiercely toward Mrs. Grayson, and exclaimed almost frantically : " You have murdered her I I knew it would be so, when you took my darling from my arms, and refused my prayer ! Aye 1 my prayer ! I knelt and prayed you in the name of God, to let me see her once more ; to let me hold her to my heart, and kiss her lips, and forehead, and little slender hands. You ccorned a poor girl's prayer ; you taunted me with my poverty, and locked me from my darling, my Lilly I my all 1 Oh, woman ! you drove me wild, and I cursed you and your hus- band. Ha ! has your wealth and splendor saved her ? God j have mercy upon me ; I feel as if I could curse you eternally. Could you not have sent for me before she died ? Oh, if I could only have taken her in my arms, and seen her soft angel eyes looking up to me, and felt her little arms arouad my neck, and heard her say ' sister ' for the last time ! Would it have j taken a dime from your purse, or made you less fashionable, to j have sent for me before she died ? ' Such measure as ye mete, ' shall be meted to you again.' May you live to have your heart tiauipled and crushed, even as you have trampled mine 1" Her arm sank to her side, and once more the blazing eyes were fastened on the young sleeper ; while Mrs. Graysou, cower- ing like a frightened child, left the room. Beulah fell on hci knees, and crossing her arms on the table, bowed her head ; now ard then, broken, wailing tones passed the white lips Doctor llartwell stood in a recess of the window, witk folded arms and tightly compressed mouth, watching the young mourner. Once he moved toward her, then drew back, and e 56 B E U L A H . derisive smile distorted his features, as though he scorned Mm self for the momentary weakness. lie turned suddenly away, and reached the door, but paused to look back. The old straw bonnet, with its faded pink ribbon, had fallen off, and heavy folds of black hair veiled the bowed face. lie noted the slight, quivering form, and the thin hands, and a look of remorseful agony swept over his countenance. A deadly pallor settled on cheek and brow, as, with an expression of iron resolve, he retraced his steps, and patting his hand on the orphan'? shoulder, said gently : " Beulah, this is no place for you. Come with me, child." She shrank from his touch, and put up one hand, waving him off. " Your sister died with the scarlet fever, and Claudia is now very ill with it. If you stay here you will certainly take it your- eelf." " I hope I shall take it." He laid his fingers on the pale, high brow, and softly drawing back the thick hair, said earnestly : " Beulah, come home with me. Be my child : my daughter." Again her hand was raised to put him aside. " No : you too would hate me for my ugliness. Let me hide it in the grave with Lilly. They cannot separate us there." He lifted her head ; and, looking down into the haggard face, answered kindly " I promise you I will not think you ugly. I will make you fcappj. Come to me, child." She shook her head with a moan. Passing his arm around her, he raised her from the carpet, and Yaned her head against him. " Poor little sufferer 1 they have made you drink, prematnreljj earth's bitter draughts. They have disenchanted your childhood of its fairy- like future. Beulah, you are ill now. Do not struggle o. You must come with me, my child." He took her in hia Btrong arms, and bore her out of the house of death. His buggj itood at the door, aud, seating himself in it, he directed the boj B E U L A H . 5? who accompanied him to "drive home." Beulah offered n: resistance ; she hid her fuce in her hands, and sat quite still, scarcely conscious of what passed. She knew that a firm arm held her securely, and, save her wretchedness, knew nothing else. Soon she was lifted out of the buggy, carried up a flight of steps, and then a flood of light flashed through the fingers, upon he* closed eyelids. Doctor Hartwell placed his charge on a sofa, and rang the bell. The summons was promptly answered by a negro woman of middle age. She stood at the door awaiting the order, but his eyes were bent on the floor, and his brows knitted. " Master, did you ring ?" " Yes, tell my sister to come to me. r He took a turn across the floor, and paused by the open win- c^w As the night air rustled the brown locks on his temples, he sighed deeply. The door opened, and a tall, slender woman, of perhaps thirty-five years, entered the room. She was pale and handsome, with a profusion of short chestnut curls about her face. With her hand resting on the door, she said, in a calm, clear tone- " Well, Guy." He started, and, turning from the window, approached her. " May, I want a room arranged for this child as soon as po sible. Will you see that a hot foot-bath is provided. When < is ready, send Harriet for her." His sister's lips curled as she looked searchingly at the figun an the sofa, and said coldly : " What freak now, Guy ?" For a moment their eyes met steadily, and he smiled grimly. " I intend to adopt that poor little orphan ; that is all 1" " Where did you pick her up, at the hospital ?" said she, sneet " No, she has been hired as a nurse, at a boarding-house * Be folded his arms, and again they looked at each other. " I thought you had had quite enough of proteges." She ner ^ously clasped and unclasped her jet bracelet. " Take o.are, May Chilton ! Mark me. Lift the pall from *U4 -3* 58 BEULAH. past once more, ami you and Pauline must find another another protector. Now, will you see that a room is prepared as I directed ?" He was very pale, and his eyes burned fiercely, yet his toue was calm and subdued. Mrs. Chilton bit her lips> iiid withdrew. Doctor Hartwell walked up and down the room 'or awhile, now an^ then looking sadly at the young stranger She sat just as he had placed her, with her hands over her face Kindly he bent down and whispered : " Will you trust me, Beulah ?" She made no answer, but he saw her brow wrinkle, and knew that she shuddered. The servant came in to say that the room bad been arranged, as he had directed. However surprised she raight have been at this sudden advent of the simply clad orphan {n her master's study, there was not the faintest indication of it in her impenetrable countenance. Not even the raising of an eyebrow. " Harriet, see that her feet are well bathed ; and, when she ia ID. bed, come for some medicine," Then, drawing the hands from her eyes, he said to Beulah. " Go with her, my child. I am glad I have you safe under my own roof, where no more cruel injustice can assail you." 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 fur- nished, and lighted by an elegant colored lamp, suspended from the ceiling. Mrs. Chilton stood near an arm-chair, 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, Harrie 4 lifted her, as if she had been an infant, and placed her in bed, t&en brought the medicine from the study, and administered a spoonful of the mixture. Placing her finger on the girl's wrist, -ihe counted the rapid pulse, and, turning unconcernedly toward Mrs. Chilton. said : B B U L A H . 58 " Miss May. master says you need not trouble about lh ucdieiue. I am to sleep in the room and take care of this little girl." " Very well. See that she is properly attended to, as in) brother directed. My head aches miserably, or I should remaia myself." She glanced at the bed, and left the room. Harriet leaned &rer the pillow and examined the orphan's countenance. The eyes vsre 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 ?" Beulab 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, be said, tenderly : " My child, try not to cry any more to-night. It is verj bitter, I know ; but remember, that though Lilly has been taken from you, from this day you have a friend, a home, a guardian." Harriet proffered the glass of water. He took it, raised thi head, and put the sparkling draught to Beulah's parched Up 60 B E TJ L A. H . Without unclosing her eyes, she rlrank the last crystal drop, and laying the head back on the pillow, he drew an arm-diaij before the window at the further end of the room, and seated himself CHAPTER VII. THROUGH quiet, woody dells roamed Beulah's spirit, and, hand in hand, she and Lilly trod flowery paths and rested beside clear, laughing brooks Life, with its grim realities, seemed but a flying mist. The orphan hovered on the confines of eternity's ocean, and its silent waves almost laved the feet of the weary child. The room was darkened, and the summer wind stole through the blinds stealthily, as if awed by the solitude of the sick-chainber. Dr. Hartwell sat by the low French bedstead, holding one emaciated hand in his, counting the pulse which bounded so fiercely in the blue veins. A fold of white linen containing crushed ice lay on her forehead, and the hollow cheeks and thin lips were flushed to vermilion hue. It was not scarlet, but brain-fever, and this was the fifth day that the sleeper had lain in a heavy stupor. Dr. Hartwell put back the hand he held, and stooping over, looked long and anxiously at tho Hushed face. The breathing was deep and labored, and turning away, he slowly and noiselessly walked up. and down the floor. To have looked at him then, in his purple silk robe dt chamlre, one would have scarcely believed that thirty years had passed over his head. lie was tall and broad-chested, his head massive and well formed, his face a curious study. The brow was Expansive and almost transparent in its purity, the dark, baae 1 tyes were singularly brilliant, while the contour of lips and chfi WHS partially concealed by a heavy moustache and beard. Th first glance at his face impressed strangers by its extreme pallor, bat iu a second look they were fasciuated by the taisty splendoi BETTLAH. Q\ flf the eyes. In truth those were strange eyes of Gay Hartwell A.1 times, searching and glittering like polished steel ; occasion ally lighting up with a dazzling radiance, and then as suddenlj growing gentle, hazy, yet luminous ; resembling the clouded aspect of a star seen through a thin veil of mist. His brown, mrling hair was thrown back from the face, and exposed the outline of the ample forehead. Perhaps utilitarians would have r,arped at the feminine delicacy of the hands, and certainly the fingers were slender and marvellously white. On one hand he wore an antique ring, composed of a cameo snake-head set round with diamonds. A proud, gifted and miserable man was Guy Hart- well, and his characteristic expression of stern sadness might easily have been mistaken by casual observers for bitter misanthropy. ] I have said he was about thirty, and though the handsome face was rcpellently cold and grave, it was difficult to believe that that smooth, fair brow, had been for so many years uplifted for the handwriting of time. He looked just what he was, a baffling, fascinating mystery. You felt that his countenance I was a volume of hieroglyphics, which, could you decipher, would unfold the history of a checkered and painful career. Yet the calm, frigid smile which sat on his lip, and looked out defiantly from his deep-set eyes, seemed to dare you to an investi- gation. Mere physical beauty cannot impart the indescribable charm which his countenance possessed. Regularity of features is a valuable auxiliary, but we look on sculptured marble, per- fect in its chiselled proportions, and feel that, after all, the potent spell is in the raying out of the soul, that imprisoned radiance which, in some instances, makes man indeed but " little lower than the angels." He paused in his echoless tread, and" u had gone May 1 ppen the gate foi BEITLAH. 89 " Certainly, if you wish to do something for me." His pale fcntures relaxed, and his whole face lighted up, like a snn-flnshea t'Soud. Beulah walked down the avenue, lined on either side with venerable poplars and cedars, and opened the large gate leading into the city. He checked his horse, and said : " Thank you, my child ; now how are you going to spend th eUy ? Remember you commence with school duties next week. BO make the best of your holiday." " I have enough to occupy me to-day. Good bye, sir." " Good bye, for an hour or so." He smiled kindly and drove on, while she walked slowly back to the house, wondering why Bmiles were such rare things in this world, when they cost so little, and yet are so very valuable to mourning hearts. Pauline sat on the steps with an open book in her hand. She looked up as Beulah approached, and exclaimed gaily : " Aren't you glad I am to have my birthday frolic ? w " Yes, I am glad on your account," answered Beulah, gravely. " Can you dance all the fancy dances ? I don't like any so ~~ well as the mazourka." " I do not dance at all." f< Don't dance I Why, I have danced ever since I was big enough to crawl ! What have you been doing all your life, that you don't know how to dance ?" " My feet have had other work to do," replied her companion; and as the recollections of her early childhood flitted before her, j the brow darkened. "I suppose that is one reason you look so forlorn all tho time. I will ask Uncle Guy to send you to the dancing school for" " Pauline, it is school-time, and you don't know one word of that Quackenbos ; I would be ashamed to start from home an ignorant of my lessons as you are." Mrs. Chilton's head was projected from the parlor wimdow, and the rebuke was delivered In no very gentle tone. 86 BEULAH. meet sorrow." With a sudden, inexplicable revulsion of feeling sne sank on her knees, and there beside her .protector, veh& mently prayed Almighty God to guard and guide the tempest tossed loved one. If her eyes had rested on the face of Deity, and she had felt his presence, her petition could not have been more importunately preferred. For a few moments Dr. Hartwell regarded her curiously ; then his brow darkened, his lips curled sneeringly, and a mocking smile passed over his face. Mrs. Chilton smiled, too, but there was a peculiar gleam in her eyes, and an uplifting of her brows which denoted anything but pleasurable emotions. She moved away, and sat down at the head of the table. Dr. Hartwell put his hand on the shoulder of the kneeling girl, and asked, rather abruptly : " Beulah, do you believe that the God you pray to hears you ?" " I do. He has promised to answer prayer." " Then, get up and be satisfied, and eat your breakfast. Yon 'nave asked him to save and protect Eugene, and, according to the Bible, He will certainly do it ; so, no more tears. If yoi. believe in your God, what are you looking so wretched about ?" There was something in all this that startled Beulah, and she looked up at him. His chilly smile pained her, and she rose quickly, while again and again his words rang in her ear. Yet, what was there so strange about this application of faith ? True, the Bible declared that " whatsoever ye ask, believing, that ye shall receive," she had often prayed for blessings, and often been lenied. Was it because she had not had the requisite faith, which should have satisfied her ? Yet God knew that she had trustel him. With innate quickness of perception, she de- tected the tissued veil of irony, which the doctor had wrapped | about his attempted consolation, and she looked at him so ' intently, so piercingly, that he hastily turned away and seated himself at the table. Just then, Pauline bounded into th room, exclaiming : " Fourteen to-day ! Only three more years at school, aud then I shall step out a brilliant young lady, the " B E TJ L A H . 61 "There; be quiet; sit down. I would alnust as scon select * small whirlwind for a companion. Can't you learn to enter a room without blustering like a March wind, or a Texan norther ?" asked her uncle. " Have you all seen a ghost ? You look as solemn as grave- diggers. What ails you, Beulah ? Come along to breakfast How nicely you look in your new clothes." Her eyes ran ovel the face and form of the orphan. " Pauline, hush ! and eat your breakfast. You annoy your uncle," said her mother, severely. " Oh, do, for gracious sake, let me talk ! I feel sometimes as if I should suffocate. Everything about this house is so demure, and silent, and solemn, and Quakerish, and hatefully prim. If ever I have a house of my own, I mean to paste in great letters over the doors and windows, ' Laughing and talking freely allowed !' This is my birthday, and I think I might stay at home. Mother, don't forget to have the ends of my sash fringed, and the tops of my gloves trimmed." Draining her small china cup, she sprang up from the table, but paused beside Beulah. " By the by, what are you going to wear to-night, Benlah ?" " I shall not go into the parlors at all," answered the latter. " Why not ?" said Dr. Hartwell, looking suddenly up. He met the sad, suffering expression of the grey eyes, and bit hia lip with vexation. She saw that he understood her feelings, and made no reply. " I shall not like it, if you don't come to my party," said Pauline, slowly ; and as she spoke she took one of the orphan's hands. " You are very kind, Pauline, but I do not wish to see ftrangers." " But, you never will know anybody if you make such a nun of yourself. Uncle Guy, tell her she must come down into tbj parlors to-night." " Net unless she wishes to do BO. But, Pauline, I am wj 88 B E U L A H . glad that you hare shown her you desire her presence." Hi put his hand on her curly head, and looked with more than \ asual affection, at the bright, honest face. " Beulah, you must get ready for school. Come down as soon as you can. Pauline will be waiting for you." Mrs. Chiltcn spoke in the calm, sweet tone peculiar to her and her brother, but t'j Beulah there was something repulsive in that even voice, and she hurried from the sound of it. Kneeling beside her bed, she again implored the Father to restore Eugene to her, and crushing her grief and apprehension down into her heart, she resolved to veil it from strangers. As she walked on by Pau- line's side, only the excessive paleness of her face, and drooping of her eyelashes betokened her suffering. Entering school is always a disagreeable, ordeal, and to a sen- sitive nature, such as Beulah's, it was torturing. Madam St. Cyinon was a good-natured, kind, little body, and received her with a warmth and cordiality which made amends in some degree for the battery of eyes she was forced to encounter. " Ah, yes ! the doctor called to see me about you wants you to take the Latin course. For the present, my dear, you will sit with Miss Sanders. Clara, take this young lady with you." The girl addressed looked at least sixteen years of age, and rising promptly she came forward and led Beulah to a seat at her \ desk, which was constructed for two persons. The touch of hei fingers sent a thrill through Beulah's frame, and she looked at her very earnestly. Clara Sanders was not a beauty in the ordinary acceptatiou of the term, but there was an expression of angelic sweetness , an I purity in her countenance which fascinated the orphan " She remarked the scrutiny of the young stranger, and smiling good-humoredly said, as she leaned over and arranged the desk: " I am glad to have you with me, and dare say we shall get D very nicely together. Y^u look ill." B E U L A H . A$ " I have been ill recently and have not yet regained mj strength. Can you tell me where I can find some water ? I feel rather faint." Iler companion brought her a glass of water. She drauk U eagerly, and as Clara resumed her seat, said in a low voice : " Oh, thank you. You are very kind.'' " Not at all If you feel worse you must let me know." She ,crned to her books and soon forgot the presence of the ntw comer. The latter watched her, and noticed now that she was dressed in deep mourning ; was she too an orphan, and had this circum- stance rendered her so kindly sympathetic ? The sweet, gentle face, with its soft, brown eyes, chained her attention, and in the shaping of the mouth there was something very lik^ Lilly's. Soon Clara left her for recitation, and then she turned to the new books which madam had sent to her desk. Thus passed the morning, and she started when the recess bell rang its summons through the long room. Bustle, chatter, and con- fusion ensued. Pauline called to her to come into lunch- room, and touched her little basket as she spoke, but Beulah shook her head and kept her seat. Clara also remained. " Pauline is calling you," said she gently. " Yes, I hear ; but I do not want anything." And Bcnlah rested her head on her hands. " Dcn't you feel better than you did this morning ?" " Oh, I am well enough in body ; a little weak, that is all." " You look quite tired ; suppose you lean your head against me and take a short nap ?" " You are very good indeed, but I am not at all sleepy." Clara was engaged in drawing, and looking on, Beulah be- ume interested in the progress of the sketch. Suddenly a hand was j)laced over the paper, and a tall, handsome girl, with black eyes and sallow complexion, exclaimed sharply : " For heaven's sake, Clara Sanders, do you expect to swim Into the next world on a piece ef drawing-paper? Come ove" tv 90 BEULAH. my seat and work out ;hat eighth problem for me. I hare pn* tied over it all the morning, and can't get it right." " I can show y>u here quite as well." Taking out her Euclid, Bhe found and explained the obstinate problem. "Thank you. I cannot endure mathematics, but father in bent upon my being ' thorough,' as he calls it. I think it is al] thorough nonsense. Now with you it is very different, you expect to be a teacher, and of course will have to acquire all these branches ; tat for my part I see no use in it. I shall be rejoiced when this dull school-work is over." "Don't say tht,t, Cornelia, I think our school-days are the happiest, and ferf sad when I remember that mine are num- bered." Here the be'l announced recess over, and Cornelia moved away to her seit. A trembling hand sought Clara's arm. " Is that Cornelia Graham ?" " Yes ; is die not very handsome ?" Beulah P".ade no answer, she only remembered that this girl was Eugene's adopted sister, and looking after the tall, queenly form, elif longed to follow her, and ask all the particulars of the storm. Thus ended the first dreaded day at school, and on. reaching home, Beulah threw herself on her bed with a low wailing cry. The long pent sorrow must have vent, and she Bobbed until weariness sank her into a heavy sleep. Far out in a billowy sea, strewed with wrecks, and hideous with the ghastly, upturned faces of floating corpses, she and Eugene were drifting now clinging to each other now tossed asunder by howling waves. Then came a glimmering sail on the wide waste of waters ; a little boat neared them, and Lilly bancd over the side and held out tiny, dimpled hands to lift them fa. They were climbing out of their watery graves, and Lilly's long, fair curis already touched their cheeks, when a strong arm snatched Lilly back, and struck them down into the roaring gulf, and above the white faces of the drifting dead, stood Mrs* Gray son, sailing away with Lilly struggling in her arma BEULAH. 91 Eugene was sinking and Beulah could not reacr him ; he held ap his arms imploringly toward her, and called upon her to save him, and then his head with its wealth*bf silken, brown locks disappeared. She ceased to straggle ; she welcomed drowning now that he had gone to rest among coral temples, She sank down down. The rigid corpses were no longer vis* ble. She was in an emerald palace, and myriads of rosy shelll paved the floors. At last she found Eugene reposing on a coral bank, and playing witli pearls ; she hastened to join him, and was just taking his hand when a horrible phantom, seizing him in its arms, bore him away, and looking in its face she saw that it was Mrs. Chiltou. With a wild scream of terror, Beulah awoke. She wp lying across the foot of the bed, and both hands were thrown up, grasping the post convulsively. The room was dark, gave where the moonlight crept through the curtains and fell slantingly on the picture of Hope and the Pilgrims, and by that Jim light she saw a tall form standing near her. " Were you dreaming, Beulah, that you shrieked so wildly ?* The doctor lifted her up, and leaned her head against his shoulder. " Oh, Dr. Hartwell ! I have had a horrible, horrible dream." She shuddered, and clung to him tightly, as if dreading it might still prove a reality. ' Poor child. Come with me, and I will try to exorcise this evil spirit which haunts even your slumbers." Keeping her hand in his, he led her down to his study, and seated her on a conch drawn near the window. The confused sound of many voices, and the tread of dancing feet, keeping time to a band of music, came indistinctly from the parlors. Dr. . Hartwell closed the door, to shut out the unwelcome sounds and Beating himself before the melodeon, poured a flood of soothing, plaintive melody upon the air. Beulah sat entranced, while ha played on and on, as if unconscious of her presence. Her whol being was inexpressibly thrilled ; and, forgetting her frightful ri*ion, hr eiKaptured soul hovered on the very confines of fabled l)2 B K TJ L A H . elysinin. Sliding from the coach, upon her knees, she remained - \ with her clasped hands pressed over her heart, only conscious of jher trembling deiight. Ouce or twice before, she had felt thur, in \vati 'ling a gorgeous sunset in the old pine grove ; and now as the musician seemed to play upon her heart-strings, calling thence unearthly tones, the tears rolled swiftly over her face linages of divine beauty filled her soul, and nobler aspirations thau she had ever known, took possession of her. Soon the tears ceased, the face became calm, singularly calm ; then lighted with an expression which nothing earthly could have kindled. It was the look of one, whose spirit, escaping from gross bondage, . soared into realms divine, and proclaimed itself God-born. Dr Hartwcll was watching her countenance, and, as the expres- sion of indescribable joy and triumph flashed over it, he iuvolun tarily paused. She waited till the last deep echoing tone died away, and then approaching him, as he still sat before the instrument, she laid her hand on his knee, and said slowly : " Oh ! thank you, I can bear anything now." " Can you explain to me how the music strengthened you ? Try, will you ?" She mused for some moments, and answered thoughtfully : "First, it made me forget the pain of my dream ; then it caused me to think of the wonderful power which created music j and then, from remembering the infinite love and wisdom of the Creator, who has given man the power to call out this music, I thought how very noble man was, and what he was capable of doing ; and, at last, I was glad because God has given me some of these powers ; and, though I am ugly, and have been afflicted in losing my dear loved ones, yet I was made for God's glory in Boiuc way, and am yet to be shown the work he has laid out r iT u.o to do. Oh 1 sir, I can't explain it all to you, but I do kno* that God will prove to mo that " He doelli all things well." She looked gravely up into the face beside her, and songiit to read its baffling characters. He had leaned his elbow on the melodeoQ, and his wax-like fingers were thrust through his hair B E U L A H . 98 His brow was smooth, and his month at rest, tut the cla-k eyes, with their melancholy splendor, looked do\vn at her moodily. They met her gaze steadily, and then she saw into the mistj depths, and a shudder crept over her, as she fell on her knee* ud said, shiveringly : " Oh, sir, can it be ?" He put his hand on her head, and asked, quietly : " Can what be, child I" " Have you no God ?" His face grew whiter than was his woiit. A scowl of bitter ness settled on it, and the eyes burned with an almost unearthly brilliance, as he rose and walked away. For some time he stood before the window, with his arms folded ; and, laying her head on the stool of the melodeon, Beulah knelt just as he left her. It has been said, " who cau refute a sneer ?" Rather ask, who can compute its ruinous effects. To that kneeling figure came the thought, " if he, surrounded by wealth, and friends, and blessings, cannot believe in God, what cause have I, poor, wretched and lonely, to have faith in Him ?" The bare sugges- tion of the doubt stamped it on her memory, yet she shrank with horror from the idea, and an eager, voiceless prayer ascended from her heart, that she might be shielded from such temptations in future. Dr. Hartwell touched her, and said, in his usual low, musical tones : "It, is time you were asleep. Do not indulge in any more horrible dreams, if you please. Good night, Beulah. Whenever you feel that you would like to have some music, do not hesitate to ask me for it." He held open the door for her to pass out. She longed to ask him what he lived for, if eternity had no joys for hiu) ; but locking in his pale face, she saw from the lips and eyes that he would not suffer any questioning, and, awed by the expression of his countenance, she said " good night," and hurried away. The merry hum of childish voices again fell on her ear, and as she ascended the steps, a bevy of white-clad girls emerged from a 94 B E U L A H . room near, and walked on just below her. Pauline'* party was at its height. Beulah looked down ou the fairy gossamer robes, and gayly tripping girls, and then hastened to her own room, while the thought presented itself : " Why are things divided so unequally in this world ? Why do some have all of joy, and some only sorrow's brimming cup to drain?" But the sweet voice of Faith answered, " What Ida, tfunt knowest not now, but thou shall know hereafter" and, trusting the promise, she was content to wait. CHAPTER X. " CORNELIA GRAHAM, I want to know why yoa did not come to my party ? You might at least have honored me with an excuse." Such was Pauline's salutation, the following day, when the girls gathered in groups about the schoolroom. "Why, Pauline, I did send an excuse, but it was addressed to your mother, and probably she forgot to mention it. Yoa must acquit me of any such rudeness." " Well, but why didn't you come ? We had a glorious time. I have half a mind not to tell you what I heard said of you, but I believe you may have it second-hand. Fred Vincent was as grum as a preacher, all the evening, and when I asked him what on earth made him so surly and owlish, he said, ' it was too provoking you would not come, for no one else could dar^e the Schottisch to his liking.' Now there was a sweet specimen of manners for you! You had better teach your beau politeness. " Cornelia was leaning listlessly against Clara's desk, and. Beulah fancied she looked very sad, and abstracted. Sh colored at the jest, and answered contemptuously : " He is no beau of mine, let me tell you, and as for manner^ I commend him to your merciful tuition." B U L A H . UC " But what was your excuse ?" persisted Pauline. " I should think you might conjecture, that I felt lie inelhia tion to go to parties and dance, when you know that we are ail GO anxious about my brother." " Oh, I did not think of that 1" cried the heedless girl, and x TCU should mention your benefactor." Beulah's intuitions were cmarkably quick, and she asked, slowly : 'Do you know him well ?" " Yes ; oh, yes ! very vrell indeed. Why do you ask P " And you like him very much ?" " Very much." She saw the gentle face now and &aw that some sorrow had 98 B E U L A H . called tears to the eyes, and sent the blood coldly back to KM heart. " No one can like him as I do. You don't know how verj kind he has been to me me, the miserable, lonely orphan/ amrmured Beulah, as his smile and tones recurred to her. " Yes, I can imagine, because I know his noble heart ; and, herefore, child, I say you cannot realize how privileged you are." The discussion was cut short by a call to recitation, and too calmly happy in the knowledge of Eugene's safety, to ponder her companion's manner, Beulah sank into a reverie, in which Eugene, and Heidelberg, ami long letters, mingled pleasingly. Later i the day, as she and Pauline were descending the steps, the door of the primary department of ihe school opened, and a littlt girl, clad in deep black, started up the same flight of steps Seeing the two above, she leaned against the wall, waiting for them to pass. Beulah stood still, and the sachel she carried fell unheeded from her hand, while a thrilling cry broke from the little girl's lips ; and springing up the steps, she threw herself into Beulah's arms. " Dear'Beulah I I have found you at last 1" She covered tho thin face with passionate kisses ; then heavy sobs escaped her, and the two wept bitterly together. " Beulah, I did love her very much ; I did not forget what I promised you. She used to put her arms around my neck every aight, and go to sleep close to me ; and whenever she thought about you and cried, she always put her head in my lap. Indeed I did love her." ' 1 believe you, Claudy/' poor Beulah groaned, in her anguish, "They did not tell me she was dead ; they said she was sick ill another room 1 Oh, Beulah 1 why didn't you come to seo ns ? Why didn't you come ? When she was first taken sick, she called for you all the tune ; and the evening they moved me into the next room, she was asking for you. ' i waul my sistei I want my Beulah 1' was the last thmg I heard h& BET3LAH. OS nay; and when I cried for you, too, mamma said we were both crazy with fever. Oh 1" she paused and sobbed convulsively Beulah raised her head, and while the tears dried in her flashing eyes, said fiercely : " Claudy, I did go to see you ! On my kuees, at Mrs. Gray Sw's front door, I prayed her to let me see you. She refused, and ordered me to come there no more ! She would not suffer my sister to know that I was waiting there on my kuees to see her dear, angel face. That was long before you were taken sick. She did not even send me word that Lilly was ill ; I knew nothing of it, till my darling was cold in her little shroud 1 Oh, Claudy ! Claudy 1" She covered her face with her hands and tried to stifle the wail that crossed her lips. Claudia endeavored to soothe her, by winding her arms about her and kissing her repeatedly. Pauline had looked wonderingly on, during this painful reunion ; and now drawing nearer, she said, with more gentleness than was her custom : " Don't grieve so, Beulah. Wipe your eyes and come home : those girls yonder are staring at you." "What business is it of yours?" began Claudia; but Bengali'* sensitive nature shrank from observation, and rising hastily, she took Claudia to her bosom, kissed her and turned away. " Oh, Beulah 1 shan't I see you again ?" cried the latter, with streaming eyes. " Claudia, your mamma would not be willing." " I don't care what she thinks. Please, come to see me- please, do ! Beulah, you don't love me now, because Lilly is dead 1 Oh, I could not keep her God took her 1" "Yes, I do love you, Claudy more than ever ; hut you trust Come to see me. I cannot go to that house again. 1 can't se your mamma Graysou. Come and see me, darling 1" She drew her bonnet o^er her face aud hurried out. " Wh'ire do you live ? i will come and see you 1" crien Claudia after the retreating form. 100 BEL' LA II. " She lives at Doctor Hartwell's that large, brick house, oal on the edge of town ; everybody knows the place." Pauline turned back to give this piece of information, and then hastened on to join Beulah. She longed to iiiqviiru into ali the particulars of the orphan's early life ; but the pale, fixed face gave no encouragement to question, and thoy walked on iu perfect silence until they reached the gate at the end of the avenue. Then Pauline asked, energetically: " Is that little one any kin to you ?" " No ; I have no kin in this world," answered Beulah, drearily. Pauline shrugged her shoulders, and made no further attempt to elicit confidence. On entering the house, they encountered the doctor, who was crossing the hall. lie stopped, and said . " I have glad tidings for you, Beulah. The Morning Star arrived safely at Amsterdam, and by this time, Eugene is at Heidelberg." Beulah stood- very near him, and answered tremblingly : " Yes, sir, I heard it at school." He perceived that something was amiss, and untying her bou uet, looked searchingly at the sorrow-stained face. She shut her eyes, and leaned her head against him. "What is the matter, my child? I thought you would be eery happy in hearing of Eugene's safety." She was unable to reply just then ; and Pauline, who stood swinging her sachcl to and fro, volunteered an explanation. " Uncle Guy, she is curious, that is all. As we were leaving BCliool, she met a little girl on the steps, and they flew at each other, and cried, aiid kissed, and you never saw anything lika it I 1 thought the child must be a very dear relation ; but shu says she has no kin. I don't see the use of crying her eyes ouv, particularly when the little one is nothing to her." IJer uncle's countenance "csurned its habitual severity, and taking Beulah's haad, he led Lcr into that quietest of all quiel BEDLAH. 104 places, his study. Seating himself, and drawing her to his side ' he said: " Was it meeting Claudia that distressed you so much ? That child is very warmly attached to you. She raved about yoo - constantly during her illness. So did Lilly. I did not under Etand the relationship then, or I should have interfered, and carried you to her. I called to see Mr. and Mrs. Grayson last week, to remove the difficulties in the way of your intercourse with Claudia, but they were not at home. I will arrange mat- ters so that you m:vy be with Claudia as often as possible. You / have been wronged, child, T know; but try to bury it; it is all past now." lie softly smoothed back her hair as he spoke. "No, sir; it never will be pastj it will always be burning nere in my heart." " I thought you professed to believe in the Bible." She looked up instantly, and answered: " I do, sir. I do." " Then your belief is perfectly worthless; for the Bible charges you to ' forgive and love your enemies,' and here you are trying ; to fau your bate into an everlasting flame." She saw the scornful curl of his lips, and sinking down beside him, siie laid her head on his knee, and said hastily: " I know it is wrong, sinful, to feel toward Mrs. Grayson as I do. Yes, sir; the Bible tells me it is very sinful; but I have been so miserable, I could not help hating her. But I will try to do so no more. I will ask God to help me forgive her." His face flushed even to his temples, and then the blood receded, leaving it like sculptured marble. Unable or unwilling to answer, he put his hands on her head, softly, reverently, as though he touched something ethereal. lie little dreamed that, even then, that suffering heart was uplifted to the Throne of Grace, pray- ing the Father that she might so live and govern herself, thai he might come to believe the Bible, which her clear insight tot ly told her he despised. Oh! protean temptation. Even a? she knelt, with her pro 102 B K U L A H . lector's hands resting on her brow, ubiquitous evil suggested th thought: " Is he not kinder, and better, than any one you evei knew ? Has not Mrs. Graysoa a pew in the most fashionable chur :h ? Did not Eugene teil you he saw liar there, regular !\> every Sunday? Professing Christianity, she injured you; reject- ing it, he has guarded and most generously aided you. ' By the!! fruits ye shall judge.'" Very dimly all this passed through he. mind. She was perplexed and troubled at the confused ideas veiling her trust. " Beulah, I have an engagement, and must leave you. Stay here if you like, or do as you please with yourself. I shall not be home to tea, so good night." She looked pained, but remained silent. lie smiled, and drawing out his watch, said gaily: " I verily believe yon miss me when I leave you. Go, pur. ou your other bonnet, and come down to the front door; I have nearly an hour yet, I see, and will give you a short ride. Hurry, child; I don't like to wait." She was soon seated beside him in the buggy, and Mazeppa's wift feet had borne them some distance from home ere either spoke. The road ran near the bay, and while elegant residences lined one side, the other was bounded by a wide expanse oi jrater, rippling, sparkling, glowing in the evening sunlight. Small sail boats, with their gleaming canvas, dotted the blue bosom of the bay; and the balmy breeze, fresh from the gulf, fluttered the bright pennons that floated from their masts. Beulah was watching the snowy wall of foam, piled on either side of the prow of a schooner, and thinking how very beautiful it was, when the buggy stopped suddenly, and Dr. Hartwell undressed a gentleman on horseback: " Percy, you may expect me; I am coming as 1 promised." " I was about to remind you of your engagement. But, Guy, whom have you there?" "My protegee I told you of. Beulah, this is Mi Lockhart." The riier reined his horse near her side, and leaning forward at B E U L A 3 . 103 be raised his bat, Jieir eyes met. Both started visibly, and extending bis hand, Mr. Lockhart said eagerly: " Ah, my little forest friend! I am truly glad to find you again." . She shook hands very quietly, but an expression of pleasrr stole over her face. Her guardian observed it, and asked: " Pray, Percy, what do you know of her T' " That she sings very charmingly," answered his friend, smil ing at Beulah. " He saw me once when I was at the Asylum," said she. " And was singing part of the regime there ?" "No, Guy; she was wandering about the piney woods, near the Asylum, with two beautiful elves, when I chanced to meet her. She was singing at the time. Beulah, I am glad to find you out again; and in future, when I pay the doctor long visits, I shall expect you to appear for my entertainment. Look to it, Gu^. that she is present. But I am fatigued with my unusual exercise, and must return home. Good bye, Beulah; shake hands. I am going immediately to my room, Guy; so come as Boon as you can." He rode slowly on, while Dr. Hartwell shook the reins, and Mazeppa sprang down the road again. Beulah had remarked a great alteration in. Mr. Lockhart's appearance; he was much paler, and bore traces of recent and severe illness. His genial manner and friendly words had interested her, and looking up at her guardian, she said, timidly: "Is he ill, sir?" " He has been, and is yet quite feeble. Do you like him ?" " I know nothing of him, except that he spoke to me one evening some months ago. Does he live here, sir ?" "No; he has a plantation on the river, but is here on a visit occasionally. Much of his life has been spent in Europe, and thither he goes ajrain very soon." The sun had set The bay seemed a vast sheet of fire, as the crimson clouds cast their shifting shadows on its bosom; ind forgetting everything else, Beulah leaned out of the buggy, and tti'ti almoet unconsciously; 104 B E P L A E . "How beautiful! ho\ very beautiful!" Her lips were parted her eyes clear, and sparkling with delight. Dr. Ilartwell sighed, and turning from the bay road, approached his home. Beulah longed to speak to him of what was pressing on her heart, but glancing at his countenance to see whether it was an auspicious time, she was deterred by the sombre sternness which over- shadowed it, and before she could summon courage to speak, they stopped at the front gate: " Jump out, and go home; I have not time to drive in/' She got out of the buggy, and looking up at him as he rose to adjust conic part of the harness, said bravely: " I am very much obliged to you for my ride. I have not had such a pleasure for years. I thank you very much." "All very unnecessary, child. I am glad you enjoyed it." He seated himself, and gathered up the reins, without looking at her; but she put her hand on the top of the wheel, and said in an apologetic tone: " Excuse me, sir ; but may I wait in your study till you come home ? I want to ask you something." Her face flushed, and her voice trembled with embarrassment. " It may be late before I come home to-night. Can't you tell me now what you want ? I can wait." " Thank you, sir; to-morrow will do as well, I suppose. I will not detain you." She opened the gate and entered the yard Dr. llartwcll looked after her an instant, and called out, as- he drove on : " Do as you like, Beulah, about waiting for me ; of course the study is free to you at all times." The walk, or rather carriage-road, leading up to the house was bordered by stately poplars and cedars, whose branches inter laced overhead, and formed a perfect arch. Beulah looked uf at the dark-green depths among the cedars, and walked on with a feeling of contentment, nay, almost of happiness, which was a stranger to her heart. In front of the house, and in the centre of a grassy circle was a marble basin, from which a fount au B E U L A H . J Oi 8i ended. She sat down on the edge of the reservoir, and taking off her bonnet, gave unrestrained license to her wandering thoughts. Wherever her eyes turned, verdure, flowers, statuan met her gaze ; the air was laden with the spicy fragrance of jasmins, and the low, musical babble of the fountain had some thing very soothing in its sound. "With her keen appreciation of beauty, there was nothing needed to enhance her enjoyment ; and she ceased to remember her sorrows. Before long, however, she was startled by the sight of several elegantly dressed ladies, emerging from the house ; at the same instant a handsome car- riage, which she had not previously observed, drove from a turn in the walk and drew up to the door to receive them. Mrs Chilton stood on the steps, exchanging smiles and polite nothings and as one of the party requested permission to break a sprig o l geranium growing near, she gracefully offered to collect t bouquet, adding, as she severed some elegant clusters of nelio trope and jasmin : " Guy takes -inordinate pride in his par.'erre, arranges and overlooks all the flowers himself. I often tell him I am jealous of -ny beautiful rivals ; they monopolize his leisure so completely.' " Nonsense I we know to our cost, that you of all others need fear rivalry from no quarter. There : don't break any more What superb taste the doctor has ! This lovely spot comes nearer my ideal of European elegance than any place I know ai the South. I suppose the fascination of his home makes him riuch a recluse 1 Why doesn't he visit more ? He neglects us shamefully ! He is such a favorite in society too ; only I believe everybody is rather afraid of him. I shall make a most desperatt effort to charm him, so soon as an opportunity offers. Don't tell toim I said so, though, ' fore-warned, fore-armed.' " All this was ?erj vi.lubly uttered by a dashing, showy young lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion, and bearing unmistakable marks \ of belonging to beau monde. She extended a hand cased iu whit ' kid, for the flowers, and looked steadily at the ladj of the ho>w s she spoke. 6* 106 B E TJ L JL H . " I shall not betray your designs, Miss Julia. Guy is a great .over of the beautiful, aud I am not aware that anywhere in the book of fate is written the decree that he shall not marry again. Take care, yon are tearing your lace point on that rose bush : let me disengage it." She stooped to rescue the cobweb wrap* ^iug, and looking about her, Miss Julia exclaimed : "Is that you, Pauline ? Come and kiss me 1 Why, you look as unsociable as your uncle, sitting there all alone I" She extended her hand toward Beulah, who, as may be sup- posed, made no attempt to approach her. Mrs. Chiiton smiled, and clasping the bracelet on her arm, discovered to her visitor the mistake. " Pauline is not at home. That is a little beggarly orphan Guy took it into his head to feed and clothe, till some opportu- nity offered of placing her in a respectable home. I have teased him unmercifully about this display of taste ; asked him what rank he assigned her in his catalogue otueautiful treasures.'' She laughed as if much amused. " Oh, that reminds me that I heard some of the school-girls Bay that the doctor had adopted an orphan. I thought I would ask you about it. Mother here declared that she knew it could Dot be so, but I told her he was so very odd, there was no ac- counting for his notions. So he has not adopted her." " Pshaw ! of course not 1 She was a wretched little object o ? oharity, aud Guy brought her here to keep her from starving. He picked her up at the hospital, I believe." " I knew it must be a mistake. Come, Julia, remember yon are going out to-night, and it is quite late. Do come very soon, my dear Mrs. Chiiton." Mrs. Vincent, Miss Julia, and theiz companions entered the carriage, and were soon out of night Ek-ulah still sat at the fountaiu. She would gladly have retreated on the appearance of the strangers, but could not effect an escape without attracting the attention she so earnestly desired to be cpared, aud therefore kept her seat. Every word of the conver- sation which had been carried on in anythbg but a subdued B U L A H . 101 icne, reached ner, and though the head was unbowed as J"she Imd heard nothing, her face was dyed with shame. Her heart throbbed violently, and as the words, " beggarly orphan," " wretched object of charity," fell on her cars, it seemed as if a fieTce fire-bath had received her. As the carriage disappeared^ Mrs. Chiitou approached her, and stang to desperation by the merciless taunts, she instantly rose and confronted her. Never had she seen the widow look so beautiful, and for a moment they eyed each other. " "What are you doing here, after having been told to keep out of sight ? answer me 1" She spoke with the inflexible j sternness of a mistress to an offending servant. " Madam, I arn not the miserable beggar you represented me a moment since ; nor will I answer questions addressed in anyj such tone of authority and contempt." " Indeed 1 well, then, my angelic martyr, how do you propose to help yourself ?" answered Mrs. Chilton, laughing, with undi*- ' guised scorn. " Doctor Hartwell brought me to his house, of his own accord ; you know that I was scarcely conscious when I came into it. He has been very kind to me has offered to adopt me This you know perfectly well. But I am not in danger of starva- tion, away from this house. You know that instead of having been picked up at the hospital, I was earning my living, humble though it was, as a servant. He offered to adopt me, because he saw that I was very unhappy ; not because I needed food, or clothes, as you asserted just now, and as you knew was untrue. Madam, I have known, ever since my recovery, that you hated nie, and I scorn to accept bounty, nay, even a shelter, where 1 ain so unwelcome. I have never dreamed of occupying the place you covet for Pauline. I intended to accept Doctor liartweil's kindness-, so far as receiving an education, which would enable me to support myself less laboriously ; but, tna,dauv I will relieve you of my hated presence, i can Uv without any assistance from your family. The despised and i.08 B E U L A H ridiculed orphan will not mnain to annoy you. Oh, you nrighi have effected your purpose with less cruelty ! You could have told me kindly that you did not want me here, and I would not hare wondered at it. But to crush me publicly, as you have done " wounded pride stifled the trembling accents. Mrs. Chilton bit her lip. She had not expected this expres- sion of proud independence ; and seeing that she had gone too fur, pondered the best method of rectifying the mischief with as little compromise of personal dignity as possible. Ultimately to eject her, she had intended from the first ; but perfectly con scious that her brother would accept no explanation or palliation of the girl's departure at this juncture, and that she and Pauline would soon follow her from the house, she felt that her own interest demanded the orphan's presence for a season. Nearly (^blinded by tears of indignation and mortification, Beulah turned from her, but the delicate white hand arrested her, and pressed heavily on her shoulder. She drew herself up, and tried to iihake off the hold, but firm as iron was the grasp of the snowy fingers, and calm and cold as an Arctic night was the tone which said : " Pshaw ! girl, are you mad ? You have sense enough tc know that you are one too many in this house, but if you only desire to be educated, as you profess, why, I am perfectly willing that you should remain here. The idea of your growing up us my brother's heiress and adopted child was too preposterous to be entertained, aud you can see the absurdity yourself; but so long as you understand matters properly, and merely desire to receive educational advantages, of course you can and will re main. I do not wish this to go any further/ and, as a sensible girl, you will not mention it. As a friend, however, I would suggest that you should av/oid putting yourself in the way of observation." As she concluded, she quietly bru&hed off a small spider, which was creeping over Beulah's sleeve. " Don't trouble yourself, madam ; I am not at all afraid o/ poisonous things j I have become accustomed to them-" B U L A H . 101 Smiling bitterly, she stooped to pick np jer new bonnet, \vhici Dad fallen on the grass at her feet, and fixing hsr eyes denautl) on the handsome face before her, said, resolutely : "Nc 1 contemptible as you think me, beggarly and wretched as yon please to term me, I have too much self-respect to stay i day longer, where I have been so grossly, so needless'y insulted. You need not seek to detain me. Take your hand off my arm ; [ am going now ; the sooner, the better. I understand, madam, your brother will not countenance your cruelty, and you are ashamed for hirn to know what, in his absence, you were not ashamed to do. I scorn to retaliate 1 He shall not learn from I me why I left so suddenly. Tell him what you choose." Mrs. Chilton was very pale, and her lips were compressed till they grew purple. Clinching her hand, she said under her breath : " You artful little wretch. Am I to be thwarted by such 9 mere child ? You shall not quit the house. Go to your room, and don't make a fool of yourself. In future I shall not concern myself about you, if you take root at the front door. Go in, and let matters stand. I promise you I will not interfere agaiu, no matter what you do. Do you hear me ?" " No. You have neither the power to detain, ncr to expel me. I shall leave here immediately, and you need not attempt to coerce me ; for, if you do, I will acquaint Doctor Hartwell with the whole affair, as soon as he comes, or when I see h ; m. I am going for my clothes ; not those you so reluctantly had made, but the old garments I wore when I worked for my bread.'' She shook off the detaining hand, and went up to her room Harriet had already lighted her lamp, and as she entered the dDor, the rays fell brightly on the picture she had learned to !ov< BO well. Now she looked at it through scalding tears, and, tc ' her excited fancy, the smile seemed to have faded from the lips of Hope, and the valley looked more dreary, and the pilgrim! uore desulate and miserable. She turned from it, and taking rff Uitt clothes she wore, dressed herself in the humble apparel jf k ll) B E U L A 11 , informer days. The old trunk was scarcely worth keeping, sav as a relic ; and folding up the clothes and btfoks into as small a bundle as possible, she took it in her arms, and descended the steps. She wished very much to tell Harriet good bye, and thank her for her unvarying kindness ; and now, on the eve of her departure, she remembered the words whispered during luT illness, and the offer of assistance when she " got into trouble, as Harriet phrased it ; but dreading to meet Mrs. Chilton again, she hurried down the hall, and left the house. The friendly stars looked kindly down upon the orphan, as she crossed the common, And proceeded toward the Asylum, and raising her eyes to the lewelled dome, the solemn beauty of the night hushed the wild 'urnult in her heart, and she seemed to hear the words pro Ixmnced from the skyey depths : " Lo, I am with you always, Ten unto Ike end." Gradually, the results of the step she had takeu obtruded themselves before her, and with a keen pang of pain and grief, came the thought, " what will Dr. Hartwell think of rne ?" All his kindness during the time she had passed beneath his roof, his genial tones, his soft, caressing touch on hei head, his rare, but gentle smile, his constant care for her comfor* and happiness, all rushed like lightning over her mind, and inude the hot tears gush over her face. Mrs. Chilton would, of course, offer him some plausible solution of her sudden departure. IJe would think her ungrateful, and grow indifferent to her welfare or fate. Yet hope whispered, " he will suspect the truth ; he must know his sister's nature ; he will not blame me." But all this was in the cloudy realm of conjecture, and the stern realities of ltd' position weighed heavily on her heart. Through l)i Hiitwel!, who called to explain her sudden disappearance, Mrs Mdj-tin had sent her the eighteen dollars due for three 1:10; tii 3 fc'fvice, and this little sum was all that she possessed. As she walked on, pondering the many difficulties wl ich attended the darling project of educating herself thoroughly, the lights of the Asylum greeted her, and it was with a painful sense of desolation ihat she mounted the steps, -aud stocd upon the threshold, wher* BEULAH. Lit he *r.J Lilly haJ so often sat, in years gone by. Mrs. William? ciet her at the door, wondering what unusual occurrence induced e. visitor at this unseasonable hour. The hall lamp shone on her tiud, but anxious face, and as Beulah looked at her, remembcrr d care and love caused a feeling of suffocation, and with an excla mation of joy, she threw her arms around her. Astonished at greeting so unexpected, the matron glanced hurriedly at the face pressed against her bosom, and recognizing her quondam charge, fol Jed her tenderly to her heart. " Beulah, dear child, I am so glad to see you !" As she kissed her white cheeks, Beulah felt the tears dropping down upon them. " Come into my room, dear, and take off your bonnet." She led her to the quiet little room, and took the bundle, and the antiquated bonnet, which Pauline declared " Mrs. Noah had Tvcrn all through the forty days' shower." " Mrs. Williams, can I stay here with you until I can get a place somewhere ? The managers will not object, will they ?" " No, dear, I suppose not. But, Beulah, I thought you had I>een adopted, just after Lilly died, by Doctor Hartwell ? Here [.have been, ever since I heard it from some of the managers, thinking how lucky it was for you, and feeling so thankful to God, for remembering his orphans. Child, what has happened ? Tell me freely, Beulah." With her head on the matron's shoulder, she imparted enough of what had transpired to explain her leaving her adopted home. Mrs. Williams shook her head, and said, sadly : "You have been too hasty, child. It was Doctor Hart cell's house ; he had taken you to it, and without consulting; and telling him, you should not have left it. If you felt that yon could not live there in peace, with his sister, it was your duty to have told him so, and then decided as to what course you would take. Don't be hurt, child, if I tell you you are too proud. ( Poverty and pride make a bitter lot in this world ; and take care ' 7041 don't let your high spirit ruin your prospects I dor-'t 112 BEULAH. io say, dear, that you ought to bear insult and oppression, bcit I do thiuk you owed it to the doctor's kindness, to Lave waited until his return, before you quitted his house." " Oh, you do not know him I If he knew all that Mrs, Chilton said and did, he would turn her and Pauline out, of the Louse immediately. They are poor, and, bitf, for him, couid net live without toil. I have no right to cause their ruin. She ia his sister, and has a claim on him. I have none. She expects Pauline to inherit his fortune, and could not bear to think of his adopting me. 1 don't wonder at that so much. But she need uot have been so cruel, so insulting. I don't want his money, or his house, or his elegant furniture. I only want an education and his advice, and his kind care for a few years. I like Pauline very much indeed. She never treated me at all unkindly ; and I could not bear to bring misfortune ou her, she is so happy." " That is neither here nor there. He will not hear the truth, of course ; and even if he did, he will not suppose you were actuated by any such Christian motives, to shield his sister's meanness. You ought to have seen him first." " Well, it is all over now, and I see I must help myself, l want to go to the public school, where the tuition is free ; but /low can I support myself in the meantime ? Eighteen dollars would not board me long, and, besides, I shall have to bay Ciothes." She looked up, much perplexed, in the matron's anxious face. The latter was silent a moment, and then said : " Why, the public school closes in a few weeks ; the next session will not begin before autumn, and what could you do until then ? No, I will just inform Dr. Hartvvell of the trutb f the whole matter. I think it is due him, and " "Indeed you must not I I promised Mrs. Chilton that 1 would not implicate her, and your doing it would amount to the same thing. I would not be the means of driving Pauline c~t of her uncle's house, for all the gold in California." " Silly child.. What on earth possessed you to promise any such thing ?" BEULAH. 113 " I wanted her to see that I was honest in what I said Sh* knew that I could, by divulging the whole affair, turn her 3ut 01 the house (for Dr. Hartwell's disposition is a secret to no one whc has lived in bis home), and I wished to show her that I tcld the truth, in saying I only wanted to be educated for a, teacher." ' Suppose the doctor comes here, aud asks you about the '.natter ?" " I shall tell him that I prefer not being dependent on any one. But he will not come. He does not know where I am." Yflt the- dread that he would, filled her mind with new anxieties I " Well, well, it is no use to fret over what cau't be undone I wish I could help you, but I don't see any chance just now." " Could not I get some plain sewing ? Perhaps the managers would give me work ?" " Ah, Bculah, it would soon kill you, to have to sew for your living." " No, no, I can bear more than you think," answered the girl, with a dreary smile. " Yes, your spirit can endure more than your body. Tout father died with consumption, child ; but don't fret about it any more to night. Come, get some supper, and then go to sleep. You will stay in my room, with me, dear, till something can be done to assist you." " Mrs. Williams, you must promise me that you never will speak of what I have told you, regarding that conversation with Mrs. Chiltou." " I promise you, dear, I never will mention it, since you prefer seeping the matter secret." " What will Dr. Ilartwell think of me ?" was the recurring hought, that would not be banished; and, unable to sleep, Beulal ussed restlessly on her pillow all night, dreading lest he should : : her for her seeming ingratitude. I** BELLA 11. CHAPTER XI FOB perhaps two hours after Beulah's departure, Mrs Ohilto?, Pandered up and down the parlors, revolving numerous scheme?, explanatory of her unexpected exodus. Completely nonplused, for the first time in her life, she sincerely rued the expression of dislike and contempt which had driven the orphan from her adopted home ; and, unable to decide on the most plausible solution to be offered her brother, she paced, restlessly, to and fro. Engrossed by no particularly felicitous reflections, she failed to notice Mazeppa's quick tramp, and remained in ignorance of the doctor's return, until he entered the room, arid stood beside her. His manner was hurried, his thoughts evidently preoccu- pied, as he said : " May, I am going into the country to be absent all of to- morrow, and possibly longer. There is some surgical work to be performed for a careless hunter, and I must start immediately, I want you to see that a room is prepared for Percy Lockhart. He is very feeble, and I have invited him to come and stay with me while he is in the city. He rode out this evening, and is worse from the fatigue. I shall expect you to see that every- thing is provided for him that an invalid could desire. Can I depend upon you ?" " Certainly ; I will exert myself to render his stay hero pleasant ; make yourself easy on that score." It was very evi- dent that the cloud was rapidly lifting from her heart and prospects ; but she veiled the sparkle in her eye, and uususjn- JK.US of anything amiss her brother left the room. Walking uj? to one of the mirrors, whicli extended from floor to 'eiliiig, she surveyed herself carefully, and a triumphant smile parted hef lips. BEDLAH. 114 11 'ere; Lockhart is vulnerable as well as other people, and 1 { n*o yet to see the man whose heart will proudly withstand the allurements of flattery, provided the homage is delicately and gracefully offered. Thank heaven ! years have touched me lightly, and there was more truth than she relished iu what Julia Vincent said about my beauty !" This sel^complacent soliloquy was cut short by the appear ' atice of her brother, who carried a case of surgical instruments in his hand. " May, tell Beulah I am sorry I did not see her. I would go up ami wake her, but have not time. She wished to ask me something. Tell her, if it is anything of importance, to do just as she likes ; I will see about it when I come home. Be sure you tell her. Good night ; take care of Percy." He turned away, but she exclaimed : " She is not here, Guy. She asked me this evening if she jnight spend the night at the Asylum. She thought you (vould not object, and certainly I had no authority to prevent her. Indeed the parlor was full of company, and I told her sho might go if she wished. I suppose she will be back early \v the morning." His face darkened instantly, and she felt that he was search- } ing her with his piercing eyes. " All this sounds extremely improbable to me. If she is not at home again at breakfast, take the carriage and go after her. Mind, May ! I will sift the whole matter when I come back." EG hurried ofi'. and she breathed freely once more. Dr. Hart- well sprang into his buggy, to which a fresh horse had been attached, and dismissing Hal, whose weight would only have retarded his progress, he drove rapidly off. The gate had beer left open for him, and he was passing through, when arrestej oy Harriet's well-known voice. " Stop, master 1 Stop a minute 1" " What do you want ? I can't stop !" cried he impatientlj " Are yoa going after that poor, motherless child ?" 116 BEULAH. " No. But what the devil is to pay here r I shall get at th tmt.li now. AVhcre is Bculah ? talk fast." "She is at the Asylum to-night, sir. f followed aud washed the poor, little thing. Master, if you don't listen to me, if you please, sir, you never will get at the truth, for t'uat chile won't ull it. I beard her promise Miss May she would not. YOB would be ready to fight if you knew all I know." ." Why did Beulah leave here this evening ?" " Because Miss May abused and insulted her : told her before some ladies that she was a "miserable beggar" that you piekec up at the hospital, and that you thought it was charity to feed and clothe her till she was big enough to work. The ladies were in the front yard, and the child happened to be sitting by the fountain ; she had just come from riding. I was sewing at one of the windows up-stairs, sir, and heard every word. When the folks were gone, Miss May walks up to her and asks her what she is doing where anybody could see her ? Oh, master ! ii' you tould have seen that child's looks. She fairly seemed to ri.se o9 her feet, and her face was as white as a corpse. She said she had wanted an education ; that she knew you had been very kind ; but she never dreamed of taking Miss Pauline's place in your house. She said she would not stay where she was unwel come ; that she was not starving when you took her home ; that Bhe knew you were kind and good ; but that she scorned them were the very words, master she scorned to stay a day longer where she had been so insulted ! Oh, she was in a towering rage ; she trembled all over, and ML-s May began to be scared, for she knew you would not suffer such doings, and she tried to p:icify her aud make up the quarrel by telling her she might Elay and have an education, if that was all she wanted. But the girl would not hear to anything she said, and told her sh? need not be frightened, that she wouldn't go to you with thy fuss ; she would not tell you why she left your house. She wciu to her room and she got every rag of her old clothes, and lef- the house with the tears raining out of her eyes. Oh ; master BEULAH. 117 it's a crying shame I If you had only been here to hear that child talk to Miss May. Good Lord how her big eyes did j biaze when she told her she could earu a living !" By the pale moonlight she could see that her master's faca waa rigid as steel ; but his voice was even calmer than usual wh,3 he asked : " Are you sure she is now at the Asylum ?" " Yes, sir ; sure." " Very well ; she is safe then for the present. Does any on know that you heard the conversation?" " Not a soul, sir, except yourself." " Keep the matter perfectly quiet till I come home. I shall be away a day, or perhaps longer; meantime, sec that Beulah does not get out of your sight. Do you understand me ?" " Yes, sir I do." The buggy roiled swiftly on, and Harriet returned to the house by a circuitous route, surmising that " Miss May's " eyes might detect her movements. The same night, Clara Sanders sat on the door-step of her humble cottage home. The moonlight crept through tht clus- tering honeysuckle and silvered the piazza floor with grotesque fret-work, while it bathed lovingly the sad face of the girlish watcher. Her chin rested in her palms, and the soft eyes were bent anxiously ou the countenance of her iufirrn and aged companion. " Grand-pa, don't look so troubled. I am very sorry, too, about the diploma : but if I am not to have it, why, there is no use iu worrying about it. Madam St. Cymou is willing to employ me as I am, and certainly I should feel grateful for her preference, when there are several applicants for the place. She told me this evening that she thought I would find no difficulty in performing what would be required of me." Tliis was uttered iu a cheerful tone, which might have suj ceded very wejl, had 'he sorrowful faie been veiled. ib BKULAH, " Ah, Clara, you don't dream Df the burden you are Uk.li.ji upon yourself ! The position of assistant teacl cr, in an estab- lishment like Madam St. Cymoii's, is one that you are by nature totally unfitted for. Child, it will gall your spirit ; it will te unendurable." The old man sighed heavily. " Still, T have been educated with an eye to teaching, n:itl though I am now to occupy a very subordinate place, the trials will not be augmented. On the whole, I do not know but it is best as it is. Do not try to discourage me. It is all I can do, and I am determined I will not despond- about what can't be helped." " My dear child, I did not mean to depress you. But you are so young to bow your neck to such a yoke ! How old arc you ?" He turned round to look at her. " Only sixteen and a few months. Life is before me yet, an untrodden plain. Who knows but this narrow path of duty may lead to a calm, sweet resting-place for us both ? I was thinking just now of that passage from your favorite Wallen- stein : 'My soul's secure! In the night only, Fricdland's stars can beam. 1 The darkness has come down upon us, grand-pa; let ua wait patiently for the uprising of stars. I am not afraid of the night." There was silence for some moments ; then the old man rose, and, putting back the white locks which had fallen over his face, asked, in a subdued tone : " When will you commence your work ?" " To-morrow, sir." " God bless you, Clara, and give you strength, as he sec.? you have need." He kissed her fondly, and withdrew to hid o vis roora. She sat for some time looking vacantly at the mosaic of Sight and shade on the floor before her, and striving to diveet her mind of the haunting thought that she was the victim of gome unyielding necessity, whose decree had gor.e forth, and might not be annulled. In early childhood her home haJ bceu SMC of splendid affluence ; but reverses came, thick and last, tu> BEULAH. 119 misfortunes ever do, and, ere she conld realize the swift transi lion, penury claimed her family among its crowding legions Discouraged and embittered, her father made the \\ine-2up tha sepulchre of care, and in a few months found a deeper and fur more quiet grave. His mercantile embarrassments had dragged bis father-in-law to ruin ; and, too aged to toil up the steep again, the latter resigned himself to spending the remainder of his days in obscurity, and perhaps want. To Clara's gifted mother, he looked for aid and comfort in the clouded evening of life, and with unceasing energy she toiled to shield her father > and her child from actual labor. Thoroughly acquainted with music and drawing, her days were spent in giving lessons in those branches which had been acquired with "reference to personal enjoyment alone, and the silent hours of the night often passed in stitching the garments of those who had flocked to her costly entertainments in days gone by. When Clara was about thirteen years of age, a distant relative chancing to see hex, kindly proposed to contribute the sum requisite for affording her every educational advantage. The offer was gratefully accepted by the devoted mother, and Clara was placed at Madam St Cyrnou's, where more than ordinary attention could be bestowed on the languages. The noble woman, whose heart had bled incessantly over tha misery, ruin, and degradation of her husband, sank slowly under the intolerable burden of sorrows, and a few weeks previous to the evening of which I write, folded her weary hands and vent home to rest. In the springtime of girlhood, Clara felt henelff transformed into a woman. Standing beside her mother's tcmb,| Supporting her grandfather's tottering form, she shuddered in nticipatiug the dreary future that beckoned her on ; and now as if there were not troubles enough already to disquiet her, the annual amount advanced toward her school expense 4 wai suddenly withdrawn. The cousin, residing in a distant Utate, wrote that pecuniary troubles had assailed him, and prev.-ute-d *11 further assistance. Iii one more year she would la T20 BEULAH. finished the prescribed course and graduated honorably ; and more; than all, she would have obtained a diploma, which n,i;j;ht have been an " open sesame" to any post she aspired to. Thug frustrated in her plans, she gladly accepted the position ol assistant teacher in the primary department, which, having become vacant by the dismissal of the incumbent, madam kindly tendered her. The salary was limited, of course, but nothing else presented itself, and quitting the desk, where she had so often pored over her text-books, she prepared to grapple with the trials which thickly beset the path of a young woman thrown upon her own resources for maintenance. Clara was naturally amiable, unselfish, and trusting. She was no intel- lectual prodigy, yet her mind was clear and forcible, her judg- ment matured, and, above all, her pure heart warm and loving, f Notwithstanding the stern realities that marked her path, there was a vein of romance in her nature which, unfortunately, ' attained more than healthful development, and while it often bore her into the Utopian realms of fancy, it was still impotent to modify, in any degree, the social difficulties with which she was forced to contend. Ah, there is a touching beauty in the radiant up-look of a girl just crossing the limits of youth, and commencing her journey through the chequered sphere of womanhood 1 It is all dew-sparkle and morning glory to her ardent, buoyant spirit, as she presses forward exulting in blissful anticipations. But the withering heat of the conflict of life creeps on; the dewdrops exhale, the garlands of hope, shattered - and dead, strew the path, and too often, ere noontide, the clear brow and sweet smile arc exchanged for the weary look of one bnging for the evening rest, the twilight, the uight. Oh, may the good God give his sleep early unto these many 1 There was a dawning light in Clara's eyes, which showed that, though as yet a mere girl in years, she had waked to the con- sciousness of emotions which belong to womanhood. She was pretty, and of course she knew it, for I am skeptical of thorn characters who grow up to mature beauty all unsuspicious of B K U L A H . 191 the fatal dower, and are some day startled by a discovery of their possessions. She knew, too, that female loveliness was an ! all-potent spell, and depressing as were the circumstances of her life and situation, she felt that a brighter lot might be hers, without any vary remarkable or seemingly inconsistent course of events CHAPTER XII. " HARRIET, bring me a cup of strong coffee." Dr. Hartwell had returned late in the afternoon of tho second day, and travel-worn and weary, threw himself down on the sofa in his study. There was a pale severity in his face, which told that his reflections during his brief absence had been far from pleasant, and as he swept back the hair from his forehead, and laid his head on the cushion, the whole counte- nance bespoke the bitterness of a proud, but miserable man. He remained for some time, with closed eyes, and when the coffee was served, drank it without comment. Harriet busied herself about the room, doing* various unnecessary things, and wonder- ing why her master did not inquire concerning home affairs ; 2nally, having exhausted every pretext for lingering, she coughed very spasmodically once or twice, and putting her hand on the knob of the door, said deferentially " Do you want anything else, sir ? The bath room is all ready." "Has my sister been to the Asylum ?" " No, sir." " Go and arrange Beulah's room." She retired; and springing up, he paced the floor, striving to Master the emotion, which so unwontedly agitated him. His lips writhed, and the thin nostril expanded, bat he paused before 122 B E U L A H . the melodeon, sat down and played several pieces, and gradual!} the swollen veins on his brow lost their corded appearance, and the mouth resumed its habitual compression. Then, with an exterior, as calm as the repose of death, he took his hat, and weut toward the parlor. Mr. Lockhart was reclining on one of tho sofas, Pauline sat on aa ottoman near him, looking over a book of prints, and Mrs. Chilton, tastefully attired, occupied the pian3- stool. Witching strains of music greeted her brother, as he stopped at the door and looked iu. In the mirror opposite, sho aaw his image reflected, and for an instant her heart beat rapidly, but the delicate fingers flew over the keys as skillfully as before, and only the firm setting of the teeth betokened the coming struggle. lie entered, and walking up to the invalid, said cordially. "How are you, Percy? better, I hope." While one hand clasped his friend's, the other was laid with brotherly frecdon on the sick man's head. " Of course I am. There was no malady in Eden, was there 1 Verily, Guy, in your delightful home, I am growing well again." "Ah 1 so much for iiot possessing IthuriePs spear. I am glad to find you free from fever." " Howd'y-do, uncle 1 Don't you see me ?" said Pauline, reaching up her hand. "It is always hard to find you, Pauline, you are such a demure, silent little body," said he, shaking her hand kindly. " Welcome, Guy 1 I expected you yesterday ; what detained you so long ?" Mrs. Chilton approached with outstretched hand, and at the same time offered her lips for a kiss. He availed himself of neither, but fixing his eyes intently on lers, said as sweetly as if he had been soothing a fretful child : " Necessity of course; but now that I have come, I sh;\L make amends, I promise you, for the delay. Percy, has she taken good care of you ?" '' She is an admirable nurse; I can never requite the debt s*m bag imposed. Is not my convalescence sufficient proof of ha? BEULAH. 12S rapcrior skill ?" Mr. Lockhart raised himself, and leaning on his elbow, suffered his eyes to rest admiringly on the graceful form and faultless features beside him. " Are you really so much better ?" said Dr. Uartwcll, gnaw ing his lip. " Indeed I am I "Why are you so incredulous ? Have yoo so little confldence in your own prescriptions ?" " Confidence I I had little enough when given, immeasurably less now. But we will talk of all this after a little. I have some matters to arrange, and will be with you at tea. May, I wish to see you." " Well, Guy, what is it 1" without moving an inch, sh looked up at him. " Come to ruj study," answered her brother, quietly. "And leave your patient to amuse himself? Really, Guy, yon exercise the rites of hospitality so rarely, that you forget tli3 ordinary requirements. Apropos, your little protegee has not returned. It seems she did not fancy -living here, and pre- fers staying at the Asylum. I would not trouble myself about her, if I were you. Some people cannot appreciate kindness, you know." She uttered this piece of counsel, with perfect sang- froid, and met her brother's eye as innocently as Pauline woulo have done. " I am thoroughly acquainted with her objections to this plaor, and determined to remove them so completely, that she cannot refuse to return." A grey pallor crept over his sister's face, but she replied witi her usual equanimity. ''You have seen her, then? I thought you had hurried back to ;. our sick friend here, without pausing by the way." " No 1 I have not seer her, and you are aware, her volnn- tary promise would seal her lips, even if I had." He smiled contemptuously, as he saw her puzzled look, and continued : " Percy will excuse you for a few moments, come with m\ Pauline entertain this gentleman iu our absence," 124 BEIDLAfl. She took his offered arm, and they proceeded tc the stuay IB fiilence. " Sit down." Dr. Ilartwell pushed a chair toward her and stood looking her fully in the face. She did not shrink, and %sked unconcernedly : " Well, Guy, to what does all this preamble lead ?" " May, is the doctrine of future punishments laid down as orthodox in that elegantly gilded prayer-book you take wuh you in your weekly pilgrimages to church ?" " Coiae, come, Guy ; if you have no respect for religion, yourself, don't scoff at its observances in my presence. It is fei'j unkind, and I will not allow it." She rose, with an air of offended (iignity. " Scoff I you wrong me. Why, verily, your religion is too formidable to suffer the thought. I tell you, sister mine, jv.ur creed is a \errible one in my eyes." He looked at her, with a Eniile of withering scorn. She grew restless under his impaling gaze, and he continued mockingly : " From such creeds ! such practice 1 Good Lord deliver us !" She turned to go, but his hand fell heavily on her shoulder. " I am acquainted with all that passed between Beulah and yourself the evening she left my house. I was cognizant of the whole truth before I left the city." " Artful wretch ! She is as false as contemptible 1" muttered the Bister, through set teeth. " Take care 1 do not too hastily apply your own individual Standard of action to others. She does not dream that I am acquainted with the truth, though doubtless she wonders that, knowing you so well, I should not suspect it." "Ah, guided by your favorite Mephistopheles, you wrapped the mantle of invisibility about you, and heard it all. Eli ?" "No; Mephistopheles is not ubiquitous, and I left him at home here, it seems, when I took that child to ride. It is difficult for re to believe you are my sister ! very difficult 1 It is the most BEULAH. 121 aumiliuting thought that could possf.bly be suggested to me May, I very nearly decided to send you and Pauline out into tht world without a dime ! without a cent I just as I found yoo, aud I may do so yet " " You dare not 1 You dare not I You swore a solemn oath to the dying that you would always provide for us 1 I am no* afraid of your breaking your vow 1" cried Mrs. Chiltou, leaning heavily against the table to support herself. " You give me credit for too much nicety. I tell you T would break my oath to-morrow, nay, to-night ; for your duplicity can- cels it, but for that orphan you hate so cordially. She would never return if you and Pauline suffered for the past ; for hei p.ake, and hers only, I will still assist, support you, for have her here I will 1 if it cost me life and fortune 1 I would send you off to the plantation, but there are no educational advantages there for Pauline ; and therefore, if Beulah returns, 1 have resolved to buy and give you a separate home, wherever you may prefer Stay here, you cannot and shall not 1" " Aud what construction will the world place on your taking a young girl into your house at the time that I leave it ? Guy, , with what marvellous foresight you are endowed 1" said she, laughing sardonically. " 1 shall take measures to prevent any improper construction! Mrs. Watson, the widow of one of my oldest aud best friends, has been left in destitute circumstances, and I shall immediately offer her a home here, to take charge of my household, and look after Beulah when I am absent. She is an estimable woman, past fifty years of age, and her character is so irreproachable; that her presence here will obviate the objection you have urged You will decide to-night where you wish to fix your future resi ch'nce, and let me know to-morrow. I shall not give you longer time for a decision. Meantime, when Beulah returns you will not allude to the matter. At your peril, May 1 I have borne much from you, but by all that I prize, I swear, I will make you suffer beverely if you dare to interfere again. Do not imagini 126 BEUi.AH that I am ignorant of your schemes ! I tell you now, I gladly see Percy Lockhart lowered into the grave, rather thus knou that you had succeeded in blinding him 1 Oh, his nobis nature would loathe you, could he sec you as yon arc. There, go ! or I shall forget that I am talking to a woman : much le;8 a woman claiming to bb my sister! Go ! go 1" lie put up hi bunds as if unwilling to look at her, and leaving the room, de scended to the front door. A large family-carriage, drawn by two horses, stood in readiness, and seating himself within it, he wdered the coachman to drive to the Asylum. Mrs. Williams met him at the entrance, and despite her assumed composure, felt nervous and uncomfortable, for his scrutinizing look discon- certed her. "Madam, you are the matron of this institution, I presume. [ want to see Bculah Benton." " Sir, she saw your carriage, and desired me to say to you that though she was very grateful for your kindness, she did not wish to burden you, and preferred remaining here until she could find some position which would enable her to support herself. She begs you will not insist upon seeing her ; she does not wish to see you." 11 Where is she ? I shall not leave the house until I do see her." She saw from his countenance 'that it was useless to contend. There was an unbending look of resolve which said plainly, " tell ae where to find her, or I shall search for her at once." Secretly pleased at the prospect of reconciliation, the matron uo longer hesitated, and pointing to the staircase, said : " She is in the first right-hand room." He mounted the steps, opened the door, and entered. Beula was standing by the window ; she had recognized his step, and knew that he was in the room, but felt as if she would not meet his eye for the universe. Yet there was in her heart an intense longing to see him again. During the two past days she had missed hia kind manner and grave watchfulness, and now, if she B E D L A a . 12* nad dared to yield to the irapnlse that prompted, she would havi sprung to meet him, and caught his hand to her lips. He ap proached, and stood looking at the drooped face ; then his soft, cool touch was ou her head, and he said iu his peculiar low musical tones : " Proud little spirit, come home and be happy." She shook her head, saying resolutely : " I cannot : I have no home. I could not be happy in yore house." 'You can be in future. Beulah, I know the vthole truth of this matter ; how I discovered it is no concern of yours you have not broken your promise. Now mark me, I make your return to my house the condition of my sister's pardon. I am not trifling ! If you persist in leaving me, I tell you solemnly 1 will send her and Pauline out into the world to work for their daily bread, as you want to do ! If you will come back, I will give them a comfortable home of their own wherever they may prefer to live, and see that they are always well cared for. But they shall not remain in my house whether you come or not. I am in earnest ! Look at me ; you know I never say what I do not mean. I want you to come back ; I ask you to come with me now. I am lonely ; my home is dark and desolate, come, ray child, come 1" He held her hands in his, and drew her gently toward him. She looked eagerly into his face, and as she noted the stern sadness that marred its noble beauty, the words of his sister flashed upon her memory: He had been married ! Was it the loss of his wife that had so darkened his elegant home ? That gave such austerity to the comparatively youthful face ? She gazed into the deep eyes till she grew dizzy, and answered indistinctly : " 1 have no claim on you will not be the means of parting 7011 and your sister. You have Pauline, make her your child," " Henceforth my sister and myself are parted, whether you wili it oj not, wlwjther you come back or otherwise Once for all, II 128 BEULAB. yon would serve her, come, for on this condition only will I pro ?ide for her. Pauline does not suit me; you do. I can maka you a friend, in some sort a companion. Beulah, you want to come to me; I see it in your eyes; but I see too that you want conditions; what are they ?" "Will you always treat Pauline just as kindly as if you had cover taken me to your house ?" " Except having a separate home, she shall never know any difference. I promise you this. What else ?" " Will you let me go to the public school instead of Madame St. Cymon's?" "Why, pray?" " Because the tuition is free." " And you are too proud to accept any aid from me ?" "No, sir; I want your counsd and guidance, and I want tc be with you to show you that I do thank you for all your good ness; but I want to cost you as little as possible." " You do not expect to depend on me always, then ?" said he, smiling despite himself. "No, sir; only till I am able to teach. It you are willing to do this, I shall be glad to go back, very glad; but not unless you are." She looked as firm as her guardian. " Better stipulate also that you are to wear nothing more expensive than bit calico." He seemed much amused. " Indeed, sir, I am not jesting at all. If you will take care of me while I am educating myself, I shall be very grateful to you; but I am not going to be adopted." " Very well. Then I will try to take care of you. I havo Bigned your treaty; are you ready to come home." "Yes, sir; glad to come." Her fingers closed confidingly over his, and they joined Mrs. Williams in the hall below. A brief explanation from Beulah sufficed for the rejoicing matron, and soon she was borne rapidly from the Asylum. Dr. Hartwell was silent until they reached home, and Beulah was going to he' own room, when he asked, suddenly: BEULAH. 129 "What was it that you wished to ask me about the evening )f the ride ?" " That I might go to the public school.^ " What put that into your bead ?" "As a dependent orphan, I am insulted at Madame fcJt Gymou's." " By whom ?" His eyes flashed. " No matter now, sir." " By whom ? I ask you." " Not by Pauline, She would s^orn to be guilty of anything BO ungenerous." " You do not mean to answer my question, then ?" " No, sir; do not ask me to do so, for I cannot." " Very well. Get ready for tea. Mr. Lockhart is here. One word more. You need fear no further interference from any one." He walked on, and glad to be released, Beulah hastened to her own room, with a strange feeling of joy on entering it again. Harriet welcomed her warmly, and without alluding to her absence, assisted in braiding the heavy masses of hair, which required arranging. Half an hour after, Dr. Hartwell knocked at the door, and conducted her dowu-stairs. Mrs. Chilton rose ind extended her hand, with an amicable expression of counts lance, for which Beulah was not prepared. She could not bring aerself to accept the hand, but her salutation was gravely polite. " Good evening, Mrs. Chilton." Mr. Lockhart made room for her on the sofa; and quietly ensconced in one corner, she sat for some time so engaged in listening to the general conversation, that the bitter recollection of by-gone trials was entirely banished. Dr. Hartwell and his ttend were talking of Europe, and the latter, after recounting much of interest in connection with his former visits, said ear- p/?stly: "Go with me this time, Guy; one tour cannot have satiated you. It will be double nay, triple enjoyment, to have you along. it is, and always has been, a mystery to mo, why you should fi* 130 BEULAH. persist in practising. You do not need the pecuniary aid; you: income would enable you to live just as you pleased. N Life ii shor< at best- why not glean all of pleasure that travel affords to a nature like yours ? Your sister was just telling me that :n a few days, she goes North to place Pauline at some cckv >rated school, and without her, you will be desolate. Come let's to Europe together; what do you say ?" Dr. Hartwell received this intimation of his sister's plans without the slightest token of surprise, and smiled sarcastically as he replied: " Percy, I shall answer you in the words of a favorite author if the day. He says 'it is for want of self culture that the superstition of travelling, whose idols are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its fascination for all educated Americans. He v\o travels to be amused, or tr get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old, even in youth, among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will *nd mind have become old and dilapidated as they. He carriea ruins to ruins. Travelling is a fool's paradise. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, ana ose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embark, and finally wake ip in Naples, and there beside me, is the stern fact, the sad, self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I affect to be intoxicated with sights, and suggestions, but I am not. My giant goes with me wherever I go.' Percy, I endeavored to drown my giant in the Mediterranean; to bury it forever beneath the green waters of Lago Maggiore; to hurl it from solemn, icy, Alpine heights; to dodge it in museums of art; but, as Emerson says, it clung to me with unerring allegiance, and I came home And now, daily, and yearly, I repeat the hopeless experiment ir my round of professional duties. Yes, May and Pauline are going away, but I shall have Beulah to look after, and I fancy time will not drag its wheels through coming years. How soon do you think of leaving America? I have some commissieui for vou when you sta'-t." B B U L A H . 1 3i * 1 hope I shall be able to go North within a fortnight, and fter a short visit to Newport or Saratoga, sail for Havre What do you want from the great storehouse of art, sculpture- lud paintings, cameos and prints ?" " I will furnish you with a catalogue. Do yon go through Germany, or only flaunt, butterfly-like, under the sunny skiei I the Levant ?" " I have, as yet, no settled plans ; but probably before I return, shall explore Egypt, Syria, and Arabia. Do you want anything from, the dying world? From Deudera, Carnac, or that city of rock, lonely, silent, awful Petra ?" " Not I. The flavor of Sodom is too prevalent. But there are a few localities that I shall ask you to sketch for me." Sub- sequently, Mr. Lockhart requested Beulah to skig her forest song for him again. The blood surged quickly into her face, and, not without confusion, she begged him to excuse her. He insisted, and tried to draw her from her seat, but, sinking further back into the corner, she assured him she could not; she never sang, except when alone. Dr. Hartwell smiled, and, looking at het furiously, said : " 1 never heard her even attempt to sing. Beulah, why will /ou not try to oblige him?" " Oh, sir 1 my songs are all connected with sorrows. I could not sing them now ; indeed I could not." And as the memory of Lilly, hushed by her lullaby, rose vividly before her, she put her hands over her eyes and wept quietly. " When you come home from your Oriental jaunt, she will be able to comply with your request. Meantime, Percy, come into the study; I want a cigar and game of chess." Beu'iah quitted the parlor at the same time, and was mounting the steps, when she heard Mr. Lockhart ask : "Guy, what art you going to do with that solemn-looking child ?" " Going to try to show her that the world is not altogether made up of brutes." She heard no more, but long after laid her head upon the pillow, pondered on the kind fate whick 132 BE TIL AH. gave her so considerate, so generous a guardian; and, in tin depths of her gratitude, she vowed to snow him that sh .^reverenced and honored him. CHAPTER XIII. THREE years passed swiftly, unmarked by any incidents of interest, and one dreary night in December, Beulah sat in Dr. Hartwell's study, wondering what detained him so much later than usual. The lamp stood on the tea-table, and the urn awaited the master's return. The room, with its books, statues, paintings, and melodeon, was unaltered, but time had materially changed the appearance of the orphan. She had grown tall, and the mazarine blue merino dress fitted the slender form with scrupulous exactness. The luxuriant black hair was combed straight back from the face, and wound into a circular knot, which covered the entire back of the head, and gave a classical outline to the whole. The eyelashes were longer and darker, the complexion had lost its sickly hue, and though there was no bloon on the cheeks, they were clear and white. I have spoken before of the singular conformation of the massive brow, and now the style in which she wore her hair fully exposed the outline. The large grey eyes had lost their look of bitterness, but more than ever they were grave, earnest, restless, and searching ; indexing a stormy soul. The whole countenance betokened that rare combination of mental endowments, that habitual train of deep, concentrated thought, mingled with somewhat of dark passion, which characterizes the eagerly- inquiring rnind that struggles to lift itself far above commoo utilitarian themes. The placid element was as wanting In her physiognomy as in her character, and even the line* of th BEULAH. 133 mouth gave evidence of strength and restlessness, rather than peace. Before her lay a book on geometry, and, engrossed bj study, she was unobservant of Dr. Hartwell's entrance. Walk- *ng up to the grate, he warmed his fiagers, and then, with hii Eands behind him, stood still on the rug, regarding his protegee attentively. He looked precisely as he had done more thaa three years before, when he waited at Mrs. Martin's, watching little Johnny and his nurse. .The colorless face seemed as if chiselled out of ivory, and stern gravity, blended with bitterness, was enthroned on the lofty, unfurrowed brow. He looked at he girl intently, as he would have watched a patient to whom je had administered a dubious medicine, and felt some curiosity concerning the result. " Beulah, put up your book and make the tea, will you ?" She started up, and seating herself before the urn, said, joyfully : " Good evening ! I did not know you had come home. You look cold, Fir." '' Yes, it is deucedly cold ; and, to mend the matter, Mazeppa must needs slip on the ice in the gutter, and lame himself. Knew, too, I should want him again to-night." He drew a chair to the table and received his tea from her hand, for it was <>ne of his whims to dismiss Mrs. Watson and the servants at ! this meal, and have only Beulah present. " Who is so ill as to require a second visit to-night?" She very rarely asked anything relative to his professional engagements, but saw that he was more than usually inier ested. " Why, that quiet, little Quaker friend of yours, Clara San- ders, will probably lose her grandfather this time. He had a second paralytic stroke to-day, and I doubt whether he survives till morning." " Are any of Clara's friends with her ?" asked Beulah, quickly, " Some two or three of the neighbors. Wha; row ?" >ie con linued as she rose from the table. 134 B B U L A H . "I um going to get ready and go tfith you when jroi return." " Nonsense ! The weather is too disagreeable - and besides you can do uo good ; the old man is unconscious. Don't thiuJf of it." " But I must think of it, and what is more, you must carry nse, if you please. I shall not mind the cold, and I know Clara would rather have me with her, even though I could render nc assistance. Will you carry me ? I shall thank you very much ? v She stood on the threshold. " And if I will not carry you ?" he answered qucstioningly. " Then, sir, though sorry to disobey you, I shall be forced tc walk there." " So I supposed. You may get ready." ''Thank you." She hurried off to wrap up for the ride, and acquaint Mrs. Watson with the cause of her temporary absence On reeutering the study she found the doctor lying on the sofa, With one hand over his eyes ; without removing it he tossed a fetter to her, saying : " There is a letter from Heidelberg. I had almost forgotten it. You will have time tc read it ; the buggy is not ready." He moved his fingers slightly, so as to see her distinctly, whilo she tore off the envelope and perused it. At first she looked pleased ; then the black eyebrows met over the nose, and as she refolded it, there was a very decided curl in the compressed upper lip. She put it into her pocket without comment. " Eugene is well, I suppose ?" aaid the doctor, still shading bit eyes. " Yes, sir, quite well." " Docs he seem to be improving his advantages ?" " I should judge not, from the tone of this letter." What does it indicate?" "That he thinks of settling down into mercantile life on hit return ; as if he needed to go to Germany to learn to keep book*." She spoke hastily and witb uch chagrin. B E L L A H . 132 " And why not ? Germany is par excellence the and of Dook-uiaking, aud book-reading ; why not of book-keeping ?" " German proficiency is not the question, sir." Dr. Hartwell smiled, and passing his fingers through his haiii replied : "You intend to annihilate that plebeian project of his then r ' His own will must govern him, sir ; over that I have nc power." " Still you will use your influence in favor of a learned pro- fession 1* " Yes, sir, if I have any." " Take care your ambitious pride does not ruin you both '. There is the buggy. Be so good as to give me my fur gauutleta out of the drawer of my desk. That will do, come." The ride was rather silent. Beulah spoke several times, bat was answered in a manner which informed her that her guardian was in a gloomy mood, and did not choose to talk. He was to her as inexplicable as ever. She felt that the barrier which divided them, instead of melting away with long and intimate acquaintance, had strengthened and grown impenetrable. Kind but taciturn, she knew little of his opinions on any of the great questions which began to agitate her own mind. For rather more than three years they had spent their evenings together ; she in studying, he in reading or writing. Of his past life she knew absolutely nothing, for no unguarded allusion to it ever escaped his lips. As long as she had lived in his house, he hacl never mentioned his wife's name, and but for his sister's words she would have been utterly ignorant of his marriage. Whethei the omission was studied, or merely the result of abstraction, she could only surmise. Once, wlien sitting around the fire, a piece of crape fell upon the hearth from the shrouded portrait. He Btooped down, picked it up, and without glancing at the picture, threw the fragment into the grate. She longed to see the covered face, but dared not unfasten the sable folds, which bad grown 136 BEDLAH. rusty with age. Sometimes she fancied her presence amiO)c him ; but if she absented herself at all during the evening, hs invariably inquired the cause. He had most scrupulously avoided all reference to matters of faith ; she had endeavored s( vera, times to direct the conversation to religious topics, but he adroitly eluded her efforts, and abstained from any such discussion ; and though on Sabbath she generally accompanied Mrs. Watson to church, he never alluded to it. Occasionally, when more than ordinarily fatigued by the labors of the day, he had permitted ner to read aloud to him from some of his favorite volumes, and these brief glimpses had given her an intense longing to pursue f ,he same paths of investigation. She revered and admired him ; nay, she loved him ; but it was more earnest gratitude than genuine affection. Love casteth out fear, and most certainly she feared him. She had entered her seventeenth year, and feeling that she was no longer a child, her pride sometimes rebelled at the calm, commanding manner he maintained toward her. They found Clara kneeling beside her insensible grandfatntr, while two or three middle-aged ladies sat near the hearth, talking in under tones. Beulah put her arms tenderly around her friend ere she was aware of her presence, and the cry of blended woe acd gladness, with which Clara threw herself on Eeulah's bosom, told her how well-timed that presence was. Three years of teaching and care had worn the slight young form, and given a troubled, strained, weary look to the fair face. Thin, pale, and tearful, she clung to Beulah, and asked, in broken accents, what would become of her when the aged sleeper was no more " Our good God remains to you, Clara. I was a shorn lamb, and he tempered the winds for me. I was very miserable, but fce did not forsake me." Clara looked at the tall form of the physician, and >'hil& her eyes rested upon him with a opecies of fascination, she umr mured : "Yes, you have been blessed indeed! You have him. H guards and cares for your happiness, but I, oh I am alone 1" BEULAH 131 " You told me he had promised to be your friend. Resi assured he will prove himself such," answered Beulah, wa.ehing Clara's countenance as she spoke. " Yes, I know ; but " She paused, and averted her head, for just then he drew near, and said gravely : "Beulah, take Miss Clara to her own room, and persuade hei to rest. I shall remain probably all night ; at least until somt change takes place." " Don't send me away," pleaded Clara, mournfully. " Go, Beulah, it is for her own good." She saw that he was anrelenting, and -complied without opposition. In the seclusion of her room she indulged in a passionate burst of grief, and think- ing it was best thus vented, Beulah paced up and down the floor, listening now to the convulsive sobs, and now to the rain which pelted the window-panes. She was two years younger than her companion, yet felt that she was immeasurably stronger. Often during their acquaintance, a painful suspicion had crossed her mind ; as often she had banished it, but now it haunted her with a pertinacity which she could not subdue. While her feet trod the chamber floor, memory trod the chambers of the past, and gathered up every link which could strengthen the chain of evidence. Gradually dim conjecture became sad conviction, and she was conscious of a degree of pain and sorrow for which sho could not readily account. If Clara loved Dr. Hartwell, why) should it grieve her ? Her step grew nervously rapid, and the ' eyes settled upon the carpet with a fixedness of which she was unconscious. Suppose he was double her age, if Clara loved him notwithstanding, what business was it of hers ? Besides, no one would dream of the actual disparity in years, for he was a very handsome man, and certainly did not look more than ten years older. True, Clara was not very intellectual, and he was parti cularly fond of literary pursuits ; but had net she heard him saj that it was a singular fact in anthropology, that men selected their opposites for wives ? She did not believe her guardian ever thought of Clara save when in her presence. But how did shf iS8 BEULAH. know anything about his thoughts and fancies, ois likes and din likes ? He had never even spoken of his marriage was it prv Dable that the subject of a second love would have escaped him? All this passed rapidly in her mind, and when Clara called her to sit down on the couch beside her, she started as from a painful dream. While her friend talked sadly of the future, Beulah analyzed her features, and came to the conclusion that it would be a very easj matter to love her ; the face was so sweet and gentle, the manner 30 graceful, the tone so musical and winning. Absorbed in thought, neither noted the lapse of time. Midnight passed ; two o'clock came ; and then at three, a knock startled the watchers. Clara sprang to the door ; Dr. Hartwell pointed to the sick room, and said gently : " He has ceased to suffer. lie is at rest." She looked at him vacantly, an instant, and whispered, undo her breath : " He is not dead ?" lie did not reply, and with a frightened expression, she glided into the chamber of death, calling piteously on the sleeper to come back and shield her. Beulah would have followed, but the doctor detained her. " Not yet, child. Not yet." As if unconscious of the act, he passed his arm around her shoulders, and drew her close to him. She looked up in astonish- ment, but his eyes were fixed on the kneeling figure in the room opposite, and she saw that, just then, he was thinking of any- thing else than her presence. " Are you going home now, sir ?" " Yes, but you must stay with that poor girl yonder. Can'* an prevail on her to come and spend a few days with you ?" " I rather think not," answered Beulah, resolved not to try. " You look pale, my child. Watching is not good for you It is a long time since you have seen death. Strange that people will not see it as it is. Passing strange." "What do 'you mean?" said she, striving to interpret thf imile that wreathed his lips. BEULAH 139 "Ton will not believe if I tell you. l Lift is *>vt M? germ o] Duith, and Death the development of a higher Lift.'" " Higher in the sense of heavenly immortality ?" " You may call it heavenly if you choose. Stay here till thi funeral is over, and I will send for you. Are you worn out, child ?" lie had withdrawn his arm, and now looked anxicuslj at her colorless face. " No, sir." " Then why are you so very pale ?" " Did you ever see me, sir, when I was anything else ?" " I have seen you look less ghostly. Good bye." He leff the nouse without even shaking hands. The dny which succeeded was very gloomy, and after the j:;ueral rites had been performed, and the second day looked in, Beulah's heart rejoiced at the prospect of returning home. Clara shrank from the thought of being left alone, the little cot- tage was so desolate. She would give it up now, of course, and find a cheap boarding-house ; but the furniture must be rubbed, and sent down to an auction room, and she dreaded the separa- tion froja all the objects which linked her with the past. " Clara, I have been commissioned to invite you to spend several days with me, until you can select a boarding-house. Dr. Hartwell will be glad to have you come." " Did he say so ?" asked the mourner, shading her face with her hand. "He told me I must bring you home with me," answered Benlah. " Oh, how good, how noble he is ! Beulah, you are lucky, lucky indeed." She dropped her head on her arms. " Clara, I believe there is less difference in our positions than fou seem to imagine. We are both orphans, and in about a yeat I too shall be a teacher. Dr. Hartwell is my guardian and pro- tector, but he will be a kind friend to you also." *' Beulah, you are mad, to dream of leaving him, and turning *&cher 1 I am older than you, and have travelled over the very 140 B E U L A H . track that you are so eager to set out upon. On, take raj advice ; stay where you are ! Would you leave summer sun- shine for the icebergs of Arctic night ? Silly girl, appreciate your good fortune." " Can it be possible, Clara, that you are fainting so soou ? Where are all your firm resolves? If it is your duty, what matter the difficulties ?" She looked down, pityingly, on her companion, as in olden time one of the athlete might hare done upon a drooping comrade. " Necessity knows no conditions, Beulah. I have no alterna tive but to labor in that horrible treadmill round, day after day. You are more fortunate ; can have a home of elegance luxury and " And dependence 1 Would you be willing to change places with me, and indolently wait for others to maintain you '(" interrupted Beulah, looking keenly at the wan, yet lovely face before her. " Ah, gladly, if I had been selected as you were. Once, I too felt hopeful and joyous ; but now life is dreary, almost a bui'- den. Be warned, Beulah, don't suffer your haughty spirit to make you reject the offered home that may be yours." There was a strong approach to contempt in the expression with which Beulah regarded her, as the last words were uttered, aud she answered coldly : " You are less a woman than I thought you, if you would be willing to live on the bounty of others when a little actiyity Would enable you to support yourself." " Ah, Beulah 1 it is not only the bread you eat, or the ; clothes that you wear ; it is sympathy aud kindness, love and i watchfulness. It is this that a woman wants. Oh I was her heart made, think you, to be filled with grammars and geogra- phies, and copy books ? Can the feeling that you aw independ- ent and doing your duty, satisfy the 'onging for .'< her idols? Oh 1 Duty is an icy shadow. It will freeze you. It cannot fill whe heart's sanctuary. Woman was intended as a pet plant, to BEULAH. Ul be guarded and cherished ; isolated and uncared for, she drotpa, languishes and dies." Ah ! the dew-sparkle had exhaled, and the morning glory had vanished ; the noontide heat of Ihe con- flict was creeping on, and she was sinking down, impotent to continue the struggle. _/ " Clara Sanders, I don't believe one word of all tins languish- ing nonsense. As to my being nothing more nor less than a sickly geranium, I know better. If you have concluded that yoc belong to that dependent family of plants, I pity you sincerely and beg that you will not put me in any such category. Dutj may be a cold shadow to you, but it is a vast volcanic agency, constantly impelling me to action. What was my will given te me for, if to remain passive and suffer others to minister to its needs ? Dun't talk to me about woman's clinging, dependent nature. You are opening your lips to repeat that senseless j simile of oaks and vines ; I don't want to hear it ; there are no I creeping tendencies about me. You can wind, and lean, and bang on somebody else if you like ; but I feel more like one of those old pine-trees yonder. I can stand up. Very slim, if you will, but straight and high. Stand by myself ; battle with wind and rain, and tempest roar ; be swayed and bent, perhaps, in the storm, but stand unaided, nevertheless. I feel humbled when I hear a woman bemoaning the weakness of her sex, in stead of showing that she has a soul and mind of her own, inferior to none." " All that sounds very heroic in the pages of a novel, but tho reality is quite another matter. A tame, joyless, hopeless time you will have if you scorn good fortune, as you threaten, and go fnto the world to support yourself," answered Clara, impatiently " I would rather struggle with her for a crust than hang on her garments asking a palace. I don't know what has comu over you. You are strangely changed," cried Beulah, pressing her hands on her friend's shoulders. " The same change will come over you when you endure what have. With all your boasted strength, you are but a woman * 112 BEULAH. have a woman's heart, and one day will be unable to hnsh ita hungry cries." " Then I will crush it ; so help me Heaven !" answered Beulah. " No ! sorrow will do that time enough ; no suicidal effort will be necessary." For the first time, Beulah marked an cxpres sion of bitterness in the usually gentle, quiet countenance. She was pained more than she chose to evince, and seeing Dr. Eartwell's carriage at the door, prepared to return home. " Tell him that I am very grateful for his kind offer ; that his friendly remembrance is dear to a bereaved orphan. Ah, Beulah ! I have known him from my childhood, and he has always been a friend as well as a physician. During my mother's long illness, he watched her carefully and constantly, and when we tendered him the usual recompense for his services, he refused all remuneration, declaring he had only been a friend He knew we were poor, and could ill afford any expense. Oh, do you wonder that I . Are you going immediately] Come often when I get to a boarding-house. Do, Beulah ! I am so desolate ; so desolate." She bowed her head on Beulah's shoulder, and wept unrestrainedly. " Yes, I will come as often as I can ; and, Clara, do try to cheer up. I can't bear to see you sink down 'n this way." Sh kissed the tearful face, and hurried away. It was Saturday, and retiring to her own room, she answered Eugene's brief letter. Long before, she had seen with painful anxiety, that he wrote more and more rarely, and while hia communications clearly conveyed the impression, that he fancied they were essential to her happiness, the protective tenderness cf early years, gave place to a certain commanding, yet conde- scending tone. Intuitively perceiving, yet unable to anahze this gradual revol itioa of feeling, Beutah was sometimes tempted to cut short the correspondence. But her long and ardent attach ment drowned the whispers of wounded pride, and hallowed memories of his boyish love, ever prevented an expression of tht . BECLAH. 143 pain and wonder, with which she beheld the alteration in his character. Unwilling to accuse him of the weakness, which prompted much of his arrogance and egotism, hti* heart framed various excuses for his seeming coldness. At first she had written often, and without reference to ordinary epistolary debts, but uow she regularly waited (and that for some time) for the arrival cf his letters ; not from a diminution of affection, so much as from true womanly delicacy, lest she should obtrude herself too frequently upon his notice. More than once she had been troubled by a dawning consciousness of her own superi- ority, but accustomed for years to look up to him as a sort of infallible guide, she would not admit the suggestion, and tried to keep alive the admiring respect, with which she had been wont to defer to his judgment. He seemed to consider hit dogmatic dictation both acceptable and necessary, and it wa this assumed mastery, unaccompanied with manifestation^ of former tenderness, which irritated and aroused her pridfi *. With the brush of youthful imagination she had painted *jim as the future statesman gifted, popular, and revered } and while visions of his fame and glory flitted before her the promise of sharing all with her was by no mealis the least fascinating feature in her fancy picture. Of late, how ever, he had ceased to speak of the choice of a profession, and mentioned vaguely Mr. Graham's wish that he should ac- quaint himself thoroughly with French, German, and Spanish, in order to facilitate the correspondence of the firm with foreign houses. She felt that once embarked on the sea of mercantile life, he would have little leisure or inclination to pursue the paths which she hoped to travel by his side, and, on tins occasion, her letter was longer and more earnest than usual, 'irging his adherence to the original choice of the law, and jsing every forcible argument she could adduce. Finally, thu -eply was scaled and directed, and she went down to the study to place it in the marble receiver which stood on her guardian'* iesk. Hal, who accompanied the doctor in his louud of visit*. 14 BEULAH. always took their letters to the post-office, and pnnctuaiij deposited all directed to them in the vase. To her sur- prise she found no fire in the grate. The blu,ds were drawn closely, and in placing her letter on the desk, she noticed several addressed to the doctor, and evidently unopened. They must have arrived the day before, and while she wondered at the aspect of the room, Harriet entered. " Miss Beulah, do you know how long master expects to be gone ? I thought, maybe, you could tell when you came home, for Mrs. Watson does not seem to know any more thau I do." " Gone ! What do you mean ?" " Don't you know he has gone up the river to the plantation ? Why, I packed his valise at daylight yesterday, and he left in the early morning boat. He has not been to the plantation pince just before you came here. Hal says he heard him tell Dr. Asbury to take charge of his patients, that his overseer had to be looked after. He told me he was gokig to the plantation, and I would have asked him when he was coming back, but he was in one of his unsatisfactory ways ; looked just like h'ia mouth had been dipped iu hot sealing-wax, so I held my tongue." Beulah bit her lips with annoyance, but sat down before the melodcon, and said as unconcernedly as possible : " I did not know he had left the city, and of conrse have no idea when he will be back. Harriet, please make me a fire here, or call Hal to do it." " There is a good fire in the dining-room ; better go in there and sit with Mrs. Watson. She is busy seeding raisins fo* mincemeat and fruit-cake." " No, I would rather stay here." " Then I will kindle you a fire right away." Harriet moved about the room with cheerful alacrity. She iad always seemed to consider herself Beulah's special guardian tnd friend, and gave continual proof of the strength of her affection. Evidently she desired to talk about her master, but BEULAH. Benlah's face gave her no encouiagement to proceed She made several efforts to renew the conversation, but they were not seconded, and she withdrew, muttering to herself : " She is learning all his ways. He does hate to talk any more than he can help, and she is patterning after him just as fast us she can. They don't seem to know what the Lord gave them tongues for." Beulah practised perseveringly, for some time, and then draw- ing a chair near the fire, sat down and leaned her head on her hand. She missed her guardian wanted to see him felt sur- prised at his sudden departure, and mortified that he had not thought her of sufficient consequence to bid adieu to, and be apprised of his intended trip. He treated her precisely as he did when she first entered the house ; seemed to consider her a mere child, whereas she knew she was no longer such. He never alluded to her plan of teaching, and when she chanced to mention it, he offered no comment, looked indifferent or ab- stracted. Though invariably kind, and sometimes humoroas, there was an impenetrable reserve respecting himself, his past uivil future, which was never laid aside. When not engaged with his flowers or music, he was deep in some favorite volume, and, outside of these sources of enjoyment, seemed to derive no real pleasure. Occasionally he had visitors, but these were generally strangers, often persons residing at a distance, and Beulah knew nothing of them. Several times he had attended concerts and Lectures, but she had never accompanied him ; and frequently, vhcn sitting by his side, felt as if a glacier lay between them. Alter Mrs. Chiltou's departure for New York, where she and Pauline were boarding, no ladies ever came to the house, except a few of middle age, who called now and then to see Mrs. Wats on, and, utterly isolated from society, Beulah was ouscious of entire ignorance of all that passed in polite circles. Twice Claudia had called, but unable to forget the past suffi- ciently to enter Mrs. Graysou's house, their intercourse had with Claudia's visits. Mrs. Watson was a kind-hearted 1 146 BEULAH. and most excellent woman, who made an admirable housekeeper, but possessed few of the qualifications requisite to render ha en agreeable companion. With an ambitious nature, and ai eager thirst for knowledge, Beulah had improved her advantagei as only those do who have felt the need of them. While S!K acquired, with unusual ease and rapidity, the branches of learn ing taught at school, she had availed herself of the extensive and select library, to which she had free access, and history, biography, travels, essays and novels had been perused with singular avidity. Dr. Hartwell, without restricting her reading, suggested the propriety of incorporating more of the poetic element in her course. The hint was timely, and induced an acquaintance with the great bards of England and Germany, , although her taste led her to select works of another character. Her secluded life favored habits of study, and at an age when p\rls are generally just beginning to traverse the fields of literature, she bad progressed so far as to explore some of the footpaths wiiich entice contemplative minds from the beaten track. With earlie? cultivation and superiority of years, Eugeue had essayed to direct her reading ; but now, in point of advancement, she felt that she was in the van. Dr. Hartwell had told her, whenever she was puzzled, to come to him for explanation, and his clear analysis taught her how immeasurably superior he was, even to those instructors whose profession it was to elucidate mysteries. Ac- customed to seek companionship in books, she did not, upon the present occasion, long reflect on her guardian's sudden departure, but took from the shelves a volume of Poe which contained her mark. The parting rays of the winter sun grew fainter ; the dull, sombre light of vanishing day made the room dim, and it was only by means of the red glare from the glowing grate that he deciphered the print. Finally the lamp was brought in, ana shed a mellow radiance over the dusky apartment. The volume was finished, and dropped upon her lap. The spell of this incomparable sorcerer was upon her imagination j the sluggish, lurid taru of Usher ; the pale, gigantic water lilies, nodding BEULAH. 147 tlieh ghastly, everlasting heads over the dreary Za'ire ; the shrouding shadow of KeiusSon ; the ashen skies, and sere, crisped leaves in the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir, hard by the dim lake of Auber all lay with grim distinctness before her ; and from the red bars of the grate, the wild, lustrous, appalling eyes of Ligeia looked out at her, while the unearthly tones of Morella whispered from every corner of the room. She rose and replaced the book on the shelf, striving to shake off the dis- mal hold which all this phantasmagoria had taken on her fancy. Her eyes chanced to fall upon a bust of Athene which surmounted her guardian's desk, and immediately the mournful refrain of the Raven, solemn and dirge-like, floated through the air, enhancing the spectral element which enveloped her. She retreated to the parlor, and running her fingers over the keys of the piano, endeavored by playing some of her favorite airs, to divest her mind of the dreary, unearthly images which haunted it. Tho attempt was futile, aud there in the dark, cold parlor, she leaned her head against the piano, and gave herself up to the guidance ot one who, like the " Ancient Mariner," holds his listener fasci- - iiated and breathless. Once her guardian had warned her not to study Poe too closely, but the book was often in his own hand, and yielding to the matchless ease and rapidity of his diction, she found herself wandering iu a wilderness of baffling sugges- tions. Under the drapery of " William Wilson," of " Morella " ' and " Ligeia," she caught tantalizing glimpses of recondite psychological truths and processes, which dimly hovered over her own consciousness, but ever eluded the grasp cf analysis. While his unique imagery filled her mind with wondering delight, she shrank appalled from the mutilated fragments whi( h he pre- sented to her as truths, on the point of his glittering scalpel of logic. With the eagerness of a child clutching at its own shadow in a glassy lake, and thereby destroying it, she had read that anomalous prose poem " Eureka." The quaint humor of that "bottled letter" first arrested her attention, and, once launched on the sea of Cosmogonies, she was amazed at tht 14-8 BEULAH. ]y infallible reasoning, which, at the conclusion, iuformed her that she was her own God. Mystified, shocked 1 and y:.t ad miring, she had gone to Dr. Hartwell for a solution of the -Jiificulty. False she felt the whole icy tissue to be, yet cotld not detect the adroitly disguised sophisms. Instead of assisting her, as usual, he took the book from her, smiled and put it away, saying, indifferently : "You must not play with such sharp tools just yet. Go and practise your music lesson." She was too deeply interested to be put off so quietly, and constantly pondered this singular production, which confirmed n some degree a fancy of her own concerning the preexistenco of the soul. Only on the hypothesis of an anterior life could she explain some of the mental phenomena which puzzled her. Heedless of her guardian's warning, she had striven to compre- hend the philosophy of this methodical madman, and now felt bewildered and restless. This study of Poe was the portal through which she er ered the vast Pantheon of Speculation CHAPTER XIV. A WEEK later, at the close of a dull winter day, Beulan sat, aa usual in the study. The large parlors and diuing-room had a desolate look at all times, and of the whole house, only the study seemed genial. Busily occupied during the day, ii, was not until evening that she realized her guardian's absence. No tidings o! him had been received, and she began to wonder at his pro- longed stay. She felt very lonely without him, and though generally taciturn, she missed him from the hearth, m'sned the tall form, and the sad, stern face. Another Saturday had corny, and all day she had been with Clara in her new home, trying to B U L A H . 14b cheer the mourner, and dash away the gloom that seemed set tling down upon her spirits. At dusk, she returned home, spent an hour at the piano, and now wait ed up and down the study, rapt in thought. The room had a cozy, comfortable aspect; the fire burned brightly; the lamp light silvered the paintings and statues; and on the rug before the grate lay a huge black clog of the St. Bernard order, his shaggy head thrust between his paws. The large, intelligent eyes, followed Beulab as she paced to and fro, and seemed mutely to question hei restlessness. His earnest scrutiny attracted her notice, and she held out her hand, saying, musingly; " Poor Charon; you too miss your master. Charon, King of Shadows, when will he come." The great black eyes gazed intently into hers, and seemed to ' echo, " when will he come ?" He lifted his grim head, snuffed the air, listened, and sullenly dropped his face on his paws again, Beulah threw herself on the rug, and laid her head on his thick neck; he gave a quick, short bark of satisfaction, and very soon both girl and dog were fast asleep. A quarter of an hour glided by, and then Beulah was suddenly roused by a violent motion of her pillow. Charon sprang up, and leaped frantically across the room. The comb which confined her hair had fallen out, and gathering up the jetty folds which swept over her shoulders, she looked around. Dr. Hartwell was closing the door. "Down, Charon; you ebon scampi Down, you keeper of Styx!" He forced down the paws from his shoulders, and patted the shaggy head, while his eyes rested affectionately on the delighted countenance of his sable favorite. As he threw down his gloves, his eyes fell on Beulah, who had hastily risen lorn the rug, and he held out his hand, saying: " Ah! Charon waked you rudely. How are you ?" " Very well, thank you, sir. I am so glad you have come home, so glad." She took his cold hand between both herj, rubbed it vigorously, and looked up joyfully in his face. Sh thought he was paler and more haggard than she had ev^r seen 150 BEDLAtt. him; his hair clustered in disorder about his forehead; his whol aspect was weary and wretched. He suffered her to keep his band in her warm tij ht clasp, and asked kindly: '.Are you well, Boulah ? Your face is flushed, and you feel feverish." " Perfectly well. But yon are as cold as an Esquimaux bunter. Come to the fire." She drew his arm-chair, with its candle-stand and book-board, close to the hearth, and put hia warm velvet slippers before him. She forgot her wounded pride; forgot that he had left without even bidding her good bye; and only remembered that he had come home again, that he was sitting there in the study, and she would be lonely no more. Silently leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes with a sigh of relief. She felt as if she would like very much to smooth ofi the curling hair that lay thick and damp on his white, gleaming brow, but dared not. She stood watching him for a moment, and said considerately: " Will you have your tea now ? Charon and I had our sap- pur long ago." "No, child; I only want to rest." Beulah fancied he spoke impatiently. Had she been too ofll- cious in welcoming him to his own home ? She bit her lip with proud vexation, and taking her geometry, left him. As she reached the door, the doctor called to her: " Beulah, you need not go away. This is a better fire than the one in your own room." But she was wounded, and did no; shoose to stay. " I can study better in my own room. Good night, sir." " Why, child, this is Saturday night. No lessons natl Monday." She was not particularly mollified by tho reiteration of ilie irord " child," and answered, coldly : " There are hard lessons for every day we lire." " Well, be good enough to hand ine the letters chat hay arrived during my absence w BEULAH. 151 SI e emptied the etter receiver, 'and placed several communi cutic is in his hand. He pointed to a chair near the fire, and said, quietly : " iit down, my child; sit down." T( o proud to discover how much she was piqued by his cold ness, sha took the seat and commenced studying. But lines ancl angl s swam confusedly before her, and, shutting the book, sh sat 1 .oking into the fire. While her eyes roamed into the deep, glo\* ng crevices of the coals, a letter was hurled into the fiery masi and in an instant blazed and shrivelled to ashes. She look d up in surprise, and started at the expression of her gua; lian's face. Its Autiuoiis-like beauty had vanished ; the pah, ips writhed, displaying the faultless teeth; the thin nostrils wen. expanded, and the eyes burned with fierce anger. The avd nche was upheaved by hidden volcanic fires, and he excY'.irued, with scornful emphasis : 4 " Idiot ! blind lunatic ! In his dotage 1" There was something so marvellous in this excited, angry manifestation, that Beulah, who had never before seen him other than phlegmatic, looked at him with curious wonder. Hia cleiicned hand rested on the arm of the chair, and he continued, sarcastically : " Oh, a precious pair of idiots ! They will have a glorious life. Sucl harmony, such congeniality 1 Such incomparable sweetness, on her part, such equable spirits on his 1 Not the surpassing Depose of a windless tropic night can approach to the divine setenity of their future. Ha ! by the Furies ! he will Lave an enviable companion; a matchless Griselda !" Laughing scornfully, he started up and strode across the floor. As Beulah caught the withering expression which sat on every feature, she shuddered involuntarily. Could she bear to incur his contempt ? , He appro? died her, and she felt as though her very soul shrank from him ; his glowing eyes seemed to burn her face, as In paused ar. I said, ironically : " Can't you participate in my joy ? I have a new brother iu 152 BEULAH. law. Congratulate me on my sister's marriage. Suih desperatf good news can come but rarely in a lifetime." " Whom has she married, sir ?" asked Beulah, shrinking from the iron grasp on her shoulder. " Percy Lockhart, of course. He will rue his madness. I warned him. Now let him seek apples in the orchards of Sodom! Let him lay his parched lips to the treacherous waves of the Dead Sea 1 Oh, I pity the fool 1 I tried to save him, but he would seal his own doom. Let him pay the usurious school- fees of experience." " Perhaps your sister's love for him will " " Oh, you young, ignorant lamb 1 You poor, little unfledged birdling I I suppose you fancy she is really attached to him. Do you, indeed ? About as 'much as that pillar of salt in the plain of Sodom was attached to the memory of Lot. About as much as this peerless Niobe of mine is attached to me." Ho struck the marble statue as he spoke. " Then, how could she marry him ?" asked Beulah, naively. " Ha ! ha 1 I will present you to the Smithsonian Institute as the last embodiment of effete theories. Who exhumed you, putron saint of archaism, from the charnel-hor,se of centuries ?" Ho looked down at her with an expression of intolerable bitter- ness and scorn. Her habitually pale face flushed to crimson, as she answered with sparkling eyes : " Not the hands of Diogenes, encumbered with his tub 1" He smiled grimly. " Know the world as I do, child, and tubs and palaces will be alike o you. Feel the pulse of humanity, and yon will " flea?en preserve me from looking on life through your ipectaclcs 1" cried sli3, impetuously, stung by the contempturu? smile which curled his lips. " Amen." Taking his hands from her shoulder, he threw himself back into his chair There was silence for some rninu:ea B.nd Beulah said : BEULAB. 153 " I thought Mr. Lockhart was in Syria ?" "Oh, no; he wants a companion in his jaunt to the Hjl) fjand. How devoutly May will kneel on Olivet and Moriah ! What pious tears will stain her lovely cheek as she stands in tht hall of Pilate, and calls to mind all the thirty years' history . Oh ! 1'ercy is cruel to subject her tender soul to such torturing associations. Bculah, go and play something ; no matter what, Anything to hush my cursing mood. Go, child." He turned away his face to hide its bitterness, and, seating herself at the melodeon, Beulah played a German air, of which he was very fond. At the conclusion, he merely said : " Sing." A plaintive prelude followed the command, and she sang. No description could do justice to the magnificent voice, as it swelled deep and full in its organ-like tones ; now thrillingly low in its wailing melody, and now ringing clear and sweet as silver bells. There were soft, rippling notes/ that seemed to echo from tho deeps of her soul, and voice its immensity. It was wonderful what compass there was, what rare sweetness and purity too. It was a natural gift, like that conferred on birds. Art could not produce it, but practice and scientific culture had improved and perfected it. For three years the best teacher? had instructed her, and she felt that now she was mistress of a spell which, once invoked, might easily exorcise the evil spirit which had taken possession of her guardian. She sang several of hia favorite songs, then closed the melodeon, and went back to the 6 re. Dr. Hartwell's face lay against the purple velvet lining of the chair, and the dark surface gave out the contour with bold distinctness. His eyes were closed, and as Beulah watched him, he thought, " how inflexible he looks, how like a marble image. The moutt seems as if the sculptor's chisel had just carved it ; *o stern, sc stony. Ah I he is not scornful now ; he looks only sad, uncomplaining, but very miserable. What has steeled hii heart, and made him so unrelenting, so haughty ? What c&v have isolated him so completely ? Nature lavished on him ever/ 7* i54 BEULAB. gift ,vhich could render him the charm of social circles, yet bt lives in the seclusion of his own heart, independent of sympathy contemptuous of the world he was sent to improve and bless." Those reflections were interrupted by his opening his eyes, and nay ing, in his ordinary, calm tone : " Thank you, Beulah. Did you finish that opera I spoke of ;,ome time since ?" " Yes, sir." " You found it difficult ?" " Not so difficult as your description led me to imagine." " Were you lonely while I was away ?" " Yes, sir." " Why did not Clara come and stay with you ?" " She was engaged in changing her home ; has removed to Mrs. Hoyt's boardiug-house." " When did you see her last ? How does she bear the blow ?" " I was with her to-day. She is desponding, and seems to jrow more so daily." She wondered very much whether he suspected the preference which she felt sure Clara entertained for him ; and as the sub- ject recurred to her, she looked troubled. " What is the matter ?" he asked, accustomed to reading her expressive face. " Nothing that can be remedied, sir." " How do you know that ? Suppose you let me be the judge." " You could not judge of it, sir ; and besides, it is no concern iti mine." A frigid smile fled over his face, and for some time he appeared lo?.t in thought. His companion was thinking too ; wondering how Clara coald cope with such a nature as his ; wondering why people always selected persons totally unsuited to them ; and fancying that if Clara only knew her guardian's character as well as she did, the gentle girl would shrink in dread from his unbending will, his habitual, moody taciturnity. He was gene tons and unselfish, but also as unyielding as the Rock of Gibral BEULAH. 155 tar, There was nothing pleasurable in this train of thought, ana taking ap a boc^ she soon ceased to think of the motionless figure opposite. No sooner were her eyes once fastened on- her book, than his rested searchingly on her face. At first she read without much manifestation of interest, regularly and slowly passing her hand over the black head which Charon had laid on her lap. After a while the lips parted eagerly, the leaves were turned quickly, and the touches on Charon's head ceased. Her long, .black lashes, could not veil the expression of enthusiastic pleasure. Another page fluttered over, a flush stole across hei brow ; and as she closed the volume, her whole face was irradi ated. " What are you reading ?" asked Dr. Hartwell, when she seamed to sink into a reverie. " Analects from Richter." " De Quiucey's 1" "Yes, sir." " Once that marvellous ' Dream upon the Universe ' fascinated me as completely as it now does you." Memories of earlier days clustered about him, parting the lombre clouds with their rosy fingers. His features began t<" soften. " Sir, can you read it now without feeling your soul kindle ?" " Yes, child : it has lost its interest for me. I read it as indif- ferently as I do one of my medical books. So will you one day." " Never ! It shall be a guide-book to my soul, telling of the pathway arched with galaxies and paved with suns, through which that soul shall pass in -triumph to its final rest !" "And who shall remain in that 'illimitable dungeon of pure, cure darkness, which imprisons creation ? That dead sea of nothing, in whose unfathomable zone of blackness the jewel of the glittering universe is set, and buried forever ?' Child, is no: that, too, a dwelling-place ?" He passed his fingers through hii hair, sweeping it all back from his ample forehead Ceulab opened the book, and read aloud : 156 BETJLAH. H Immediately my eyes were opened, and I saw, as it were, n interminable sea of light : all spaces between all heavens wer filled with happiest light, for the deserts and wastes of the crea tion were now filled with the sea of light, and in this sea th suns floated like ash-grey blossoms, and the planets like black grains of seed. Then my heart comprehended that immortality dwelled in the spaces between the worlds, and Death only among ike worlds; and the murky planets I perceived were but cradlea for the infant spirits of the universe of light ! In the Zaarahs ol the creation I saw, I heard, I felt the glittering, the echoing, the breathing of life and creative power 1" She closed the volume, and while her lips trembled with deep feeling, added earnestly : " Oh, sir, it makes me long, like Jean Paul, ' for some narrow cell or quiet oratory in this metropolitan cathedral of the uni- verse.' It is an infinite conception and painting of infinity, which my soul endeavors to grasp, but wearies in thinking of 1" Dr. Hartwell smiled, and pointing to a row of books, said with some eagerness : " I will test your love of Jean Paul. Give me that large olume in crimson binding on the second shelf. No further on ; that is it." He turned over the leaves for a few minutes, and with a finger still on the page, put it into her hand, saying : " Begin here at ' I went through the worlds,' and read down to ' when I awoke.' " She sat down and read. He put his hand carelessly over his eyes, and watched her curiously through his fingers. It waa evident that she soon became intensely interested. He could v;e the fierce throbbing of a vein in her throat, and the tight clutching of her fingers. Her eyebrows met in 'the wrinkling forehead, and the lips were compressed severely. Gradually the flush faded from her cheek, an expression of pain and horror swept over her stormy face, and rising hastily, she exclaimed : " False I false I ' That everlasting storm which no one guidea BEOLAH. 157 tells me in thunder tones that there is a home of rest iL the pre- sence of the in6uite father ! Oh, chance does not roam, like a destroying angel, through that ' sno\v-po\vder of stars !' The Ic ve of our God is over all his works as a mantle 1 Though you should 'take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parta of the sea,' lo 1 He is there ! The sorrowing children of the uni- verse are not orphans ! Neither did Richter believe it ; well might he declare that with this sketch he would ' terrify himself and vanquish the spectre of Atheism 1 Oh, sir ! the dear God stretches his arm about each and all of us ! ' When the sorrow- laden lays himself, with a galled back, into the earth, to sleep til) a fairer morning/ it is not true that ' he awakens in a stormy chaos, in an everlasting midnight T It is not true ! He goes home to his loved dead, and spends a blissful eternity in the king- dom of Jehovah, where death is no more, ' where the wicked 3ease from troubling, and the weary are at rest 1' " She laid the volume on his knee, and tears which would not be restrained, rolled swiftly over her cheeks. He looked at her mournfully, and took her hand in his. "My child, do you believe all this as heartily as you did when a little girl ? Is your faith in your religion unshaken ?" He felt her lingers close over his spasmodically, as she hastily replied : " Of course, of course ! What could shake a faith which years should strengthen ?" But the shiver which crept through her frame denied hernsser. lion, and with a. keen pang, he saw the footprints of the Destroyer. She must not know, however, that be doubted her words, and with an effort, he said : " I am glad, Beulah ; and if you would continue to believe, don't read my books promiscuously. There are many on thosi shelves yonder which I would advise you never to open. Bi warned in time, my child." She snatched her hand from his, and answered proudly : " Sir, think you I could be satisfied with a creed which I ?onW 158 BEULAH. not hear to have investigated ? If I abstained from reading your books, dreading lest my faith be shaken, then I could no longer confide in that faith. Christianity has triumphed over tho Bubtleties of infidelity for eighteen hundred years : what have 1 tc fear ?" " Beulah, do you want to be just what T am ? Without belief hi any creed ! hopeless of eternity as of life 1 Do yon want to b like me ? If not, keep your hands off of my books 1 Good night; it is time for you to be asleep." He motioned her away, and too much pained to reply, she uilently withdrew. CHAPTER XV. THE day had been clear, though cold, and late in the after- noon, Beulah wrapped a shawl about her, and ran out into tho front yard for a walk. The rippling tones of the fountain were hushed ; the shrubs were bare, and, outside the greenhouse, not a flower was to be seen. Even the hardy chrysanthemums were brown and shrivelled. Here vegetation slumbered in the grave of winter. The hedges were green, and occasional clumps of cassina bent their branches beneath the weight 'of coral fruitage Tail poplars lifted their leafless arms helplessly toward the sky, and threw grotesque shadows on the ground beneath, while the wintry wind chanted a mournful dirge through the sombre foli- age of the aged, solemn cedars. Noisy flocks of r< bins fluttered among the trees, eating the ripe, red yupon berries, and now ana then, parties of pigeons circled round and round the house Charon lay on the door-step, blinking at the setting sun, with his sage face dropped on his paws. Afar off was heard the hum of the city; but here all was quiet and peaceful. Beulah looked ^ver the beds, lately BO brilliant and fragrant in their wealth of BEULAH. 15S flcrai Deauty ; at the bare grey poplars, whose musica rustling had so often hushed her to sleep in cloudless summer nights, and an expression of serious thoughtfuluess settled on her face. Many months before, she had watched the opening spring in this Bame garden. Had seen young leaves and- delicate blossoms bad out from naked stems, had noted their rich luxuriance as the summer heat came on their mature beauty; and when the first breath of autumn sighed through the land, she saw them flush and decline, and gradually die and rustle down to their graves. Now, where green boughs and perfumed petals had gaily looked np in the sunlight, all was desolate. The piercing northern wind seemed to whisper as it passed, " life is but the germ of death, and death the development of a higher life." Was the cycle eternal then ? Were the beautiful ephemera she had loved BO dearly gone down into the night of death, but for a season, to be born again, in some distant springtime, mature, and . return, as before, to the charnel-house ? Were the three score and ten years of human life analogous ? Life, too, had its spring-^ time, its summer of maturity, its autumnal decline, and its wintry night of death. Were the cold sleepers in the neighboring cemetery waiting, like those dead flowers, for the tireless pro- cesses of nature, whereby their dust was to be reanimated, remolded, lighted with a soul, and set forward for another journey of three score and ten years of life and labor ? Men lived and died ; their ashes enriched mother Earth, new creations sprang, phrenix-like, from the sepulchre of the old. Another generation trod life's path in the dim footprints of their prede- cessors, and that, too, vanished in the appointed process, min. gling dust with dust, that Protean matter might hold the even enor of its way, in accordance with the oracular decrees of Isis. Was it true that, since the original Genesis, " nothing had been gained, and nothing lost ?" Was earth, indeed, a mon- strous Krouos ? If so, was not she as old as creation ? To how many other souls had her body given shelter ? How was hei identity to be maintained ? True, she had read that identity 160 B E U L A H . was noused in " consciousness," not bones and muscles ? Ben! could there be consciousness without bones and muscles ? She drew her shawl closely around her, and looked up at the cloudiest sea of azure The sun had sunk below the horizon ; the birds had all gone to rest ; Charon had sought the study rug ; even the distant hum of the city was no longer heard. " The silver sparks of stars were rising on the altar of the east, and falling down in the red sea of the west." Beulah was chilled ; there were cold thoughts in her mind icy spectres in her heart ; and she quickened her pace np and down the avenue, dusky beneath the ancient gloomy cedars. One idea haunted her : aside from revelation, what proof had she that unlike those moldering flowers, her spirit should never die ? No trace was to be found of the myriads of souls who had preceded her. Where were the countless hosts ? Were life and death balanced ? was her own soul chiliads old, forgetting its former existences, save as diu, undefinable reminiscences, flashed fitfully upon it ? If so, was it a progression ? How did she know that her soul had not en- tered her body fresh from the release of the hangman, instead of coming down on angel wings from its starry home, as she had loved to think ? A passage which she had read many weeks before flashed upon her mind : " Upon the dead mother, in peace and utter gloom, are reposing the dead children. After a time, uprises the everlasting sun ; and the mother starts up at the summons of the heavenly dawn, with a resurrection of her an- cient bloom. And her children ? Yes, but they must wait awhile I" This resurrection was springtime, beckoning dormant beauty from the icy arms of winter ; how long must the children wait for the uprising of the morning star of eternity ? From hiklhood these unvoiced queries had perplexed her mind, and, trengthening with her growth, now cried out peremptorily for answers. With shuddering dread, she strove to stifle the spirit which, once thoroughly awakened, threatened to explore every nook and cranny of mystery. She longed to talk freely with her guardian, regarding many of the suggestions which puzzled B E r L A H . 161 *er ; oat shrank instinctively from broaching inch topics. Now in her need, the sublime words of Job came to her : " Oh, that my words were now written ! oh, that they were printed in a book ; for I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth : and though worms destroy 'his body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." Ilandel'i '"' Messiah " had invested this passage with resistless grandeur, and leaving the cold, dreary garden, she sat down before the melodeon and sang a portion of the Oratorio. The sublime strains seemed to bear her worshipping soul up to the presence chamber of Deity, and exultingly she repeated the concluding words : " For now is Christ risen from the dead ; The first-fruits of them that sleep." The triumph of faith shone in her kindled eyes, though glitter- ing drops fell on the ivory keys, and the whole countenance bespoke a heart resting in the love of the Father. While her ; Gngers still rolled waves of melody through the room, Dr. Hartwell entered, with a parcel in one hand and a magnificent cluster of greenhouse flowers in the other. He laid the lattei before Beulah, and said : " I want you to go with me to-night to hear Sontag. The concert commences at eight o'clock, and yoa have no time to spare. Here are some flowers for your hair ;. arrange it as you have it now ; and here, also, a pair of white gloves. When you are ready, come down and make my tea." " Thank you, sir, for remembering me so kindly, and supply- ing all my wants so " " Bfiulah, there are tears on your lashes. What is the Shatter?" interrupted the doctor, pointing to the drops which had fallen on the rosewood frame of the melodeon. " Is it not enough to bring tears to my eyes when I tlank of all your kindness?" She hurried awaj without suffering him t urge the matter 162 BE TIL AH. The prospect of hearing Sontag gave her exquisite pleasure and she dressed with trembling eagerness, while Harriet leanec on tho bureau and wondered what would happen next. Except feo atUrad church and visit Clara and Mrs. Williams, Beulah had never gone out before ; and the very seclusion in which she lived, rendered this occasion one of interest and importance. As she tcok her cloak and ran down-stairs, the young heart throbbed violently. Would her fastidious guardian be satisfied with her appearance ? She felt the blood gush over her face as she entered the room; but he did not look at her, continued to read the newspaper he held, and said, from behind the extended sheet: " I will join you directly." She poured out the tea with an unsteady hand. Dr. Hartwell took his silently ; and as both rose from the table, handed her a paper, saying : " The carriage is not quite ready, yet. Tiiere is a pro- gramme." (As she glanced over it, he scanned her closely, and an expres- sion of satisfaction settled on his features. She wore a dark blue silk (one he had given her some weeks before), which - exquisitely fitted her slender, graceful figure, and was relieved by a lace collar, fastened with a handsome cameo pin, also his gift. The glossy black hair was brushed straight back from tho face, in accordance with the prevailing style, and wound into a knot at the back of the head. On either side of this knot, she wore a superb white camellia, which contrasted well with the raven hair. Her face was pale, but the expression was one of eager expectation. As the carriage rattled up to the door, he put his hand on her shoulder, and said : " You look very well to-night, my child. Those white {.\pouicas becojie you." She breathed freely once more. At the door of tin concert hall he gave her his arm, and while the pressure of the crowd detained them a moment at the entrance, she- clung to him with a feeling of dependence utterly oew to her. The din of voices, the dazzling glare of the ga BEULAH. 16S lights bewildered her, and she walked on mechanically, till the doctor entered his seat, and placed her beside him. The bril liant chandeliers shone down on elegant dresses, glittering diamonds, and beautiful women, and, looking forward, Beulab was reminded of the glowing descriptions in the " Arabiat Nights." She observed that many curious eyes were bent upoc ber, and ere she had been seated five minutes, more than one lorg- nette was levelled at her. Everybody knew Dr. Hartwell, and she saw him constantly returning the bows of recognition which assailed him from the ladies in their vicinity. Presently, he leaned his head on his hand, and she could not forbear smiling at the ineffectual attempts made to arrest his attention. The hall was crowded, and as the seats filled to their utmost capacity, she was pressed against her guardian. He looked down at her, and whispered : " Very democratic. Eh, Beulah ?" She smiled, and was about to reply, when her attention was attracted by a party which just then took their places imme- diately in front of her. It consisted of an elderly gentleman and two ladies, one of whom Beulah instantly recognized as Cornelia Graham. She was now a noble-looking, rather than beautiful woman; and the incipient pride, so apparent in girlhood, had matured into almost repulsive hauteur. She was very richly^, dressed, and her brilliant black eyes wandered indifferently over the room, as though such assemblages had lost their novelty and interest for hci Chancing to look back, she perceived Dr. Hartwell, bowed, and said with a smile : "Pray, do not think me obstinate ; I had no wish to come, but father insisted." " I am glad you feel well enough to be here," was his carelest reply. Cornelia's eyes fell upon the quiet figure at his side, and AS Beulah met her steady gaze, she felt something of her old dislike warming in her eyes. They had never met since the morning of Oornelia's contemptuous treatment, at Madam St. Cyraou's ; and 164 BETJLA-H. now, to Beulah's utter astonishment, she deliberately turned round, put out her white-gloved hand, over the back of the seat, and said, energetically : " How arc you, Bculah ? You have altered so materially that SL'arccly knew you." Beulali's nature was generous ; she was glad to forget old Bjuries, and as their hands met in a friendly clasp, she answered " You have changed but little." " And that for the worse, as people have a pleasant way of telling me Beulah, I want to know honestly, if my rudenesa caused you to leave madam's school ?" " That was not my only reason," replied Beulah, very candidly, At this moment a burst of applause greeted the appearance of the cantatricc, and all conversation was suspended. Beulah listened to the warbling of the queen of song with a thrill of delight. Passionately fond of music, she appreciated the bril- liant execution, and entrancing melody, as probably very few ic. that crowded house could have done. With some of the pieces selected she was familiar, and others she had long desired to hear. She was unconscious of the steady look with which her guardian watched her, as with parted lips, she leaned eagerly forward to catch every note. When Sontag left the stage, and the hum of conversation was heard once more, Beulah looked up, with a long sigh of delight; and murmured : " Oh, sir ! isn't she a glorious woman ?" " Miss Graham is speaking to you," said he, coolly. She raised her head, and saw the young lady's eyes riveted on icr countenance. "Beulah, when did you hear from Eugene?" "About three weeks since, I believe." " We leave, for Europe, day-after-to-morrow ; shall, penapfl, directly to Ileidelberg. Have you any commissions f any messages ?" Under the mask of seeming indifference, wh watched Beulah intently, as, shrinking from the cold, sean isia* eyes, the latter replied : BEULAH. 16.*- ** Th&nk you, I have neither to trouble yo - a ivith/ Again the prima-donna appeared on the stage, and igain Beulah forgot everything but the witching strains. In the midsf cf one of the songs, she felt her guardian start violently ; and the hand which rested on his knee, was clinched spasmodically. She looked at him ; the wonted pale face was flushed to the edge of his hair ; the blue veins stood out hard and corded on his brow , and tLc eyes, like burning stars, were fixed on some object not very re note, while he gnawed his lip, as if unconscious of what he did. Following the direction of his gaze, she saw that it wag fastene I on a gentleman, who sat at some little distance from 'hem. The position he occupied rendered his countenance visi- ' ble, and a glance sufficed to show her that the features were handsome, the expression sinister, malignant and cunning. Hia entire appearance was foreign, and conveyed the idea of reckless dissipation. Evidently, he came there, not for the music, but to ecan the crowd, and his fierce eyes roamed over the audience with a daring impudence, which disgusted her. SuddcMily they rested on her own face, wandered to Dr. HartwelFs, and lingering there a full moment, with a look of defiant hatred, returned to her, causing her to shudder at the intensity and freedom of his gaze. She drew herself up proudly, and, with an air of haughty contempt, fixed her attention on the stage. But the spell of enchuntmcut was broken ; she could hear the deep, irregular oreathing of her guardian, and knew, from the way in which he stared down on the floor, that he could with difficulty remain quietly in his place. She was glad when the concert ended, and the mass of heads began to move toward the door. With u species of curiosity that she could not repress, she glanced at the trauger ; their eyes met, as before, and his smile of triumphant tteorn made her cling closer to her guardian's arm, and take care not to look in that direction again. She felt inexpressibly relieved when, hurried on by the crowd in the rear, they emerged from the heated room into a long, dim passage leading to th itreet They were surrounded on all sides by chattering 166 B E U L A H and while the light was too faint to distinguish faces, thes words fell on her ear with painful distinctness : " I suppose that was Dr. Harwell's protegee he had with him. He is a great curi osity. Think of a man of his age and appearance settling down as if he were sixty years old, and adopting a beggarly orphan. SLe is not at all pretty. What can have possessed him ?" "No, not pretty, exactly; but there is something odd in hci appearance. Her brow is magnificent, and I should judge she ; was intellectual. She is as colorless as a ghost. No accounting for Hartwcll; ten to one he will marry her. I have heard it surmised that he was educating her for a wife " Here the party who were in advance vanished, and as he approached the carriage, Dr. Hartwell said, coolly: " Another specimen of democracy." Beulah felt as if a lava tide surged madly in her veins, and ad the carriage rolled homeward, she covered her face with her hands. Wounded pride, indignation, and contempt, straggled violently in her heart. For some moments there was silence; then her guardian drew her hands from her face, held them firmly in his, and leaning forward, said gravely: " Beulah, malice and envy love lofty marks. Learn, as I have done, to look down with scorn from the summit of indifference upon the feeble darts aimed from the pits beneath you. My child, don't suffer the senseless gossip of the shallow crowd to ^ wound you." She endeavored to withdraw her hands, but his unyielding grasp prevented her. " Beulah, you must conquer your morbid sensitiveness, if yon would have your life other than a dreary burden." "Oh, sir! you are not invulnerable to these wounds; how, then, can I, an orphan girl, receive them with indiffcrer.oe ? M She spoke passionately, and drooped her burning face till it touched his arm. "Ah! you observed my agitation to-night. But for a vow aoade to my dying mother, that villain's blood had long sine? BEULAR. 6 removed all grounds of emotion. Six years ago, he fled frain me, and his unexpected reappearance to-night excited me morn than I had fancied it was possible for anything to do." His voice was as low, calm and musical as though he were reading aloud to her some poetic tale of injuries; and in the same even uiet tone, he added: " It is well. All have a Nemesis." " Not on earth, sir." " Wait till you have lived as long as I, and you will thir.k frith me. Eeulah, be careful how you write to Eugene of Cor- nelia Graham; better not mention her name at all. If she live* to come home again, you will understand me." " Is not her health good?" asked Beulah, in surprise. " Far from it. She has a disease of the heart, which may end Tier existence any moment. I doubt whether she ever returns to America. Mind, I do not wish yon to speak of this to any one Good night. If you are up in time in the morning, I wish yon would be so good as to cut some of the choicest ftowers in the greenhouse, and arrange a handsome bouquet, before breakfast I want to take it to one of my patients, an old friend of mj mother." They were at home, and only pausing at the door of Mra Watson's room to tell the good woman the "music was charm' ing," Beulah hastened to her own apartment. Throwing herself into a chair, she recalled the incidents of the evening, and her cheeks burned painfully, as her position in the eyes of the world was forced upon her recollection. Tears of mortification rolled over her hot face, and her heart throbbed almost to suffocation She sank upon her knees, and tried to pray, but sobs choked her utterance; and leaning her head against the bed, she vrept bitterly. Ahl is there not pain, and sorrow, and evil enough, in this fallen world of ours, that meddling gossips must needs poison the few pure springs of enjoyment and peace? Not the hatred of the Theban brothers could more thoroughly accomplish thil 168 BEULAH. Bendish design, than the whisper of detraction, the sueer ffl malice, or the fatal innuendo of envious, low-bred tattlers iluman life is shielded by the bulwark of legal provisions, and most earthly possessions are similarly protected; but there are assassins whom the judicial arm cannot reach, who infest society in countless hordes, and while their work of ruin and misery goes ever on, there is for the unhappy victims no redress. Thy holy precepts, 0, Christ! alone can. antidote this universal evil. Beulah calmed the storm that raged in her heart, and as she took the flowers from her hair, said resolutely: " Before long I shall occupy a position where there will be nothing to envy, and then, possibly, I may escape the gossiping rack. Eugene may think me a fool, if he likes; but support myself I will, if it costs me my life. What difference should it "bake to him, so long as I prefer it ? One more year of study, and I shall be qualified for any situation; then I can breathe freely. May God shield me from all harm I" CHAPTER XVI. THAT year of study rolled swiftly away ; another winter cams end passed ; another spring hung its verdant drapery over earth, and now ardent summer reigned once more. It was near the noon of a starry July night that Beulah sat in her own room beside her writing-desk. A manuscript lay Vefore her, yet damp with ink, and as she traced the concluding words, and threw do7/n her per., a triumphant smile flashed over her face. To- morrow the session of the public scuool would close, with au examination of its pupils ; to-morrow she would graduate, and deliver the valedictory to the graduating class. She had jasi frnUhed copying her address, and placing it carefully in the desk, rose and leaned against the window, that the cool night cii BEULAH. 16i> might fan her fevered brow. The hot blood beat heavily iu her temples, and fled with arrowy swiftness through her veins. Con- tinued mental excitement, like another Shylock, peremptorily exacted its debt, and as she looked out on the solemn beauty of the night, instead of soothing, it seemed to mock her restless- ness. Dr. Hartwell had been absent since noon, but now sl.o detected the whir of wheels in the direction of the carriage-house, and knew that he was in the study. She heard him throw open the shutters, and speak to Charon, and gathering up her hair, which hung loosely about her shoulders, she confined it with a comb, and glided noiselessly down the steps. The lamp- light gleamed through the open door, and pausing on the thresh- old, she asked : "May I come in for a few minutes, or are you too much fatigued to talk ?" " Beulah, I positively forbade your sitting up this late. It ia midnight, child ; go to bed." He held some papers, and spoke without even glancing toward her. " Yes, I know ; but I want to ask you something before I sleep." "Well, what is it?" Still he did not look up from hit papers. " Will you attend the exercises to-morrow ?" " Is it a matter of any consequence whether I do or not V " To me, sir, it certainly is." " Child, I shall not have leisure." "Be honest, and say that you have not sufficient interest," cried she, passionately. He smiled, and answered placidly : " Good night, Beulah. You should have been asieep long ago." Eer lips quivered, and she lingered, loth to leave him in PO unfriendly a mood. Suddenly he raised his head, looked at her steadily, and said : " Have you sent in your name as an applicant for a &itu> tion ?" 8 170 BKULAH "I Lave." " Good night." His tone wa? stern, and she immediately re treated. Unable to sleep, she passed the remaining hours of th short night in pacing the floor, or watching the clock-work of stars point to the coming dawn. Though not quite eighteen, her face was prematurely grave and thoughtful, and its restless, un- satisfied expression plainly discovered a perturbed state of mind and heart. The time had come when she must go out into the world, and depend only upon herself ; and though she was anx- ious to commence the work she bad assigned herself, she shrank from the thought of quitting her guardian's home and thus losing the only companionship she really prized. He had not sought to dissuade her ; had appeared perfectly indifferent to her plans, and this unconcern had wounded her deeply. To-morrow would decide her election as teacher, and as the committee would be present at her examination (which was to be more than usually minute in view of her application), she looked forward impatiently o this occasion. Morning dawned, and she hailed it gladly; breakfast came, and she took hers alone ; the doctor had already- gone out for the day. This was not an unusual occurrence, yet this morning she noted it particularly. At ten o'clock the Aca- demy was crowded with visitors, and the commissioners and teachers were formidably arrayed on the platform raised for this purpose The examination began ; Greek and Latin classes were carefully questioned, and called on to parse and scan to a tire- some extent ; then came mathematical demonstrations. Every conceivable variety of lines and angles adorned the black-boards; and next in succession were classes in rhetoric and natural his- tory. There was a tediousness in the examinations incident to Buch occasions, and as repeated inquiries were propounded, Beulah rejoiced at the prospect of release. Finally the commis- sioners declared themselves quite satisfied with the proficiency attained, and the graduating class read the compositions for the day. At length, at a sfgnal from the superintendent of the department, Beulah ascended the platform, and surrounded bj BEULAH- 171 men signalized by scholarship and veneralle from age, she began tar address. She wore a white mull muslin, and her glossy black hair was arranged with the severe simplicity which charac- terized her style of dress. Her face was well-nigh as colorless aa the paper she held, and her voice faltered with the first few sen fences. The theme was " Female Heroism ,'' and as she sought among the dusky annals of the past for instances in confirmation of her predicate, that female intellect was capable of the most exalted attainments, and that the elements of her character would enable woman to cope successfully with difficulties of every class, hei voice grew clear, firm and deep. Quitting the fertile fields of \ history, she painted the trials which hedge woman's path, and with unerring skill defined her peculiar sphere, her true position. The reasoning was singularly forcible, the imagery glowing and gorgeous, and occasional passages of exquisite pathos drew tear* from her fascinated audience ; while more than once, a beautiful burst of enthusiasm was received with flattering applause. Instead of flushing, her face grew paler, and the large eyes were full of lambent light, which seemed to flash out from her soul. In conclusion, she bade adieu to the honored halls where her feet had sought the paths of knowledge ; paid a just and gratefu. tribute to the Institution of Public Schools, and to the Commit* sioners through whose agency she had been enabled to enjoy so many privileges ; and turning to her fellow-graduates, touchingly reminded them of the happy past, and warned of the shrouded future. Crumpling the paper in one hand, she extended the other toward her companions, and in thrilling accents conjured them, in any and every emergency, to prove themselves true women of America ornaments of the social circle, angel guard- ana of the sacred hearthstone, ministering spirits where suffering hud want demanded succor. Women qualified to assist in a o)uncil of statesmen, if dire necessity ever required it ; while, in whatever positions they might be placed, their examples should remain imperishable monuments of true female heroism As th 172 BEULAH. last words passed her lips, she glanced swiftly over the sea ot heads, and perceived her guardian leaning with folded armi against a pillar, while his luminous eyes were fastened on hei face. A flash of joy irradiated her countenance, and bending ber head amid the applause of the assembly, she retiitd to hor sent. She felt that her triumph was complete ; the whispered, vet audible inquiries regarding her name, the admiring, curious glances directed toward her, were not necessary to assure her of success ; and when, immediately after the diplomas were distri- buted, she rose and received hers with the calm look of one who has^t oiled long for some meed, and puts forth her hand for what she is conscious of having deserved. The crowd slowly dis- persed, and beckoned forward once more, Beulah confronted the august committee whose prerogative it was to elect teachers. A certificate was handed her, and the chairman informed her of her election to a vacant post in the Intermediate Department. The salary was six hundred dollars, to be paid monthly, and her duties would commence with the opening of the next session, after two months' vacation. In addition, he congratulated her warmly on the success of her valedictory effort, and suggested the propriety of cultivating talents which might achieve for her an enviable distinction. She bowed in silence, and turned away to collect uer books. Her guardian approached, and said in a low voice : " Put on your bonnet, and come down to the side gate. It is too warm for you to walk home." Without waiting for her answer, he descended the steps, and sde was soon seated beside him in the buggy. The short ride was silent, and on reaching home, Beulah would have gone immediately to her room, but the doctor called her into the Study, and as he rang the bell, said gently : " You look very much exhausted ; rest here, while I order glass of wine." It was speedily brought, and having iced it, he held it to her white lips. She drank the contents, and her head sank 011 th B E U L A H . 173 gofa cn,hbns. The fever of excitement was over, a feeling of lassitude stole over her, and she soon lost all consciousness in a heavy sleep. The sun was just setting as she awakened from her slumber, and sitting up, she soon recalled the events of the day. The evening breeze, laden with perfume, stole in refresh- ingly through the bJ'nds, and as the^snnset pageant faded, and darkness crept on, she remained on the sofa, pondering her future course. The lamp and her guardian made their appear- ance at the same moment, and throwing himself down in one .Corner of the sofa, the latter asked : " How are you since your nap ? A trifle less ghastly, I see." " Much better, thank you, sir. My head is quite clear again." " Clear enough to make out a foreign letter ?" He took one from his pocket and put it in her hand. An anxious look flitted across her face, and she glanced rapidly over the contents, then crumpled the sheet nervously in her fingers. " What is the matter now ?" " He is coming home. Thtj will all be here in November." SUe spoke as if bitterly chagrined and disappointed. ' Most people would consider that joyful news," said the doctor, qJetly. " What ! after spending more than five years (one of them in travelling), to come back without having acquired a profession, and settle down into a mere walking ledger ! To have princely advantages at his command, and yet throw them madly to the winds, and be content to plod along the road of mercantile life, without one spark of ambition, when his mental endowments would justify his aspiring to the most exalted political stations in iie land." Ik-r voice trembled from intensity of feeling. " Take care how you disparage mercantile pursuits ; some of the most masterly minds of the age were nurtured in the midsi f ledgers." " Atd I honor and reverence all such far more than theil 174 BEULAH. colleagues, whose wisdom was culled iu classic academic balls for the former, struggling amid adverse circumstances, nsad good their claim to an exalted place in the temple of Famo . But necessity forced them to purely mercantile pursuits. Eugene'* ease is by no means analogous ; situated as he is, he could be just what he chose. I honor all men who do their duty nobl) and truly in the positions fate has assigned them ; but, sir, yon 1 know there are some more richly endowed than others, some I whom nature seems to have destined for arduous diplomatic posts ; whose privilege it is to guide the helm of state, and achieve distinction as men of genius. To such tlte call will be imperative ; America needs such men. Heaven only knows where they are to rise from, when the call is made 1 I do not mean to disparage mercantile pursuits ; they afford constant opportunities for the exercise and display of keenness and clear- ness of intellect, but do not require the peculiar gifts so esseu- tial in statesmen. Indolence is unpardonable in any avocation, and I would be commended to the industrious, energetic mer- chant, in preference to superficial, so-called, 'professional men.' But Eugene had rare educational advantages, and I expected him to improve them, and be something more than ordinary. He expected it, five years ago. What infatuation possesses him latterly, I cannot imagine." Dr. Hartwell smiled, and said, very quietly : " Has it ever occurred to you that you might have over-estimated Eugene's abilities ?" " Sir, you entertained a flattering opinion of them when he left here." She could animadvert upon his fickleness, but did not tnoose that others should enjoy the same privilege. " 1 by no means considered him an embryo Webster, or Calhoan ; never looked on him as an intellectual prodigy. He had ft good mind, a handsome face, and frank, gentlemanly manners which, in the aggregate, impressed me favorably." Beulah oit ber lips, and stooped to pat Charon's head. There was silea:* tor some moments, and then the doctor asked . B E C L A H . 17f. " Does he mention Cornelia's health V " Only once, incidentally. I judge from the sentence, that she IK rather feeble. There is a good deal of unimportant chat about a lady they have met in Florence. She is the daughter of a Louisiana planter; very beautiful and fascinating; is a niece of Mrs. Graham's, and will spend part of next winter with the Grahams." " What is her name ?" " Antoinette Duprcs." Beulah was still caressing Charon, and did not observe the purplish glow which bathed the doctor's face at the mention of the name. She only saw that he rose abruptly, and walked to the window, where he stood until tea was brought in. As they concluded the meal, and left the table, he held out his hand. " Beulah, I congratulate you gn your signal success to-day. Your valedictory made me proud of my protdgee." She had put her hand in his, and looked up in his face, but the cloudy spleu dor of the eyes was more than she could bear, and drooping fief head a little, she answered . "Thank you." " Yon have vacation for two months ?" " Yes, sir, and then my duties commence. Here is the certi- ficate of my election." She offered it for inspection, but without noticing it, he continued : " Beulah, I think you owe me something for taking care of you, as you phrased it long ago. at the Asylum. Do you admit the debt ?" " Most gratefully, sir 1 I admit that I can never liquidate it; 1 san repay you only with the most earnest gratitude." Large K-ars hung upon her lashes, and with an uncontrollable impulse, ihe rwsed his hand to her lips. 11 1 am about to test the sincerity of your gratitude. I doubt It." She trembled, and looked at him uneasily. He laid his hand her shoulder, and said, slowly : 176 BEULAB. " Relinquish the idea of teaching. Let me present you t society as my adopted child. Thus you can requ.te the debt." " I cannot ! I cannot 1" cried Beulah, firmly, though teari, gushed over her cheeks. "Cannot? cannot?" repeated the doctor, pressing heaviij upon her shoulders. " Will not, then I" said she, proudly. They looked at each other steadily. A withering smile of corn and bitterness distorted his Apollo-like features, and hs pushed her from him, saying, in the deep, concentrated tone of intense disappointment : " I might have known it. I might have expected it ; for fatfi nas always decreed me just such returns." Leaning against the sculptured Niobe, which stood near, Bf'ilah exclaimed, in a voice of great anguish " Oh, Dr. Hartwell 1 do not make me repent the day I entered this house. God knows I am grateful, very grateful, for your unparalleled kindness. Oh, that it were in my power to prove to you my gratitude I Do not upbraid me. You knew that I came here only to be educated. Even then I could not bear the thought of always imposing on your generosity; and every day that passed strengthened this impatience of dependence. Through your kindness, it is now in my power to maintain myself, and after the opening of next session, I cannot remain any longer the recipient of your bounty. Oh, sir, do not charge me with ingra- titude ! It is more than I can bear ; more than I can bear !" " Mark me, Beulah ! Your pride will wreck you ; wreck your happiness, your peace of mind. Already its iron hand is crushing your young heart. Beware, lest, in yielding to its decrees, you become the hopeless being a similar course has rendered me Beware ! But why should I warn you ? Have not my prophe- tiss ever proved Cassandvan ? Leave me." " No, I will not leave you in anger." She drew near him, and took his hand ir both hers. The fingers were ccld antf white as marble, rigid and inflexible as steel. BEULAH. 171 M? gnsrdian, would you have me take a step (tarougl feai of your displeasure 1 !, which would render my life a burden ? WiE j-nu urge me to remain, when I tell you that I cannot be liMppy hern ? I think not." " Urge you to remain ? By the Furies, no. I urge you to g :! Yes, go! I no longer want you here. Your presence would Irritate me beyond measure. But listen to me: I am going to New York on business; had intended taking you with me; but since you are so stubbornly proud, I can consent to leave you. I shall start to-morrow evening rather earlier than I expected and shall not return before September, perhaps even late'' What your plans are, I shall not inquire, but it is iny reque* that you remain in this house, under Mrs. Watson's care, until your school duties commence; then you will, I suppose, remove elsewhere. I also request, particularly, that you will not hesitate to use the contents of a purse, which I shall leave on my desk for you. Remember that in coming years, when trials assail you, if you need a friend, I will still assist you. You will leave me now, if you please, as I have some letters to write." He motioned her away, and, unable to frame any reply, she left the room. Though utterly miserable, now that her guardian seemed so completely estranged, her proud nature rebelled at his stern dis- missal, and a feeling of reckless defiance speedily dried the tears on her cheek. That he should look down upon her with scornful indifference, stung her almost to desperation, and she resolved instead of weeping, to meet and part with him as coldly as hia contemptuous treatment justified. Weary in mind and body, she fell asleep, and soon forgot all her plans aud sorrows. The inn was high in the heavens when Harriet waked her, and start- Kg up, she asked: " What time is it ? How came I to sleep so late P' "It is eight o'clock. Master ate breakfast an hour ago. Look here, child; what is to pay ? Master is going off to th >forth, to be gone till October. He sat up all nigh ;, writing; w-d giving orders about things on the place, 'specially the gr*eu 8* 1 78 B E IT L A n house, and the flower seeds to be saved ir. the front yard Hi has not been in such a way since seven years ago. What is hi the wind now ? What ails him ?" Harriet sat with her elbows on her knees, and her wrinkled face resting in the palms of her hands. She looked puzzled aud discontented. " He told me last night that he expected to leave home thij nrening; that he was going to New York on business." Beulah affected indifference; but the searching eyes of the old woman were fixed on her, and as she turned away, Harriet exclaimed: " Going this evening! Why, child, he has gone. Told us all good bye, from Mrs. Watson down to Charon. Said his trunk must be sent down to the wharf at three o'clock; that he would not have time to come home again. There, good gracious 1 you are as white as a sheet ; I will fetch you some wine." She hurried out, and Beulah sank into a chair, stunned by the intel- ligence. When Harriet proffered a glass of cordial, she declined it, and said composedly: " I will come, after a while, and take my breakfast. There is no accounting for your master's movements. I would as soon engage to keep up with a comet. There, let go my dress; I am. going into the study for a while." She went slowly down the steps, and locking the door of the study to prevent intrusion, looked around the room. There was an air of confusion, as though books aud chairs had been hastily moved about. On the floor lay numerous shreds of crape, and glancing up, she saw, with surprise, that the portrait had been closely wrapped in a Bheet, and suspended with the face to the wall. Instantly, an uncontrollable desire seized her to look at that face. She had always supposed it to be his wife's likeness, and longed to gasK fcpon the features of one whose name her husband had ne^ei DKttitioned. The mantel was low, and standing on a chair, she endeavored to catch the cord which supported the frame; but it hang too high. She stood on the marble mantel, and stretched Usr hands eagerly up; but though her fingers touched the eord BEULAH. 171 he conld not disengage it from the hook, and with a seusatioi of keen disappointment, she was forced to abandon the attempt A note on the desk attracted her attention ; it was directed t her, and contained only a few words : " Accompanying this is a purae containing a hundred dollars. In axf tmergency which the future may present, do not hesitate to call on "YOUR GCABDIAM." She laid her head down on his desk, and sobbed bitterly For the first time she realized that he had, indeed, gone gone without one word of adieu; one look of kindness or reconciliation. Her tortured heart whispered: " Write him a note; ask him to come home; tell him you will not leave his house." But pride answered: "He is a tyrant; don't be grieved at his indiffer- ence; he is nothing to you; go to work boldly, and repay the money you have cost him." Once more, as in former years, a feeling of desolation crept over her. She had rejected her guar- dian's request, and isolated herself from sympathy ; for who would assist and sympathize with her mental difficulties as he bad done ? The tears froze in her eyes, and she sat for some time looking at the crumpled note. Gradually, an expression of proud defiance settled on her features; she took the purse, walked up to her room, and put on her bonnet and mantle. Descending to the breakfast-room, she drank a cup of coffee, and telling Mrs. Watson she would be absent an hour or two, lef , the house, and proceeded to Madam St. Cymon's. She asked io see Miss Sanders, and after waiting a few minutes in the pailor, Clara made her appearance. She looked wan and weary, but greeted her friend with a gentle smile. " I heard of your triumph yesterday, Beulah, and most sin- cerely congratulate you." " I am in no mood for congratulations just now. Clara, did ttot you tell me, a few days since, that the music teacher of thU establishment was ill, and that Madam St. Cymon was anziooi to procure another P 1 180 BEULAH. " Yes, I have no idea she will ever be well again. If strong eiiongh, she is going back to her family, in Philadelphia, next week. V T hy do you ask ?" " I want to get the situation, and wish you would say tc madam that I have called to see her about it. I will wait her* till you speak to her." "Beulah, are you mad? Dr. Hartwell never will consent to your teaching music," cried Clara, with astonishment written on every feature. " Dr. Hartwell is not my master, Clara Sanders ! Will you ipeak to madam, or shall I have to do it ?" " Certainly, I will speak to her. But oh, Beulah 1 are you wild enough to leave your present home for such a life ?" " I have been elected a teacher in the public schools, but shall have nothing to do until the first of October. In the meantime I intend to give music lessons. If madam will employ me for two months, she may be able to procure a professor by the open- ing of the next term. And further, if I can make this arrange ment, I am coming immediately to board with Mrs. Hoyt. Now speak to madam for me, will you ?" " One moment more. Does the doctor know of all this ?" "He knows that I intend to teach in the public school. He goes, lo New York this afternoon." Clara looked at her mournfully, and said, with sad emphasis " Oh, Beuiah ! you may live to rue your rashness." To Madam St. Cymon, the proposal was singularly opportune, and hastening to meet the applicant, she expressed much plea- bure at seeing Miss Benton again. She was very anxious to procure a teacher for the young ladies boarding with her, and [or her own daughters, and the limited engagement would suit rery well. She desired, however, to hear Miss Benton perform. Bculah took off her gloves, and played several very difficult [lioces, with the ease which only constant practice and skillful training can confer. Madam declared herself more than satisfied with her proficiency, and requesieu uer to commence her instruo BEFLAI 181 tions on the following day. She had given t le former tcachci six hundred dollars a year, and would allow Miss Ben ton eighty dollars for the two months. Beulah was agreeably surprised at ihe ample remuneration, and having arranged the hours of her uttcudance at the school, she took leave of the principal. Clari ailed to her as she reached the street ; and assuming a gaietj which, jast then, was very foreign to her real feelings, Beulub answered : " It is all arranged. I shall take tea with you in my new home, provided Mrs. Eoyt can give me a room." She kissed her nand, and hurried away. Mrs. Hoyt found no difficulty in pro- viding a room ; and, to Beulah's great joy, managed to have a vacant one adjoining Clara's. She was a gentle, warm-hearted woman ; and as Beulah examined the apartment, and inquired the terms, she hesitated, and said : " My terms are thirty dollars a month ; but you are poor, 1 judge, and being Miss Clara's friend, I will only charge you *wenty-five." " I do not wish you to make any deduction in my favor. I will take the room at thirty dollars," answered Beulah, rather haughtily. " Very well. When will you want it ?" " Immediately. Be kind enough to have it in readiness for me ; I shall come this afternoon. Could you give me sotuo window-curtains ? I should like it better, if you could do so without much inconvenience." " Oh, certainly ! they were taken down yesterday to be washed Everything shall be in order for you." It was too warm to walk home again, and Beulah called a Carriage.. The driver had not proceeded far, when a press of vehicles forced him to pause a few minutes. They happened tc ptand near the post-office, and as Beulah glanced at the eager crowd collected in front, she started violently on perceiving het guardian. He stood on the corner, talking to a gentleman of enerable aspect, and she saw that he looked harassed. She wai 1 82 B E U L A H . powerfully impelled to beckon him to her, and at least :biain t I friendly adieu, but again pride prevailed. He had deliberately left her, without saying good bye, and she would not force her- Belf on his notice. Even as she dropped her veil to avoid obser- vation, the carriage rolled on, and she was soon at Dr. Hartwell's door. Unwilling to reflect on the steps she had taken, she busied herself in packing her clothes and books. On every side were tokens of her guardian's constant interest and remembrance ; pictures, vases, and all the elegant appendages of a writing-desk. At length the last book was stowed away, and nothing else remained to engage her. The beautiful little Nuremberg clock on the mantel struck two, and looking up, she saw the solemn face of Harriet, who was standing in the door. Her steady, wondering gaze, disconcerted Beulah, despite her assumed indif- ference. "What is the meaning of all this commotion? Hal says you ordered the carriage to be ready at five o'clock to take you away from here. Oh, child ! what are things coming to ? What will master say ? What won't he say ? What are you quitting this house for, where you have been treated as well as if it belonged to you ? What ails you ?" " Nothing. I have always intended to leave here as soon as I was able to support myself. I can do so now, very easily, and am going to board. Your master knows I intend to teach." " Bat he has no idea that you are going to leave here before he comes home, for he gave us all express orders to see that you had just what you wanted. Oh, he will be in a tearing rage when he hears of it I Don't anger him, child I Do, pray, for mercy's sake, don't anger him 1 He never forgets anything I When he once sets his head, he is worse than David on the Philistines 1 If he is willing to support you, it his own lookout. He is able, and his money is his own. His kin won't get it. 110 aud his brother don't speak ; and as for Miss May ! they never flxd get along in peace, even before he was married. So, if he ehooses to give some of his fortune to you, it is nobody's businesi BE II L AH. 183 fent his own ; and yon are mighty simple, I can tell yon, If yon ion't stay here and take it." " That will do, Harriet. I do not wish any more advice. I don't want your master's fortune, even if I had the offer of it J I ain determined to make my own living : so just say u<\ more about it." " Take care, child. Remember, ' Pride godh before e. fall " * " What do you mean ?" cried Beulah, angrily. " I mean that the day is coming, when you will be glaf enough to come back and let my master take care of you ! That's what I mean. And see if it doesn't come to pass. But he will not do it then ; I tell you now he won't. There is no forgiving spirit about him ; he is as fierce, and bears malice aa long as a Camanche Injun ! It is no business of mine though. I have said ray say : and I will be bound you will go your own gait. You are just about as hard-headed as he is himself. Anybody would almost believe you belonged to the Hartwell family. Every soul of them is alike in the matter of temper ; only Miss Pauline has something of her pa's disposition. I sup- pose, now her ma is married again, she will want to come back Jo her uncle; should not wonder if he 'dopted her, since you have got the bit between your teeth." " I hope he will," answered Beulah. She ill brooked Har- riet's plain speech, but remembrances of past affection checked the severe rebuke which more than once rose to her lips. "We shall see; we shall see !" and Harriet walked off witK anything but a placid expression of countenance, while Beulah sought Mrs. Watson to explain her sudden departure, and acquaint her with her plans for the summer. The housekeeper endeavored most earnest" y to dissuade her from taking the con- templated step, assuring her that the doctor would be grieved and displeased ; but her arguments produced no effect, and witk tears of regret, she bade her farewell. The sun was setting when Beulah took possession of her room at Mrs. Hoyt's house. The furniture was very plain, and tt4 184 BEULAH. want of several articles vividly recalled the luxurious home she had abandoned. She unpacked and arranged her clothes, and piled her books on a small table, which was the only substitute for her beautiful desk and elegant rosewood bookcase. She had gathered a superb bouquet of flowers, as she crossed the front yard, and in lieu of her Sevres vases, placed them in a dim- looking tumbler, which stood on the tall, narrow mantelpiece. Her room was in the third story, with two windows, one opening to the south, and one to the west. It grew dark by the time she had arranged the furniture, and too weary to think of going down to tea, she unbound her hair, and took a seat beside the window. The prospect was extended; below her were countless lamps, marking the principal streets ; and, in the distance, the dark cloud of masts, told that river and bay might be distinctly seen by daylight. The quiet stars looked dim through the dusty atmosphere, and the noise of numerous vehicles rattling by, produced a confused impression, such as she had never before received at this usually calm twilight season. The events of the day passed in a swift review, and a mighty barrier seemed to have sprung up (as by some foul spell) between her guardian and herself. What an immeasurable gulf now yawned to sepa- rate them. Could it be possible that the friendly relations of years were thus suddenly and irrevocably annulled ? Would ha relinquish all interest in one whom he had so long watched over and directed ? Did he intend that they should be completely estranged henceforth ? For the first time since Lilly's death, she felt herself thrown upon the world. Alone and unaided, she was essaying to carve her own fortune from the huge quarries, where thousands were diligently laboring. An undefmable feel ing of desolation crept into her heart ; but she struggled despe- rately aga .ist it, and asked, in proud detiance of her own nature : " Am 1 not sufficient unto myself? Leaning only on myself what more should I want ? Nothing 1 His sympathy is utterlj annecessary." HEULAH. 185 A knock at the door startled her, and in answer tt hci " come in," Clara Sanders entered. She walked slowly, and seating herself beside Beulah, said, in a gentle but weary tcne : " How do you like your room ? I am so glad it opens int erine." " Quito as well as I expected. The view from this window mast be very fine There is the tea-bell, I suppose. Are you not going down ? I am too much fatigued to move." " No; I never want. supper, and generally spend the evenings in my room. It is drearily monotonous here. Nothing to vary the routine for me, except my afternoon walk, and recently the warm weather has debarred me even from that. You are a great walker, I believe, and I look forward to many pleasant rambles with you, when I feel stronger, and autumn comes. Beulah, how long does Dr. Hartwell expect to remain at the North ? He told me, some time ago, that he was a delegate to the Medical Convention." " I believe it is rather uncertain ; but probably he will not 'eturn before October." " Indeed ! That is a long time for a physician to absent Limself." Just then an organ-grinder paused on the pavement beneath the window, and began a beautiful air from " Sonnarnbula " It was a favorite song of Beulah's, and as the melancholy tones Bwelled on the night air, they recalled many happy hours spent in the quiet study beside the melodeon. She leaned out of the window till the last echo died away, and as the musician shoul- i;?red his instrument and trudged off, she said, abruptly : " Is there not a piano in the house 1" " Yes, just such a one as you might expect to find in a board ng-house, where unruly children are thrumming upon it frota morning till night. It was once a fine instrument, but now ia only capable of excruciating discords. You will miss your grand piano.'' " I must have somethiag in my own room to practise on l86 BEITLAH. Perhaps I can hire a melod^eon or piano for a modenue sum ; 1 will try to-morrow." " The Grahams are coming home soon, I hear. One of the principal upholsterers boards here, and he mentioned this morn- ing at breakfast that he had received a letter from Mr. Grahan\ directing him to attend to the unpacking of an entirely new set Of furniture. Everything will be on a grand scale. I suppose Eugene returns with them ?" " Yes, they will all arrive in November." " It must be a delightful anticipation for you." " Why so, pray ?" " Why ? Because you and Eugene are such old friends." " Oh, yes ; as far as Eugene is concerned, of course it is a very pleasant anticipation." " He is identified with the Grahams." " Not necessarily," answered Beulah, coldly. A sad smile flitted over Clara's sweet face, as she rose and kissed her friend's brow, saying gently : " Good night, dear. I have a headache, and must try to Bleep it off. Since you have determined to battle with difficul ties, I am very glad to have you here with me. I earnestly hope that success may crown your efforts, and the sunshine of happi- ness dispel for you the shadows that have fallen thick about my pathway. You have been rash, Beulah, and short-sighted ; but 1 trust that all will prove for the best. Good night." She glided away, and locking the door, Beulah returned to her seat, and laid her head wearily down on the window-sill What a Hermes is thought 1 Like a vanishing dream fled the consciousness of surrounding objects, and she was with Eugene Now, in the earlier years of his absence, she was in Heidelberg, listening to the evening chimes ; and rambling with him through ths heart of the Odenwald. Then they explored the Hartz, climbed the Brocken, and there among the clouds, discussed the adventures of Faust, and his kinsman, Manfred. Anon, th arrival of the Grahams listurbed the quiet of Eugene's life, and BEULAH. 187 "ar away from the picturesque haunts of Heidelberg students, h wandered with them over Italy, Switzerland, and France. Ea grossed by these companions, he no longer found time to commun with her, and when occasionally he penned a short letter, it was hurried, constrained, and unsatisfactory. One topic had become Stereotyped ; he never failed to discourage the idea cf teaching} urged most earnestly the folly of such a step, and dwelt upon the numerous advantages of social position arising from a residence under her guardian's roof. We have seen that from the hour rf Lilly's departure from the Asylum, Beulah's affections, hopes, pride, all centred in Eugene. There had long existed a tacit compact, which led her to consider her future indissolubly linked with his ; and his parting words seemed to seal this compact as holy and binding, when he declared, " I mean, of course, to take care of you myself, when I come home, for you know you belong to me* His letters for many months retained the tone of dicta- torship, but the tenderness seemed all to have melted away. He wrote as if with a heart preoccupied by weightier matters, and now Beulah could no longer conceal from herself the painful fact that the man was far different from the boy. After five years' absence, he was coming back a man ; engrossed by other thoughts and feelings than those which had prompted him in days gone by. With the tenacious hope of youth she still trusted that she might have misjudged him ; he could never be other than noble and generous ; she would silence her forebodings, and wait til] his return. She wished beyond all expression to see him once more, and the prospect of a speedy reunion often made her heart throb painfully. That he would reproach her for her obstinate resolution of teaching, she was prepared to expect ; but strong in the consciousness of duty, she committed herself tc the cart cf a merciful God, and soon slept as soundly as though under Dr RartweU's *cof, IS8 BKULAH CEAPTER XVII So'i ETIMES, after sitting for five consecutive hours at the guiding the clumsy fingers of tyros, and listening to a tiresoma round of scales and exercises, Beulah felt exhausted, mentally and physically, and feared that she had miserably overrated her powers of endurance. The long, warm days of August dragged heavily by, and each night she felt grateful that the summer wag one day nearer its grave. One afternoon, she proposed to Clara to extend their walk to the home of her guardian, and as she readily assented, they left the noise and crowd of the city, and soon found themselves oa the common. " This is my birthday," said Beulah, as they passed a clump of pines, and caught a glimpse of the white gate beyond. "Ah ! how old are you ?" " Eighteen but I feel much older." She opened the gate, and as they leisurely ascended the ave- iiue of aged cedars, Beulah felt once more as if she were going home. A fierce bark greeted her, and the next moment Charon rushed to meet her ; placing his huge paws on her shoulders, and whining and barking joyfully. He bounded before her f the steps, and laid down contentedly on the piazza. Harriet's turbaned head appeared at the entrance, and a smile of welcome lighted up her ebon face, as she shook Beulah's hand. Mrs. Watson was absent, and after a few questions, Beulah entered the study, saying : " I want some books, Harriet ; and Miss Sanders wishes to B**f "ft 3 paintings." Ah ! every chair and book-shelf greeted her like dear friends, and she bent down over some volumes to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes. The only really happy portion of hf r life had been passed here ; every article in the room was dear from B K U L A H . 189 association, and though only a month had elapsed since her departure, those bygone years seemed far, far off, among the mist of very distant recollections. Thick and fast fell the hot dropS; until her eyes were bliuded. and she could no longer dis- tinguish the print they were riveted on. The memory of kind Kniles haunted her, and kinder tones seemed borne to her from every corner of the apartment. Clara was eagerly examining the paintings, and neither of the girls observed Harriet's en trance, until she asked : " Do you know that the yellow fever has broke out here ?" " Oh, yon are mistaken I It can't be possible 1" cried Clara, Carning- pale. " I tell you, it is a fact. There are six cases now at the hos- pital ; Hal was there this morning. I have lived here a good naany years, and from the signs, I think we are going to have dreadfully sickly times. You young ladies had better keep out of the suu ; first thing you know, you will have it." " Who told you there was yellow fever at the hospital ?" " Dr. Asbury said so ; and what is more, Hal has had it him- st-lf, and nursed people who had it ; and he says it is the worst sort of yellow fever." " I am not afraid of it," said Beulah, looking up for the first time. " I am dreadfully afraid of it," answered Clara, with a nervous shudder. " Then you had better leave town as quick as possible, for folks who are easily scared always catch it soonest." " Nonsense 1" cried Benlah, noting the deepening pallor cf Clara's face. " Oh, I will warrant, if everybody else every man, woman, %cd child in the city takes it, you won't ! Miss Beulah, I ifaould like to know what yon are afraid of 1" muttered Harriet, scanning the orphan's countenance, and adding, in a louder toue' " Have you heard anything from master ?" " No," Beulah bit her lips to conceal her emotion. 1 90 BEULAH, " Hal hears from him. He was in New York when" oe wrot* the last letter." She took a malicious pleasure in thus torturing her visitor ; and, determined not to gratify her by an} manifesta- tion of interest or curiosity, Beulah took up a couple of volume! and turned to the door, sp.yiug : " Come, Clara, we umst each have a bouquet. Harriet, where are the flower-scissors? Dr. Hartwell never objected to my carefully cutting even his choicest flowers. There ! Clara, listen to the cool rippling of the fountain. How I have longed to heat ts silvery murmur once more?" They went out into the front yard. Clara wandered about the flower-beds, gathering blossoms which were scattered in lavish profusion on all sides ; and leaning over the marble basin, Beulah bathed her brow in the crystal waters. There was be- witching beauty and serenity in the scene before her, and as Claron nestled his great head against her hand, she found it rery difficult to realize the fact that she had left this lovely retreat for the small room at Mrs. Hoyt's boarding-house. It was not her habit, however, to indulge in repinings, and though her ardent appreciation of beauty rendered the place incalcula- bly dear to her, she resolutely gathered a cluster of flowers, bade adieu to Harriet, and descended the avenue. Charon walked soberly beside her, now and then looking up, as if to inquire the meaning of her long absence, and wonder at Ler sudden departure. At the go'e she patted him affectionately on the head, and passed out ; he made no attempt to follow her, but barked violently, and then laid down at the gate, whining mournfully. " Poor Charon 1 I wish I might have hha, r; said she, sadly. "I dare say the doctor would give him to you," answered Clara ; very simply. " I would just as soon think of asking him for his own head," replied Beulah. " It is a mystery to me, Beulah, how you can feel so ooidlj toward Dr. Hartwell." B E U L A H . 101 "I should very much like to know what you mean oy that? 1 Aid Beulah, iiivoluatarily crushing the flowers she held. " Why, you speak of him just as you would of anybody else.* " Well ?" " You seem to be afraid of him." " To a certain extent, I am ; and so is everybody elae wh6 'knows him intimately." " This fear is unjust to him." " How so, pray ?" " Because he is too noble to do aught to inspire it." " Certainly he is feared, nevertheless, by ail who know him well." " It seems to me that, situated as you have been, you would almost worship him 1" " I am not addicted to worshipping anything but God 1" an- swered Beulah, shortly. " You are an odd compound, Beulah. Sometimes 1 think you must be utterly heartless 1" " Thank you." " Don't be hurt. But you are so cold, so freezing ; you chill me." " Do I ? Dr. Hartwell (your Delphic oracle it seems), saya I am as fierce as a tropical tornado." " I do not understand how you can bear to give up such an enchanting home, and go to hard work, as ff you were driven to it from necessity." " Do not go over all that beaten track again, if you please. It is not my home 1 I can be just as happy, nay happier, in my little room." " I doubt it," said Clara, pertinaciously. Stopping suddenly, and fixing her eyes steadily on her eon> Canton, Beulah hastily asked : " Clara Sanders, why should you care if my guardian and J aro separated ?" A burning blush dyed cheek and brow, as Clara drooped hi and answered : 192 B U L A H . " Because he is my friend also, and I know that yonr departaw v~ii grieve him." " You over-estimate my worth, and his interest. He is a man ho lives in a world of his own and needs no society, save such s is afforded in his tasteful and elegant home. He loves books, Sowers, music, paintings, and his dog ! Re is a stern man, and ihares his griefs and joys with no one. All this I have told you before." There was a long silence, broken at last by an exclamation from Beulah : " Oh ! how beautiful 1 how silent ! how solemn ! Look down the long dim aisles. It is an oratory where my soul comes to worship ! Presently the breeze will rush up from the gulf, and sweep the greeu organ, and a melancholy chant will swell through these dusky arches. Oh, what are Gothic cathedrals, and gilded shrines in comparison with these grand forest temples, where the dome is the bending vault of God's blue, and the columns are these everlasting pines 1" She pointed to a thick clump of pines sloping down to a ravine. The setting sun threw long quivering rays through the cluster- ing boughs, and the broken beams, piercing the gloom beyond, showed the long aisles as in a " cathedral light." As Clara looked down the dim glade, and then watched Beu- lah's parted lips and sparkling eyes, as she stood bending forward with rapturous delight written on every feature, she thought that ehe had indeed misjudged her in using the epithets " freezing and heartless." " You are enthusiastic," said she, gently. " How can I help it ? I love the grand and beautiful too well to offer a tribute of silent admiration. Oh, my homage is thai af a whole heart 1" They reached home in the gloaming, and each retired to her own room. For a mere trifle Beulah had procured the use of a melodeon, and now, after placing the drooping flowers in water, she sat down before the instrument and poured out the joy of hei BEULAH. 193 nool in song. Sad memories no longer floated like corpses on the sf a of the past ; grim forebodings crouched among the mists of the future, and she sang song after song, exulting in the gladness of her heart. An analysis of these occasional hours of delight was as impossible as their creation. Sometimes she was con- scious of their approach, while gazing up at the starry islets in the boundless lake of azure sky ; or when a gorgeous sunset pageant was passing away ; sometimes from hearing a solemn chant in church, or a witching strain from a favorite opera. Sometimes from viewing dim old pictures ; sometimes from reading a sub- ii:me passage in some old English or German author. It was a sereue elevation of feeling ; an unbounded peace ; a chastened joyousness, which she was rarely able to analyze, but which iso- lated her for a time from all surrounding circumstances. How long she sang on the present occasion she knew not, and only paused on hearing a heavy sob behind her. Turning round, she saw Clara sitting near, with her face in her hands. Kneeling beside her, Beulah wound her arms around her, and asked ear- nestly : " What troubles you, my friend ? May I not know ?" Clara dropped her head on Beulah's shoulder, and answered hesitatingly : " The tones of your voice always sadden me. They are like organ-notes, solemn and awful 1 Yes awful, and yet very sweet sweeter than any music I ever heard. Your singing fascinates me, yet, strange as it may seem, it very often makes me weep. There is an uuearthliness, a spirituality that affects me singu- larly" " I am glad that is all. I was afraid you were distressed about something. Here, take my rocking-chair; I am going to read, and if you like, you may have the benefit of my book." " Heulah, do put away your books for one night, and let us have a quiet time. Don't study now. Come, sit here, and talk to me." " Flatterer, do you pretend that you prefer my chattering to 1* BKULAH the wonderful words of a man who ' talked like an angel T You must listen to the tale of that ' Ancient Mariner with glittering eye. " " Spare me that horrible ghostly story of vessels freighted with staring corpses ! Ugh ! it curdled the blood in my veins once, and I shut the book in disgust. Don't begin it now, for heaven's sake I" " Why, Clara ? It is the most thrilling poem in the English language. Each reperusal fascinates me more and more. It requires a dozen readings to initiate you fully into its weird supernatural realms." " Yes ; and it is precisely for that reason that I don't choose to hear it. There is quite enough of the grim and hideous in reality, without hunting it up in pages of fiction. When I read, I desire to relax my mind, not put it on the rack, as your favorite books invariably do. Absolutely, Beulah, after listening to some of your pet authors, I feel as if I had been standing on my nead. You need not look so coolly incredulous ; it is a positive fact. As for that ' Ancient Mariner ' you are so fond of, I am disposed to take the author's own opinion of it, as expressed in those lines addressed to himself." " I suppose, then, you fancy 'ChristabeP as little as the other, seeing that it is a tale of witchcraft. IIow would you relish that grand anthem to nature's God, written in the vale of Chamouni ?" " I never read it," answered Clara, very quietly. "What? Never read 'Sibylline Leaves?' Why, I will wager my head that you have parsed from them a thousand times 1 Never read that magnificent hymn before sunrise, iu the midst of glaciers and snow-crowned, cloud-piercing peaks ? Listen, then ; and if you don't feel like falling upon yoor knees, you have not a spark of poetry in your soul 1" She drew the lamp close to her, and read aloud. Her finely modulated voice was peculiarly adapted to the task, and her expressive countenance faithfully depicted the contending einc* BEt'LAM. 199 liens which filled her mind as she read. Clara listened with pleased interest, and when the short poem was concluded, said : " Thank you; it is beautiful. I have often seen extracts from I } / it. Still, there is a description of Mont Blanc in ' Manfrea ' which I believe I like quite as well." " What ? That witch fragment ?" " Yes." " I don't understand ' Manfred.' Here and there are passages in cipher. I read and catch a glimpse of hidden meaning ; I read again, and it vanishes in mist. It seems to me a poem of symbols, dimly adumbrating truths, which my clouded intellect clutches at in vain. I have a sort of shadowy belief that * Astarte,' as in its ancient mythological significance, symbolizes nature. There is a dusky veil of mystery shrouding her, which favors my idea of her, as representing the universe. Manfred, with daring hand, tore away that ' Veil of Isis,' which no mortal had ever pierced before, and, maddened by the mockery of the stony features, paid the penalty of his sacrilegious rashness, and fled from the temple, striving to shake off the curse. My guardian has a curious print of ' Astarte,' taken from some Euro- pean Byronic gallery. I have studied it, until almost it seuined to move and speak to me. She is clad in the ghostly draperj of the tomb, just as invoked by Nemesis, with trailing trusses, closed eyes, and folded hands. The features are dim, spectra., yet marvellously beautiful. Almost one might think the eyelids quivered, there is such an air of waking dreaminess. That this is a false and inadequate conception of Byron's ' Astarte,' I feel assured, and trust that I shall yet find the key to this enigrur It interests me greatly, and by some inexplicable process, when ever I sit pondering the mystery of Astarte, that wondcrfu, creation in Shirley presents itself. Astarte becomes in a trice that ' woman-Titan,' Nature, kneeling before the red hills of the west, at her evening prayers. I see her prostrate on the great rteps of her altar, praying for a fair night, for mariners at sea, 11)6 BEUIAH. for Iambs in moors, and unfledged birds in woods. Her robe of blue, air spreads to the outskirts of the heath. A veil, white as an avalanche, sweeps from her head to her feet, and arabesque? of lightning flame on its borders. I see her zone, purple, like ile horizon ; through its blush shines the star of evening. Her forehead has the expanse of a cloud, and is paler than the early moon, risen long before dark gathers. She reclines on the vidge of Stillbro'-Moor, her mighty hands are joined beneath it. Sc kneeling, face to face, ' Nature speaks with God.' Oh! I would give twenty years of my life to have painted that Titan's por- trait. I would rather have been the author of this, than have wielded the sceptre of Zenobia, in the palmiest days of Palmyra !" She spoke rapidly, and with white lips that quivered. Clara looked at her wonderingly, and said, hesitatingly : " I don't understand the half of what you have been saying. It sounds to me very much as if you had stumbled into a lumber- room of queer ideas ; snatched up a handful, all on different subjects, and woven them into a speech as incongruous as Joseph's variegated coat." There was no reply. Beulah'a hands were clasped on the table before her, and she leaned forward with eyes fixed steadily on the floor. Clara waited a inomeut, and then continued : " I never noticed any of the mysteries of ' Manfred,' that seem ;o trouble you so much. I enjoy the fine passages, and never "think of the hidden meanings, as you call them ; whereas it jecms you are always plunging about in the dark, hunting you know not what. I am content to glide on the surface, and " " And live in the midst of foam and bubbles !" cried Bculah, uritn a gesture of impatience. " Better that, than grope among subterranean caverns, black nd icy, as you are forever doing. You are even getting a wsird, unearthly look. Sometimes, when I come in, and find you, book in hand, with that far-off expression in your eyes, I really dislike to speak to you. There is no more color iu you/ BEULAH. 19? face and hands, thau in that wall yonder. Ton will dig youl grave among books, if you don't take care. There is such a thing as studying too much. Your mind is perpetually at work | j all day you are thinking, thinking, thinking ; and at night, since the warm weather has made me open the door between our rooms, I hear you talking earnestly and rapidly in your sleep. Last week I came in on tip-toe, and stood a few minutes beside your bed. The moon shone in through the window, and though you were fast asleep, I saw that you tossed your hands restlessly; while I stood there, yon spoke aloud, in an incoherent manner, ! of the ' Dream Fugue/ and ' Vision of sudden Death,' and now j and then you frowned, and sighed heavily, as if you were in pain. Music is a relaxation to most people, but it seems to put your thoughts on the rack. You will wear yourself out prematurely, if you don't quit this constant studying." She rose to go, and, glancing up at her, Beulah answered, musingly : " We are very unlike. The things that I love, you shrink from as dull and tiresome. IJive^h^^:ffcrjei^JE>rJd,. Books are, to me, what family, and friends, and society, are to other people. It may be that the isolation of my life necessitates this, Doubtless, you often find me abstracted. Are you going so soon ? I had hoped we should spend a profitable evening, but it has slipped away, and I have done nothing. Good night." She rose and gave the customary good-night kiss, and as Clara retired to her own room, Benlah turned up the wick of her lamp, and resumed her book. The gorgeous mazes of Coleridge no longer imprisoned her fancy ; it wandered mid the silence, and desolation, and sand rivulets of theThebaid desert ; through the date groves of the lonely Laura ; through the museums of Alex- andria. Over the cool, crystal depths of " Hypatia," her thirsty spirit hung eagerly. In Philaramon's intellectual nature she found a startling resemblance to her own. Like him, she had entered R forbidden temple, and learned to question ; and the same " insatiable craving to know the mysteries of learning " wai 198 BEtTLAH. impelling her, with irresistible force, out into the world :)f philo BOphic inquiry. Hours fled on unnoted ; with nervous haste th leaves were turned. The town clock struck three. As she finished the book, and laid it on the table, she bowod her head '; ; upon her hands. She was bewildered. Was Kingsley his own Raphael-Aben-Ezra ? or did he heartily believe in the Christi. anity of which he had given so hideous a portraiture ? Her brain whirled, yet there was a great dissatisfaction. She could not contentedly go back to the Laura with Philammon ; " Hypatia " was not sufficiently explicit. She wa? lissatisfied ; there was more than this Alexandrian ecstasy, to wnich Hypatia was driven ; but where, and how should she find it ? Who would guide her ? Was not her guardian, in many respects, as skeptical as Raphael himself ? Dare she enter, alone and un- niJed, this Cretan maze of investigation, where all the wonderful lore of the gifted Hypatia had availed nothing ? What was her Intellect given her for, if not to be thus employed ? Her head ached with the intensity of thought, and as she laid it on her pillow and closed her eyes, day looked out ovei the eastern sky The ensuing week was one of anxious apprehension to all within the city. Harriet's words seemed prophetic ; there was every intimation of a sickly season. Yellow fever had made its appearance in several sections of the town, in its most malignant type The Board of Health devised various schemes for arrest- ing the advancing evil. The streets were powdered with lime, and huge fires of tar kept constantly burning, yet daily, hourly, the fatality increased ; and as colossal ruin strode on, the terri- fied citizens fled in all directions. In ten days the epidemic began to make fearful havoc ; all classes and ages were assailed Indiscriminately. Whole families were stricken down in a day and not one member spared to aid the others. The exodus wag jnly limited by impossibility ; all who could, abandoned tlieii Domes, and sought safety in flight. These were the fortunate minority ; and, as if resolved to wreak its fury on the remainder, the contagion spread into every quarter of the city Not eves B E D L A H . . 198 physicians were spared; and those who escaped, trembled in anticipation of the fell stroke. Many doubted that it was yellow f ever, and conjectured that the veritable plague had crossed tha ocean. Of all Mrs. Hoyt's boarders, but half-a-dozen determined to hazard remaining in the infected region ; these were Beulah, Clara, and four gentlemen. Gladly would Clara have fled to a place of safety, had it been in her power ; but there was no one to accompany or watch over her, and as she was forced to wit- ness the horrors of the season, a sort of despair seemed to nerve her trembling frame. Mrs. Watson had been among the first to leave the city. Madam St. Cyrnon had disbanded her school ; and as only her three daughters continued to take music lessons, Beulah had ample leisure to contemplate the distressing scenes which surrounded her. At noon, one September day, she stood at the open window of her room. The air was intensely hot ; the drooping leaves of the China-trees were motionless ; there was not a breath of wind stirring ; and the sable plumes of the hearses were still as their burdens. The brazen, glittering sky, seemed a huge glowing furnace, breathing out only scorching heat. Beulah leaned out of the window, and wiping away the heavy drops that stood on her brow, looked down the almost deserted street. Many of the stores were closed ; whilom busy haunts were silent ; and very few persons were visible, save the drivers of two hearses, and of a cart filled with coffins. The church bells tolled unceasingly, and the desolation, the horror, was indescribable, as the sable wings of the destroyer hung over the doomed city. Out of her ten fellow-graduates, four slept ID tho cemetery. The night before, she had watched beside another, %ii] at dawn, saw the limbs stiffen, and the eyes grow sightless. A aiong her former schoolmates, the contagion had been parti- :u!arly fatal, and, fearless of danger, she had nursed two of them. As she stood fanning herself, Clara entered hurriedly, and sinking into a chair, exclaimed, in accents of terror : " It has come ! as I knew it would I Two of Mrs. Hoyt'i rhUdren have been taken, and, I believe, one of the waiters also! 200 . BEULAH. Merciful God ! what will become of me F Her teeth chattered, and she trembled from head to foot. " Don't be alarmed, Clara ! Your excessive terror is your greatest danger. If you would escape, you must keep as quiet as possible. She poured out a glass of water, and made her drink it; '.hea asked: "Can Mrs. Hoyt get medical aid?" " No; she has sent for every doctor in town, and not one has come." " Then I will go down and assist her." Beulah turned toward the door, but Clara caught her dress, and said hoarsely: " Are you mad, thus continually to put your life in jeopardy ? Are you shod with immortality, that you thrust yourself into the very path of destruction ?" " I am not afraid of the fever, and therefore think I shall not take it. As long as I am able to be up, I shall do all that I can to relieve the sick. Remember, Clara, nurses are not to be had now for any sum." She glided down the steps, and found the terrified mother wringing her hands helplessly over the stricken ones. The children were crying on the bed, and with tho energy which the danger demanded, Beulah speedily ordered the mustard baths, and administered the remedies she had seeu prescribed on previous occasions. The fever rose rapidly, and undaunted by thoughts of personal danger, she took her place beside the bed. It was past midnight when Dr. Asbury came ; exhausted and haggard from unremitting toil and vigils, ha looked several years older than when she had last seen him. He started on perceiving her perilous post, and said anxiously: "Oh, you are rash! very rash! What would Uartwell say? What will he think when he comes ?" " Comes! Surely you have not urged him to come bacfc BOW!" said she, grasping his arm convulsively. " Certainly. J telegraphed to him to come home by express You need not /ook so troubled ; he has had this Egyptiat B E U L A H . 20J Dlague, will run no risk, and even if tie should, will return iA soon as possible." " Are you sure that he has had the fever?" '' Yes, sure. I nursed him myself, the summer after he cam* from Europe, and thought he would die. That was the last sickly season we hare had for years, but this caps the climax ol ail I ever saw or heard of in America. Thank God, my wife and children are far away; and, free from apprehension on theii account, I can do my duty." All this was said in an undertone, and after advising every- thing that could possibly be done, he left the room, beckoning- Beulah after him. She followed, and he said earnestly: " Child, I tremble for you. Why did you leave Hartwell'a house, and incur all this peril ? Beulah, though it is nobly unselfish in you to devote yourself to the sick, as you are doing, it may cost you your life nay, most probably it will." " I have thought of it all, sir, and determined to do my duty." " Then God preserve you. Those children have been taken violently; watch them closely; good nursing is worth all the apothecary shops. You need not send for me auy more; I an? put constantly; whenever I can I will come; meantime, depend only on the nursing. Should you be taken yourself, let me know a once ; do not fail. A word more keep yourself well stimulated." He hurried away, and she returned to the sick-rojin, to speculate on the probability of soon meeting her guardian. Who can tell how dreary were the days and nights thet fol- lowed ? Mrs. Hoyt took 'the fever, and mother and children maaued together. On the morning of the fourth day, the eldest iliild, a girl of eight years, died, with Beulah's hand grasped in iiers. Happily, the mother was unconscious, and the little corpse iras borne into an adjoining room. Beulah shrank from the task ji'hich she felt, for the first time in her life, called on to perform. She could nurse the living, but dreaded the thought of shrouding the dead. Still, there .was no one else to do it, and she bravelj conquered her repugnance, and clad, the youug sleeper for tbf 9* 202 BfcULAH. tomb. The gentlemen boarders, who had luckily escaped, arranged the mournful particulars of the burial ; and aftei severing a sunny lock of hair for the mother, should she live, Beulah saw the cold form borne out to its last restiug-place. Another gloomy day passed slowly, and she was rewarded by he convalescence of the remaining sick child. Mrs. Hoyt stilJ flung upon the confines of eternity; and Beulah, who had not closed her eyes for many nights, was leaning over the bed, counting the rushing pulse, when a rapid step caused her to look up, and falling forward in her arms, Clara cried: " Save me! save me! The chill is on me nowl" It was too true; and as Beulah assisted her to her room, and turefully bathed her feet, her heart was heavy with dire dread lest Clara's horror of the disease should augment its ravages. Dr. Asbury was summoned with all haste, but as usual seemed an age in coming, and when at last he came, could only pre- scribe what had already been done. It was pitiable to watch the agonized expression of Clara's sweet face, as she looked from the countenance of the physician to that of her friend, striving to discover their opinion' of her case. " Doctor, you must send Ilal to me. He can nurse Mrs Hoyt and little Willie while I watch Clara. I can't possibly lake care of all three, though Willie is a great deal better. Oan you send him at once ? he is a good nurse." " Yes, he has been nursing poor Tom Hamil, but he died about an hour ago, and Hal is released. I look for Hartwell nourly. You do keep up amazingly ! Bless you, Beulah I" Wringing her hand, he descended the stairs. ReSntering the room, Beulah sat down beside Clara, and taking one burning hand in her cool palms, pressed it softly laying, in an encouraging tone : " I feel so much relieved about Willie, he is a great deal bet- ter ; and I think Mrs. Hoyt's fever is abating. You were no1 iaken so severely as Willie, and if you will go to sleep quietly, "' believe you will only have a light attack." BEULAH. 201 " Did those down-stairs have black-vomit ?" asked Clara, Bhad deringly, " Lizzie had it ; the others did not. Try not to think aboui tt. Go to sleep." "What was that the doctor said about Dr. Hartwefl? 1 jould not hear very well, you talked so low. Ah 1 tell me, Beulah." " Only that he is coming home soon that was all. Don't talk any more." Clara closed her eyes, but tears stole from beneath the lashes, and coursed rapidly down her glowing cheeks. The lips moved in prayer, and her fingers closed tightly over those of her com panion. Beulah felt that her continued vigils and exertion* were exhausting her. Her limbs trembled when she walked, and there was a dull pain in her head, which she could not Danish. Her appetite had long since forsaken her, and it waa only by the exertion of a determined will that she forced herself to eat. She was warmly attached to Clara, and the dread of losing this friend caused her to suffer keenly. Occasionally she stole away to see the other sufferers, fearing that when Mrs. Hoyt discovered Lizzie's death, the painful intelligence would seal her own fate. It was late at night. She had just returned from one of these hasty visits, and finding that Hal was as attentive as any one could be, she threw herself, weary and anxious, into an arm-chair beside Clara's bed. The crimson face was turned toward her, the parched lips parted, the panting breath, labored and irregular. The victim was delirious ; the hazel eyes, in- flamed and vacant, rested* on Beulah's countenance, and she murmured : " He will never know 1 Oh, no ! how should he ? The gia?e prill soon shut me in, and I shall see him no more no more F She shuddered and turned away. Beulah leaned her head against the bed, and as a tear slid down upon her hand, she thought and said with bitter sorrow : " I would rather see her the victim of death, than have Lei 8(M B E E L A H . drag out an aimless, cheerless existence, rendered joyless by thij hopeless attachment !' She wondered whether Dr. Hartwell suspected this love HP was remarkably quick-sighted, and men, as well as women, \rere very vain, and wont to give even undue weight to every circum- stance which flattered their self-love. She had long seen this partiality ; would not the object of it be quite as penetrating T Clara was very pretty ; nay, at times she was beautiful. If con- scious of her attachment, could he ever suffer himself to be influenced by it ? No ; impossible ! There were utter antagon- isms of taste and temperament which rendered it very certain that she would not suit him for a companion. Yet she was very lovable. Beulah walked softly across the room and leaned out of the window. An awful stillness brooded over the scourged city. "The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide ; Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside." The soft beams struggled to pierce the murky air, dense with smoke from the burning pitch. There was no tread on the pavement , all was solemn as Death, who held such mad revel in the crowded graveyards. Through, the shroud of smoke she could see the rippling waters of the bay, as the faint southern bieeze swept its surface. It was a desolation realizing all the horrors of the " Masque of the Red Death," and as she thought of the mourning hearts in that silent city, of Clara's danger a.id ber own, Beulah repeated, sadly, those solemn lines : " Like clouds that rake the mountain summit, Or waves that own no curbing hand, How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land?" Clasping her hands, she added, earnestly : BBULAH. 205 " I thank thee, my Father ! that the Atlanta; rolls betweel Eugene and this ' besom of destruction.' '' A touch on her shoulder caused her to look around, ttnd he eyes rested on her guardian. She started, but did not speak, and held out her hand. He looked at her, long and searchingly ; his lip trembled, and instead of taking her offered hand, hf passed his arm around her, and drew her to his bosom. She looked up, with surprise ; and bending his haughty head, he kissed her pale brow, for the first time. She felt then that she would like to throw her arms round his neck, and tell him how very glad she was to see him again how unhappy his suddeu departure had made her ; but a feeling she could not pause to analyze, prevented her from following the dictates of her heart; and holding her off. so as to scan her countenance, Dr. Hartwell said: " How worn and haggard you look 1 Oh, child ! your rash obstinacy has tortured me beyond expression." " I have but done my duty. It has been a horrible time. I am glad you have come. You will not let Clara die." " Sit down, child. You are trembling from exhaustion." He drew up a chair for her, and taking her wrist in his hand, said, as he examined the slow pulse : 4< Was Clara takeu violently ? How is she ?" " She is delirious, and so much alarmed at her danger that I feel very uneasy about her. Come and see her ; perhaps she will know you." She led the way to the bedside ; but there was no recognition in the wild, restless eyes, and as she tossed from side to side, her incoherent muttering made Beulah dread lest she should discover to its object the adoring love which filled her pure heart. She told her guardian what had been prescribed. He offered no suggestion as to the treatment, but gave a potior which she informed him was due. As Clara swallowed the draught, she looked at him, and said eagerly : " Has he come ? Did he say he would see me and save me 1 Did Dr Hartwell send me this ?" V"4j B E U L A H . " She raves," said Beulah, hastily. A sliadow fell upon his face, and stooping over tLe pillow, h answered, very gently : " Yes, he has come to save you. He is here." She smiled, and seemed satisfied for a moment, then moaned, tnd muttered on indistinctly. 11 He knows it all ? Oh, poor, poor Clara 1" thought Beulah. ihading her face, to prevent his reading what passed in her mind. " How long have you been sitting up, Beulah ?" She told him. " It is no wonder you look as if years had suddenly passeo over your head ! You have a room here, I believe. Go to it, and go to sleep ; I will not leave Clara." It was astonishing how his presence removed the dread weight of responsibility from her heart. Not until this moment had she felt as if she could possibly sleep. " I will sleep now, so as to be refreshed for to-morrow and to- morrow night. Here is a couch, I will sleep here, and if Clara grows worse you must wake me." She crossed the room, threw herself on the couch, and laid her aching head on her arm. Dr. flartwell placed a pillow under the head ; once more his fingers sought her wrist ; once more his lips touched her forehead, and as he returned to watch beside Clara, and listen to her raviugs, Beulah sank into a heavy, dreamless sleep of exhaustion. CHAPTER XVIII. SHE was awakened by the cool pattering of rain-drops, which Veat through the shutters and fell upon her face. She sprang 10 with a thrill of delight, and looked out. A leaden sky low- ered over the city, and as the torrents came down iu whitening sheets^ the thunder rolled continuously over head, and trailing BETTLAH. 207 wren hs of smoke from the dying fires, drooped like banners cvei the roofs of the houses. Not the shower which gathered and fell around sea-girt Carmel was more gratefully received. " Thank God ! it rains !" cried Beulah, and turning toward Clara, she saw with pain that the sufferer was all unconscious of the tardy blessing. She kissed the hot, dry brow ; but no token of recognition greeted her anxious gaze. The fever was at its blight ; the delicate features were strangely sharpened and dis- torted. Save the sound of her labored breathing, the room was silent, and sinking on her knees, Beulah prayed earnestly that the gentle sufferer might be spared. As she rose, her guardian en- tered, and she started at the haggard, wasted, harassed look of the noble face, which she had not observed before. He bent down and coaxed Clara to take a spoonful of medicine, and Beu- ah asked, earnestly : " Have you been ill, sir ?" "No." He did not even glance at her. The affectionate cordiality of the hour of meeting had utterly vanished. He looked as sold, stern, and impenetrable as some half-buried sphinx of the desert. " Have you seen the others this morning ?" said she, making a strong effort to conceal the chagrin this revulsion of feeling occasioned. " Yes ; Mrs. Hoyt will get well." " Does she know of her child's death ?" "Yes." " You are not going, surely ?" she continued, as he took his hac and glanced at his watch. " I am needed elsewhere. Only nursing can now avail here You know very well what is requisite. Either Dr. Asbury or I will be here again to-night, to sit up with this gentle girl." " You need neither of you come to sit up with her. I will do that myself. I shall not sleep another moment until I know that r. my memory, and now I am transferring it to paper. You are aiistaken ; it is terrible, but not hideous I" Beulah laid aside 'uer pencil, and leaning her elbows on the table, sat, with her face in her hands, gazing upon the drawing. It represented the head and shoulders of a winged fema'e ; the countenance wai 216 BELLAS. inflexible, grim, and cadaverous. The large, lurid eyes, had an owlish stare ; aud the outspread pinions, black as night, made Uie wan face yet more livid by contrast. The extended haudr were like those of a skeleton. " What strange fancies you have. It makes the blood curdle Iu my veins, to look at that awful countenance," said Clara, hadderingly. " I cannot draw it as I saw it in my dre'\m 1 Cannot do justice to my ideal Mors 1" answered Beulah, in a discontented tone, aa she took up the crayon, and retouched the poppies which clus- tered in the sable locks. " For heaven's sake, do not attempt to render it any more aorrible ! Put it away, aud finish this lovely Greek face. Oh, bow I envy you your talent for music and drawing! Nature gifted you rarely 1" "No I she merely gave me an intense love of beauty, which constantly impels me to embody, in melody or coloring, the glori- ous images, which the contemplation of beauty creates in my soul. Ala.3 1 I am not a genius. If I were, I might hope to achieve an immortal renown. Gladly would I pay its painful and dangerous price 1" She placed the drawing of Mors in her port- folio, and began to touch lightly an unfinished head of Sappho. " Ah, Clara 1 how connoisseurs would carp at this portrait of the ' Lesbian Muse.' My guardian, for oue, would' sneer superbly." " Why, pray ? It is perfectly beautiful." " Because, forsooth, it is 110 low-browed, swarthy Greek. 1 have a penchant for high, broad, expansive foreheads, which are antagonistic to all the ancient models of beauty. Low forehead p.haracteri/e the antique ; but who can fancy ' violet-crowned, aaimortal Sappho, " With that gloriole Of ebon hair, on calmed brows," other than I have drawn her 1" She held up the paper, and smiled triumphantly. BEULAH. 21? In truth, it was a face of rare lovelines* 1 ; of oval outline with delicate, yet noble features, whose expression seemed the reflex of the divine afflatus. The uplifted eyes beamed with the radi- ance of inspiration ; the full, ripe lips, were just parted ; tho curling hair clustered, with child-like simplicity, round the classic hsad ; and the exquisitely formed hands clasped a lyre. " Beulah, don't you think the eyes are most too wild ?" sug gested Clara, timidly. "What? fora poetess! Remember poesy hath madness ?n it," answered Beulah, still looking earnestly at her drawing. " Madness ? What do you mean ?" " Just what I say. I believe poetry to be the highest and purest phase of insauity. Those finely-strung, curiously nervous latures, that you always find coupled with poetic endowments, are characterized by a remarkable activity of the mental organs; and this continued excitement, and premature development of the brain, results in a disease which, under this aspect, the world offers premiums for. Though I enjoy a fine poem as much as anybody, I believe, in nine cases out of ten, it is the spasmodic vent of a highly nervous system, overstrained, diseased. Yes, diseased! If it does not result in the frantic madness of Lamb, or the final imbecility of Southey, it is manifested in various other forms, such as the morbid melancholy of Cowper, the bitter mis- anthropy of Pope, the abnormal moodiness and misery of Byron, the unsound and dangerous theories of Shelley, and the strange, fragmentary nature of Coleridge." "Oh, Beulah! what a humiliating theory! The poet placed on an ignominious level with the nervous hypochondriac! You are the very last person I should suppose guilty of entertaining such a degraded estimate of human powers," interposed Clara, energetically. " I know it is customary to rave about Muses, and Parnassus, and Helicon, and to throw the charitable mantle of 'poetic idiosyncrasies' over all those dark spots on poetic discs. All conceivable and inconceivable eccentricities are pardoned, as tU 10 218 B U L A H . usual concomitants of genius; but looking into the home lives o( many of the most distinguished poets, I have been painfully impressed with the truth of my very unpoetic theory. Common sense has arraigned before her august tribunal some of the so called 'geniuses' of past ages, and the critical verdict is, that much of the famous 'fine frenzy,' was buna fide frenzy of a sad- der nature." " Do you think that Sappho's frenzy was established by the Leucadian leap ?" " You confound the poetess with a Sappho, who liv^d later, and threw herself into the sea from the promontory of Lei:cate. Doubtless she too had 'poetic idiosyncrasies;' but her spotless life, and I believe natural death, afford no indication of a*, unsound intellect. It is rather immaterial, however, to" Benlah paused abruptly, as a servant entered aid approached the table, saying : " Miss Clara, Dr. Hartwell is in the parlor, and wishes to see you." "To see mel" repeated Clara, in surprise, while a rosy tinge stole into her wan face; "to see me? No! It r"ust be you, Beulah." " He said Miss Sanders," persisted the servant, and Clara left the room. Beulah looked after her, with an expression of some surprise; then continued pencilling the chords of Sappho's lyre. A few minutes elapsed, and Clara returned with flushed cheeks, and a emile of trembling joyousness. " Beulah, do pin my mantle on straight. I am in such a hurry. Only think how kind Dr. Hartwell is; he has come to take me out to ride; says I look too pale, and he thinks a rid* will benefit me. That will do, thank you." She turned away, but Beulah rose, and called out: "Come back here, and get my velvet mantle. It is quu eool, and it will be a marvellous piece of management to ride cpt for your her.lt^, and come home with a cold. WhatJ nf B B U L A H . 21t gloves either! Upon my word, your thoughts muat.be travel- ling over the bridge Shinevad." "Sure enough; I had forgotten my gloves; I will get them as I go down. Good bye." With the mantle on her arm, she hurried away. Beulah laid aside her drawing materials, and prepared for her customary evening walk. Her countenance was clouded, her lip unsteady. Her guardian's studied coldness and avoidance pained her, but it wan not this which saddened her now. She felt that Clara was staking the happiness of her life on the dim hope that her attachment would be returned, She pitied the delusion, and dreaded the awakening to a true insight into his nature; to a consciousness of the utter uncongeniality which, she fancied, barred all thought of such a union. As she walked on, th^se reflections gave place to others entirely removed frcm Clara and her guardian; and on reaching the grove of pines, opposite the Asylum, where she had so often wandered in day< gone by, she paced slowly up and down the " arched aisles," a* she was wont to term them. It was a genuine October after noon, cool and sunny. The delicious haze of Indian summei wrapped every distant object in its soft, purple veil; the din? vistas of the forest ended in misty depths; the very air, in it* dreamy languor, resembled the atmosphere which surrounded " The mild-eyed, melancholy lotus-eatera " cf the far East. Through the openings, pale, golden poplars shook down their dying leaves, and here and there along the ravine, crimson maples gleamed against the background of dark green pines. In every direction, bright-colored leaves, painted with "autumnal hectic," strewed the bier of the declining year. Beulah sat down on a tuft of moss, and gathered clusters of golden-rod and purple and white asters. She loved these wilo wood-flowers much more than gaudy exotics or rare hot- house plants. They linked her with the days of her childhood, and now each graceful spray of golden-rod seemed a wand of inemorj 220 B E U L A H . calling up bygone joys, griefs and fancies. Ah, \\hat a hallowing glory invests our past, beckoning us back to the haunts of the olden time J The paths our childish feet trod seem all angel-guarded and thoruless ; the songs we sang then sweep the harp (f memory, making magical melody ; the words carelessly spoken, now breathe a solemn, mysterious import ; and faces that early went down to the tomb, smile on us still with unchanged tenderness. I Aye, the past, the long past is all fairy-land. Where our little feet were bruised, we now see only springing flowers ; where childish lips drank from some Marah, verdure and garlands woo us back. Over the rustlihg leaves a tiny form glided to Beulah'a 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 golden-rod ; 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. Ob, 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 girl hood, 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 hgnt filled the clear grey eyes, and now and then her brow was ploughed 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 hei speculative doubti BEULAH. 221 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 't t *he children of earth.'" She was standing on the hearth, warming her fingers. Clara looked up at the dark, clear eyes and delicate fixed lips before her, and sighed involuntarily. Beulah knelt on the tarpot, and throwing one arm around her companion, said, earnestly : 10* 226 BEULAfl. " My dear Clara, what saddens you to-night ? Can't yon tell me ?" ' A hasty knock at the door gave no time for an answer. A servant looked in. " Is Miss Beulah Benton here ? There is a gentleman ic Cm ,>arlor to see her ; here is the card." Bcclah still knelt on the floor, and held out her hand .iidifferently. The card was given, and she sprang up with a cry of joy. " Oh, it is Eugene P At the door of the parlor she paused, and pressed her hand lightly to her bounding heart. A tall form stood before the $ratc, and a glance discovered to her a dark moustache and heavy beard ; still it must be Eugene, and extending her arms unconsciously, she exclaimed : " Eugene 1 Eugene ! have yon come at last ?" He started, looked up, and hastened toward her. Her anna iuddeuly dropped to her side, and only their hands met in a Grm, tight clasp. For a moment, they gazed at each other in silence, each noting the changes which time had wrought. Then he said, slowly : "I should not have known you, Beulah. You have altered surprisingly." His eyes wandered wouderingly over her features. She was pale and breathless ; her lips trembled violently, and there was a strange gleam in her large, eager eyes. She did not reply, but stood looking up intently into his handsome face. Then she shivered; the long, black lashes drooped ; her white fingers relaxed their clasp of his, and she sat down on the sofa Dear. Ah 1 her womanly intuitions, infallible as Ithuriel's spear, told her that he was no longer the Eugene she had loved so devotedly. Au iron hand eemed to clutch her heart, and again a shudder crept over her, as he seated himself beside her, Baying : " I am very much pained to find you here. I am just from Dr. Hartwell's, where I expected to see you." B E U L A H . 227 He paused, for something about her face rather disconcerted Jrim, and he took her hand again in his. " How could you expect to find me there, after reading 013 last letter ?" " I still hoped that your good sense would prevent yonr taking inch an extraordinary step." She smiled, icily, and answered : " Is it so extraordinary, then, that I should desire to maintain my self-respect ?" " It would not have been compromised by remaining where you were." " I should scorn myself, were I willing to live idly on the bounty of one upon whom I have no claim." " You are morbidly fastidious, Beulah." J' Her eyes flashed, and snatching her hand from his, she asked, with curling lips : " Eugene, if I prefer to teach, for a support, why should you object ?" " Simply because you are unnecessarily lowering yourself in the estimation of the community. You will find that the circle, * which a residence under Dr. Hartwell's roof gave you the entrfa of, will look down with contempt upon a subordinate teacher in a public school " " Then, thank Heaven, I am forever shut out from that circle ! Is my merit to be gauged by the cost of my clothes, or the number of fashionable parties I attend, think you ?" " Assuredly, Beulah, the things you value so lightly are the standards of worth and gentility in the community you live in, as you will unfortunately find." She looked at him steadily, w;th grief, and scorn, and wonder in her deep, searching eyes, as sie exclaimed : " Oh, Eugene ! what has changed you so, since the bygone years, when, in the Asylum, we talked of the future ? of labor Ing, conquering, and earning homes for ourselves I Oh, has the foul atmosphere of foreign lauds extinguished all your self- aspect ? Do you come back sordid and sycophantic, and th 228 BEULAH, slave of opinions you would once have utterly detestel? Havi you narrowed your soul, and bowed down before the miscrabl standard which every genuine, manly spirit must loathe ? Oh ! has it come to this ? Has it come to this ?" Her voice was broken, and bitter, scalding tears of shame and grief gushed over her cheeks. " This fierce recrimination and unmerited tirade is not exactly the welcome I was prepared to expect," returned Eugene, haughtily; and rising, he took his. hat from the table. She rose also, but made no effort to detain him, and leaned her head against the mantelpiece. He watched her a moment, thec approached, and put his hand on her shoulder : " Beulah, as a man, I see the world and its relations in a far different light from that in which I viewed it while a boy." "It is utterly superfluous to tell me so !" replied Beulah, bit- terly. ' I grapple with realities now, and am forced to admit the expediency of prudent policy. You refuse to see things in their tictual existence, and prefer toying with romantic dreams. Beulah, I have awakened from these since we parted." She put up her hand deprecatingly, and answered : " Then let me dream on ! let me dream on 1" " Beulah, I have been sadly mistaken in my estimate of yom character. I could not have believed there was so much fierce obstinacy, so much stubborn pride, in your nature." She instantly lifted her head, and their eyes met. Other days came back to both ; early confidence, mutual love and depend- ence. For a moment his nobler impulses prevailed, and with an unsteady lip, he passed his arm quickly around her. But site d-'ew coldly back, and said : " It seems we are mutually disappointed in each other. I regret that the discharge of my duty should so far conflict with your opinions and standard of propriety, as to alienate us so completely as it seems likely to do. All my life I have looked ta you for guidance and counsel j but to-night you have shaken mj BEULAH. 22i trnit, and henceforth I must depend npon my c wn heart to sup port me in my work. Oh, Eugene ! friend of my childhood \ beware, lest you sink yourself in your own estimation I -Oh, fir days, and mouths, and years, I have pictured the huur of you? eturn, little dreaming that it would prove one of the saddest of my life ! I have always looked up to you. Oh, Eugene Eugeue ! you are not what you were ! Do not ! oh, do not make me pity you ! That would kill me 1" She covered her face with her hands, and shuddered convulsively. " I am not so changed as you think me," returned Eugene, proudly. " Then, in early years, I was miserably deceived in your cha racter. For the sake of wealth, and what the world calls ' posi- tion,' you have sold yourself. In lieu of his gold and influence, Mr. Graham has your will, your conscience. Ah, Eugene 1 how can you bear to be a mere tool in his hands ?" " Beulah, your language, your insiunations are unpardonable I By Heaven, no one but yourself might utter them, and not even jou can do so with impunity ! If you choose to suffer your foolish pride and childish whims to debar you from the enviable position in society, which Dr. Hartwell would gladly confer on you, why you have only yourself to censure. But my situation in Mr. Graham's family, has long been established. He has ever regarded me as his son, treated me as snch, and as such, I feel bound to be guided by him in my choice of a profession. Beulah, 1 have loved you well, but such another exhibition of scorn and bitterness will indeed alienate us. Since you have set aside my views and counsel, in the matter of teaching, I shall not again refer to it, I promise you. I have no longer the wish to control jour actions, even had I the power. But, remember, since the hour you stood beside your father's grave, leaning on me, I hare been constantly your friend. My expostulations were for what I considered your good. Beulah, I am still, to you, the Eugene fjf other days. It will be your own fault, if the sanctity of cm friendship is not maintained." 230 BEUIAfl. " It shall not bt my fault, Eugene." She. hastily neld out he! hand. He clasped it in his, and, as if dismissing the topics whicfc bad proved so stormy, drew her to a seat, and said, composedly: " Come, tell me what you have been doing with yourself these ong five years, which have changed you so. I have heard already of your heroism in nursing the sick, during the lato awful season of pestilence and death." For an hour they talked on indifferent themes, each feeling that the other was veiling the true impulses of the heart, and finally Eugene rose to go. " How is Cornelia's health now ?" asked Beulah, as they stood up before the fire." " About the same. She never complains, but does not look iike herself. Apropos ! she intrusted a note to me, for you, which I had quite forgotten. Here it is. Miss Dupres is with ler for the winter; at least a part of it. Cornelia will come and see you in a day or two, she requested me to say ; and I do hope, Beulah, that you will visit her often ; she has taken a great fancy io you." " How long since ?" answered Beulah, with an incredulous smile. " Since she met you at a concert, I believe. By the way, wo are very musical at our house, and promise ourselves some delight- ful evenings this winter. You must hear Antoinette Duprea sing ; she is equal to the best prima-douna of Italy. Do yon practise much ?" " Yes." " Well, I must go. When shall I see you again ?" " Whenever you feel disposed to come ; and I hope that will be often. Eugene, you were a poor correspondent ; see that you prove a better visitor." " Yes, I will. I have a thousand things to say, but scarcelj fciow where to commence. You are always at home in the even ings, I suppose ?" "Yes, except occasionally when I am with the Asburys " B E U L A H . 231 " Do you see much of them ?" 11 Yes, a good deal." ' I am glad to hear it ; they move in the very first circle Now. Beulah, don't be offended if I ask what is the matter with Dr. Hartwell ? How did you displease him ?" "Just as I displeased you; by deciding to teach. Eugene, it paius me very much that he should treat me as he does, but U is utterly out of my power to rectify the evil." " He told me that he knew nothing of your movements 01 plans. I wish, for your sake, you could be reconciled." " We will be some day. I must wait patiently," said she, with a sigh. " Beulah, I don't like that troubled look about your mouth: What is the matter ? Can I in any way remove it ? Is it con nected with me, even remotely? My dear Beulah, do not shrink from me." " Nothing is the matter that yon can rectify," said she, gravely. " Something is the matter, then, which I may not know ?" " Yes." " And you will not trust me ?" " It is not a question of trust, Eugene." "You think I cannot help you?" " You cannot help me, I am sure." "Well, I will see you again to-morrow; till then good bye." They shook hands, and she went back to her own room. Cor- nelia's note contained an invitation to spend the next evening with them ; she would call as soou as possible. She put it aside, and throwing her arms on the mantelpiece, bowed her head upon them. This, then, was the hour which, for five years, she had anticipated as an occasion of unmixed delight. She was nol weeping; no, the eyes were dry, and the lips firmly fixed. Shf was thinking of the handsome face which a little while before was beside her; thinking, with keen agony, of footprints there, rhich she had never dreamed of seeing; they were very slight 232 B K TJ L A H . ( yet unmistakable the fell signet of dissipation. Above all, she read it in the eyes, which once looked so fearlessly into hers. She knew he did not imagine, for an instant, that she suspected it; and of all the bitter cups which eighteen years had proffered, this was by far the blackest. It was like a hideous dream, and she groaned, and passed her hand over her brow, as if to sweep it all away. Poor Beulah I the idol of her girlhood fell from iti pedestal, and lay in crumbling ruins at her feet. In this hour * of rsunion, she saw clearly into her own heart; she did not love him, save as a friend, as a brother. She was forced to perceive her own superiority; could she love a man whom she did not . revere ? Verily, she felt now that she did not love Eugene. There was a feeling of contempt for his weakness, yet she could not bear to see him other than she had hoped. How utterly he had disappointed her ? Could it be possible that he had fallen so low as to dissipate habitually? This she would not believe; he was still too noble for such a disgraceful course. She felt a soft touch on her shoulder, and raised her sad, tearless face. Clara, with her ethereal, spiritual countenance, stood on the hearth: "Do I disturb you?" said she, timidly. "No; I am glad you came. I was listening to cold, bitter, bitter thoughts. Sit down, Clara; you look fatigued." " Oh, Beulah 1 I am weary in body and spirit ; I have no energy; my very existence is a burden to me." " Clara, it is weak to talk so. Rouse yourself, and fulfill the destiny for which you were created." " I have no destiny, but that of loneliness and misery." " Our situations are similar, yet I never repine as you do." " You have not the same cause. You are self-reliant ; u< jrbitant price ; but they were labelled 'experience!'" She smiled frigidly. " You do not seem to have enjoyed your tour particularly." " Yes I did ; but one is glad to rest sometimes. I may yet prove a second Bayard Taylor, notwithstanding. I should like you for a companion. You would not sicken me with stereo- typed nonsense." Her delicate fingers folded themselves about Beulah's, who could not bring herself to withdraw her hand. " And sure enough, you would not be adopted ? Do yoq mean to adhere to your determination, and maintain yourself bj teaching ?" " I do." " And I admire you for it ! Beulah, you must get over your dislike to me." " I do not dislike you, Cornelia." " Thank you for your negative preference," returned Cornelia, rather amused at her companion's straightforward manner. Thee, with a sudden contraction of her brow, she added : " I am not so bearish as they give me credit for " B E U L A H . 239 *1 never beard you called so." "Ah? that is because you do not enter the enchanted circle of ' our clique.' During morning calls, I am flattered, cajoled, and fawned upon. Their carriages are not out of hearing, before my friends and admirers, like hungry harpies, pounce upon mj character, manners and appearance, with most laudable zest and activity. Wait till you have been initiated into my coterie of fashionable friends 1 Why, the battle of Marengo was a farce, in comparison with the havoc they can effect in the space of a morn ing, among the characters of their select visiting list ! What a pre- cious age of backbiting we city belles live in." She spoke with an air of intolerable scorn. "As a prominent member of this circle, why do you not attempt to rectify this spreading evil ? You might effect lasting good." " I am no Hercules, to turn the Peneus of reform through the Augean realms of society," answered Cornelia, with an impatient gesture ; and rising, she drew on her glove. Beulah looked up at her, and pitied the joyless, cynical nature, which gave an almost repulsively austere expression to the regular, faultless! features. " Beulah, will you come on Saturday morning, and spend an hour or so with me ?" " No, I have a music lesson to give ; but if you will be at home in the afternoon, I will come with pleasure." " I shall expect you, then. You were drawing when I came in; are you fond of it?" As she spoke she took op a piece which was nearly completed. " Yes, but you will find my sketches very crude." " Who taught you to draw ?" " 1 have had several teachers. All rather indifferent, how ever." " Where did you see a St. Cecilia ? There is too mneh breadth of brow here," continued Cornelia, with a curious glanci fit the young teacher. 240 B E U L A H . " Yes; I deviated from the original intentionally. I copied it from a collection of heads which Georgia Asbury brought frosa the North." " I have a number of choice paintings, which I selected in Europe. Any that you may fancy are at your service for models." " Thank you. I shall be glad to avail myself of fhe privilege." " Good bye. You will come Saturday ?" "Yes; if nothing occurs to prevent, I will come in the after noon." Beulah pressed her offered hand, and saw her descend the steps with a feeling of pity, which she could not exactly analyze. Passing by the window, she glanced down, and paused to look at an elegant 'carriage standing before the door. The day was cold, but the top was thrown back, and on one of the cushions sat, or rather reclined, a richly dressed, and very beautiful girl. As Beulah leaned out to examine the lovely stranger more closely, Cornelia appeared. The driver opened the low door, and as Cornelia stepped in, the young lady, who was Miss Dupres, of course, ejaculated rather peevishly : " You stayed an age." " Drive down the Bay-road, Wilson," was Cornelia's reply, and as she folded her rich cloak about her, the carriage was whirled away. Beulah went back to the fire, warmed her fingers, and resumed her drawing ; thinking that she would not willingly change places with the petted child of wealth and luxury. CHAPTER XX. IT was a dreary Saturday afternoon, but Beulah wrapped a warm shawl about her, and set out to pay the promised visit The air was damp and raw, and leaden, marbled clouds hung low BEULAH. 241 fL the sky. Mr Graham's house was situated in the fashionable part of the city, near Mr. Grayson's residence, and as Beulah passed the crouching lions, she quickened her steps, to escape the painful reminiscences which they recalled. In answer to her ring, th.3 servant ushered her into the parlors furnished with Almost oriental magnificence, and was retiring, when she gave her name. " You are Miss Benton, then. I have orders to show you up at once to Miss Cornelia's room. She has seen no visitors to-day. This way, miss, if you please." He led the way, up an easy, spiral flight of steps, to the door of a room, which he threw open. Cornelia was sitting in a large cushioned chair by the fire, with a papier-macke writing- desk beside her, covered with letters. There was a bright fire In the grate, and the ruddy haze, together with the reflectiou from the crimson damask curtains, gave a dim, luxurious aspect to the chamber, which in every respect betokened the fastidious taste of a petted invalid. Clad in a dark silk robe-de-chambre, with her cheek pressed against the blue velvet lining of the chair, Cornelia's face wore a sickly, sallow hue, which was ren dered more palpable by her black, glittering eyes and jetty hair. She eagerly held out her hand, and a smile of sincere pleasure parted the lips, which a paroxysm of pain seemed to have just compressed. " It is such a gloomy day, I feared you would not come. Take off your bonnet and shawl." " It is not so gloomy out as you imagine," said Beulah. " What ? uot, with dull clouds, and a stiff, raw, northeaster ? I looked out of the window a while since, and the bay looked just as I have seen the North Sea,, grey and cold. Why don't you take off your bonnet ?" " Because I can only sit with you a short time," answered Beulah, resisting the attempt made to take her shawl. " Why, can't you spend the evening ?" said Cornelia, frowning. 11 42 B E U L A fl " I promised not to remain more than an hour." " Promised whom ?" " Clara Sanders. She is sick; unable to leave her 'ODHJ, and is lonely when I am away." " My case is analogous ; so I will put myself on the charr* JT list for once. 1 have not been down-stairs for two days." " But you have everything to interest you even here." re- turned Beulah, glancing around at the numerous paintings and engravings which were suspended on all sides, while ivory, marble, and bronze statuettes, were scattered in profusion about the room. Cornelia followed her glance, and asked, with a joyless smile : " Do you suppose those bits of stone and canvas satisfy me?" " Certainly. 'A thing of beauty should be a joy forever.' With all these, and your library, surely you are never lonely/' " Pshaw 1 they tire me immensely. Sometimes, the cramped positions, and unwinking eyes of that 'holy family' there over the chimneypiece, make me perfectly nervous." " You must be morbidly sensitive at such times." " Why ? do you never feel restless and dissatisfied, with jut any adequate reason ?" "No, never." " And yet, you have few sources of pleasure," said Cornelia, in a musing tone, as her eyes wandered over her visitor's plain attire. " No ! my sources of enjoyment are as varied and extended as the universe." " I should like you to map theo; Shut up all day with a parcel of rude stupid children, and .eleased, only to be caged again in a small room in a second-rate boarding-house. Really, I should fancy they were limited, indeed." " No, I enjoy my brisk walk to school, in the morning ; ihf children are neither so dull, nor so bearish as you seem to imagine. I am attached to many of them, and do not feel th$ BECLAH. '243 3aj to be very long At three, I hurry Dome, get mj d 5 n_<*, practise, and draw, or sew, till the shadows begin to iim mj eyes, then I walk until the lamps are lighted, find numberless things to interest me, even in a winter's walk, and go back to my room, refreshed and eager to get to my books. Once seated *ilh them, what portion of the earth is there, that I may not visit, from the crystal Arctic temples of Odin and Thor, to the groves of Abyssinia ? In this age of travel, and cheaj: books, I can sit in my room in the third story, and by my lamp- light, see all, and immeasurably more, than you, who have been travelling for eighteen months. WLerever I go, I find sources of enjoyment ; even the pictures in bookstores give me plea- sure, and contribute food for thought ; and when, as now, I am surrounded by all that wealth can collect, I admire, and enjoy the beauty, and elegance, as much as if I owned it all. So you see, that my enjoyments are as variod as the universe itself." " Eureka 1" murmured Cornelia, eyeing her companion curl ously, " Eureka 1" you shall have the tallest case in the British Museum, or Baruum's, just as your national antipathies may incline you." " WhaJ impresses you as so singular in my mod? of life ?" asked Beulah, rather dryly. " Your philosophic contentment, which I believe you are too candid to counterfeit. Your easy solution of that great human riddle, given the world, to find happiness. The Athenian and Alexandrian schools dwindle into nothingness. Commend me to your ' categories,' 0, Queen of Philosophy." She withdrew her searching eyes, and fixed them moodily on tlie Sre, twirling the tassel of her robe, as she mused. " You are most egregiously mistaken, Cornelia, if you have been led to suppose, from what I said a moment pinee, that I am never troubled about anything. I merelv referred to enjoy ] ments de-rived fro_n various sources, open alike to rich and pool j There are Marahs hidden ia every path ; no matter whethei the draught is taken in jewelled goblets or unpolished gourda." 244 B E U L A H . "Sometimes, then, you are 'blued' most dismally, like thi balance of unpbilosopbic men and women, eb ?" " Occasionally, my mind is very mucb perplexed and dis turbed ; not exactly 'blued' as you express it, but dimmed; clouded." " What clouds it ? will you tell me ?" said Cornelia, eagerly. " The struggle to see that, which I suppose it never was intended I should see." " I don't understand you," said Cornelia, knitting her brows "Nor would you, even were I to particularize." " Perhaps I am not so very obtuse as you fancy." " At any rate, I shall not enter into detail," answered Beulah, miling quietly at the effect of her words. " Do you ever weary of your books ?" Cornelia leaned for- ward, and bent a long searching look on her guest's countenance as she spoke, "Not of my books; but sometimes, nay, frequently, of tie thoughts they excite." " A distinction without a difference," said the invalid, coldly. "A true distinction nevertheless," maintained Beulah. " Be good enough to explain it then." " For instance, I read Carlyle for hours, without the slightest sensation of weariness. Midnight forces me to lay the book icluctantly aside, and then the myriad conjectures and inquiries which I am conscious of, as arising from those same pages, weary me beyond all degrees of endurance." " And these conjectures cloud your mind ?" said Cornelia^ with a half smile breaking over her face. " I did Dot.say so, I merely gave it as an illustration of wha\ 7011 professed not to understand." " I see your citadel of reserve and mistrust cannot be carried by storm," answered Cornelia, petulantly. Before Beulah could reply, a servant entered, and addressed Cornelia. " Xour mother wants to show your Paris hat and veil, and B E U L A H . 245 handsomest point-lace set, to Mrs. Vincent, and Miss Jnlia says can't she run up and see you a minute ?" A sneering smile accompanied the contemptuous answer, which was delivered in no particularly gentle manner. " This is the second time, those particular friends ' cf ours have called to inspect my winter outfit. Take down ray entire wardrobe to them : dresses, bonnets, mantles, laces, handkcis chiefs, ribbons, shawls nay, gloves and slippers, for there is a ' new style ' of catch on one, and ot bows and ' buckles on tbt other. Do you hear me, Mary ? don't leave a rag of my French finery behind. Let the examination be sufficiently complete this time. Don't forget the Indian shawl ?vn:l the opera cloak and hood, nor that ornamental comb, named nfter vhe last populuj danseuse ; and tell Miss Julia she will please eyonse ine anothe* time I will try to see her. Say I am engaged." Some moments elapsed, during which Mary opcnec 1 acd shut a number of drawers and boxes, and finally disappeared^, stagger- ing beneath a load of silks, velvets and laces. As the dooi closed behind her, Cornelia smoothed her brow, and said, apolo- getically : " Doubtless, it seems a mere trifle of accommodation to display all that mass of finery to their eagerly curious eyes ; but I assure you, that though I have not been at home quite a weel., those things have vacated their places at least twenty times for inspection ; and this ridiculous mania for the ' latest style' die- gusts me beyond measure. I tell you, the majority of the womc i in this town think of nothing else. I have not yet looked over my wardrobe myself. Mother selected it in Paris, and I did not trouble myself to examine it when it was unpacked." Beulah smiled, but offered no comment. Cornelia suddenly sank back in her chair, and said hastily : " Give me that vial on the bureau I Quick ! quick !" Beulah sprang up and handed her the vial, which she put ta her lips. She was ghastly pale, her features writhed, and irops glistened on her brow, corrugated by severe pain. *6 BECLAH. " Can I do anything for you, Cornelia ? Shall I call you m )thcr ?" " No. You may fan mo, if you will." She moaned and closed l>.er eyes. Bfulah seized a fan, and did as requested, now and then wiping a\vay the moisture which gathered around the lips and forehead. Gradually the paroxysm passed off, and opening he eyes, she said, wearily : " That will do, thank you. Now pour out a glass of water from the pitcher yonder." Benlah handed her the draught, saying, with surprise : " fitting wrapped up by a fire, and drinking ice water !" " Yes, I use ice-water the year round. Please touch the bell- rope, will you ?" As Beulah resumed her seat, Cornelia added, with a forced lavgh : " "Y ou look as if you pitied me." " I io, most sincerely. Do you suffer in this way often ?" " Yns no well,' when I am prudent, I don't." Then turning ro the servant, who stood at the door, she continued : " John, go to Dr. Hartwell's office (not his house, miud you), and leave word that he must come here before night. Do you under- stand ? shut the door stop I send up some coal." She drew her chair closer to the fire, and extending her slip- pered feet on the marble hearth, said : " I have suffered more during the last three days than in six months before. Last night I did not close my eyes and Dr Hartwell must prepare me some medicine. What is the matter with Clara Sanders ? She looks like an alabaster image !" " She has never recovered entirely from that attack of yellow feter ; and a day or two ago, she took cold, and has had con Btant fever since. I suppose she will see the doctor while I ani bere. I feel anxious about her." " She looks ethereal, as if refined for a translation to heaven,* continued Cornelia, musingly ; then suddenly lifting her head B E U L A H . 247 f strength, whereby to continue its operations, a sudden tightening of those invisible cords, which bind the All-Father to the spirits he has created ? Truly, there is no (Edipus for this vexing rid- dle. Many luckless theories have been devoured by the Sphinx' when will metaphysicians solve it ? One tells us vaguely enough, "who knows the mysteries of( wilh with its vigor? Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor nnto death, utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will." This pretty bubble of a " latent strength " has vanished ; the power is from God ; but who shall unfold the process ? Clara felt that this precious help was given in her hour of need; and looking up undauntedly to the clouds that darkened her sky, said to her hopeless heart : "I will live to do my duty, and God's work on earth : I will go bravely forward in my path of labor, strewing flowers and sun shine. If God needs a lonely, chastened spirit to do his behests, oh ! shall I murmur and die because I am chosen ? What are the rushing, howling waves of life, in comparison v/ita the calm, shoreless ocean of all eternity ?" The lamp was brought- in, and the fire renewed, and the two friends sat by the hearth, silent, quiet. Clara's face had a fiwcet, K'-ene look ; Beulah's was composed, so far as rigidity of fear turos betokened ; yet the firm curve of her full upper lip might nave indexed somewhat of the confusion which reigned in her mind. Once, a great, burning light flashed out from her eyes, then the lashes drooped a little, and voiled the storm. After a lime, Clara lifted her eyes, and said, gently : B E U L A H . , 253 " Will you read to me, Benlah ?" " Gladly, gladly ; what shall it be ?" She sprang up eagerly "Anything hopeful and strengthening Anything but you! study-books of philosophy and metaphysics. Anything bat those, Beulah." " And why not those ?" asked the girl, quickly. " Because they always confuse and darken me." " You do not understand them, perhaps ?" " I understand them sufficiently to know that tliey are not what I need." " What do you need, Clara ?" " The calm content and courage to do my duty through life. - I want to be patient and useful." The grey eyes rested searchingly on the sweet face, and then with a contracted brow Beulah stepped to the window and looked out. The night was gusty, dark and rainy ; heavy drops pat- tered briskly down the panes. She turned away, and standing on the hearth, with her hands behind her, slowly repeated the 'beautiful lines, beginning : " The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight." Her voice was low and musical, and as she concluded the short poem whicli seemed so singularly suited to Clara's wishes, tiu latter said earnestly : i! Yes, yes, Beulah, " ' Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, Ana come like the benediction That follows after prayer ' Urt ns obey the poet's injunction, and realize the closing lhw 254 B E U L A H " ad the night shall be filled with muwe, And the cares that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And aa silently steal away.' " Still Beulah stood on the hearth, with a dreamy ab&traoti/JB looking out from her eyes, and when she spoke there was a tousii of impatience in her tone : " Why try to escape it all, Clara r If those ' grand old ma ters,' those ' bards sublime,' who tell us in trumpet-tones of life's endless toil and endeavor,' speak to you through my loved boots, why should you ' long for rest ?" " An unfledged birdling cannot mount to the dizzy eyries o! the eagle," answered Clara, meekly. " One grows strong only by struggling with difficulties. Strong swimmers are such from fierce buffetiugs with hungry waves. Come out of your warm nest of inertia ! Strengthen your wings ^ by battling with storm and wind !" Her brow bent as she spoke. " Beulah, what sustains you would starve me." " Something has come over you, Clara. " Yes ; a great trust in God's wisdom and mercy has stolen into my heart. I no longer look despondingly into my future." " Why ? Because you fancy that future will be very short and painless ? Ah, Clara, is this trust, when the end comes, and there is no more work to do ?" "You are mistaken ; I do not see death beckoning me home. Oil, I have not earned a home yet ! I look forward to years of labor, profit, and peace. To-day I found some lines in the morn- ing paper. Nay, don't curl your lips with a sneer at what yoo sail ' newspaper poetry.' Listen to the words that came like a message from the spirit-land to my murmuring heart." Hei Joice was low and unsteady, as she read : " 'Two hands upon the breast, and labor's dene: Two pale feet crossed in rest, the race is won. Two eves witK coin-weights shut, all tears cease ; B E U L A H . 256 Twoljps where grief is mute, and wrath at peace. So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot ; God, in his kindness, answereth not !' Such, Beulah, I felt had been my unvoiced prayer ; but now: " ' Two hands to work addressed ; aye, for Us praise, Two fee; Viat never rest ; walking his ways; Two eyes that look above, still through all tears; Two lips that breathe but love ; never more fears. So we cry afterward, low at our knees. Pardon those erring cries 1 Father, hear these P Oh, Beulah, such is now my prayer." As Beulah stood near the lamp, strange shadows fell on nei brow t shadows from the long, curling lashes. After a brief silence, she asked, earnestly : " Are your prayers answered, Clara ? Does God hear you ?" " Yes ; oh yes 1" " Wherefore ?" " Because Christ died !" " Is your faith in Christ so firm ? Does it never waver V " Never ; even in my most desponding moments." Beulah looked at her keenly ; and asked, with something like a shiver : " Did it never occur to you to doubt the plan of redemption, as taught by divines ; as laid down in the New Testament ?" " No, never. I want to die before such a doubt o curs to me. Oh, what would ray life be without that plan ? What would a fallen, sin-cursed world be without a Jesus ?" 15 But why curse a race in order to necessitate a Saviour ?" Clara looked in astonishment at the pale, fixed features before her. A frightened expression came over her own countenance, a look of shuddering horror ; and putting up her wasted hands AS if to ward off some grim phantom, she cried : " Oh, Beulah 1 what is this ? You are not an infidel ?" Her companion was silei t a moment ; then said, emphatically 256 , B E C L A H . " Dr. Hartwel/ does not believe the religion you hold s dear." Clara covered her face with her hands, and answered brokenly : " Beulah, I have envied you ; because I fancied that yrai superior intellect won you the love which I was weak enough to | expect, and need. But if it has brought you both to doubt the 1 Bible, I thank God that the fatal gift was withheld from me. Have your books and studies brought you to this ? Beulah 1 Beulah ! throw them into the fire, and come back to trust in Christ." She held out her hands imploringly, but with a singu- arly coJd smile, her friend replied : " You must go to sleep. Your fever Is rising. Don't talk any more to-night ; I will not hear you." An hour after, Clara slept soundly, and Beulah sat in her own room bending over a book. Midnight study had long since become a, habitual thing; nay, two and three o'clock, fre- quently found her beside the waning lamp. Was it any marvel that, as Dr. Hartwell expressed it, she " looked wretch- edly." From her earliest childhood, she had been possessed by an active spirit of inquiry, which constantly impelled her to investigate, and as far as possible to explain the mysteries which surrounded her on every side. With her growth, grew this haunting spirit, which asked continually: "What am. I? Whence did I come ? And whither am I bound ? What is life ? What is death ? Am I my own mistress, or am I but a tool in the hands of my Maker ? What constitutes the diffe- rence between my mind, and my body ? Is there any difference ? If spirit must needs have body to incase it, and body must have a spirit to animate it, may they not be identical ? With these jrimeval foundation questions, began her speculative career. In the solitude of her own soul, she struggled bravely and earnestly to answer those " dread questions, which, like swords of flaming fire, tokens of imprisonment, encompass man on earth." Of course, mystery triumphed. Panting for the truth, she pored orer her Bible, supposing that here, at least, all clouds would BETJLAH. 2U melt away; but nere, too, some inexplicable passages confronted her. Physically, morally, and mentally, she found the world warring. To reconcile these antagonisms with the conditions ai.il requirements of Holy Writ, she now most faithfully set to ifoik. Ah, proudly-aspiring soul ! How many earnest thinker* had essayed the same mighty task, and died under the intoler- able burden ? Unluckily for her, there was no one to direct or assist her. She scrupulously endeavored to conceal her doubts and questions from her guardian. Poor child ! she fancied she concealed them so effectually from his knowledge ; while he silently noted the march of skepticism in her nature. There were dim, puzzling passages of Scripture, which she studied on her knees; now trying to comprehend them, and now beseeching the Source of all knowledge to enlighten her. But, as has hap- pened to numberless others, there was seemingly no assistance given. The clouds grew denser and darker, and like the " cry of strong swimmers in their agony," her prayers had gone up to the Throne of Grace. Sometimes she was tempted to go to the ' minister of the church, where she sat Sunday after Sunday, and beg him to explain the mysteries to her. But the pompous austerity of his manners repelled her whenever she thought of ' broaching the subject, and gradually she saw that she must work out her own problems. Thus, from week to week, and mouthj to month, she toiled on, with a slowly dying faith, constantly clambering over obstacles which seemed to stand between her trust and revelation. It was no longer study for the sake of erudition ; these riddles involved all that she prized in Time and Eternity, and she grasped books of every description with the eagerness of a famishing nature. What dire chance threw nto her hands such works as Emerson's, Carlyle's and Goethe's, Like the waves of the clear, sunny sea, they only increased her L thirst to madness. Her burning lips were ever at these foun- tains ; and in her reckless eagerness, she plunged into the gulf of German speculation. Here she believed that she had indeed found the " true processes/' and with renewed zest, continued 258 BEULAH. tli work of questioning. At this stage of the conflict, th pestilential scourge was laid upon the city, and she paused from her metaphysical toil to close glazed eyes and shroud soulless clay. In the awful hush of those hours of watching, she looked calmly for some solution, and longed for the unquestioning faith of early years. But these influences passed without aiding her in the least, and with' rekindled ardor, she went back to hot false prophets. In addition, ethnology beckoned her on to con- .elusions apparently antagonistic to the revealed system, and the stony face of geology seemed radiant with characters of light, which she might decipher and find some security in. From Dr. Asbury's extensive collection, she snatched treatise after treatise. The sages of geology talked of the pre-Adamic eras, and of man's ending the slowly forged chain, of which the radiata form the lowest link ; and then she was told that in those pre-Adamic ages, Palaeontologists find no trace whatever of that golden time, when the vast animal creation lived in harmony, and bloodshed was unknown; ergo, man's fall in Eden had no agency in bringing death into the world ; ergo, that chapter in Genesis need puzzle her no more. Finally, she learned that she was the crowning intelligence in the vast progression ; that she would ultimately become part of Deity. " The long ascending line, from dead matter to man, had been a progress Godwards, and the next advance would unite creation and Creator in one person." With all her aspira- tions, she had never dreamed of such a future as was here promised her. To-night she was closely following that most anomalous of all guides, " Herr Teufelsdrockh." Urged on by the same " unrest," she was stumbling along dim, devious path*, while from every side whispers came to her : " Nature is one . she is your mother, and divine : she is God 1 The ' living gar ment of God.' " Through the " everlasting No," and the " everlasting Yea," she groped her way, darkly, tremblingly, waiting for the day-star of Truth to dawn ; but at last, when she fancied she saw the first rays silvering the night, and looke B E U L A H . 258 ap hopefully, ir proved one of many ignes-fatui, which had flashed across her path, and she saw that it was Goethe, uplifted as tl*e prophet of the genuine religion. The book fell from nei nerveless fingers; she closed her eyes, and groaned. It was all " confusion, worse confounded." She could not for her Kfe have told what she believed, much less, what she did not believe. The landmarks of earlier years were swept away ; the beacon light of Calvary had sunk below her horizon. A howling chaoa seemed about to ingulf her. At that moment she would gladly have sought assistance from her guardian ; but how could she approach him after their last interview ? The friendly face and coHial kindness of Dr. Asbury flashed upon her memory, and she resolved to confide her doubts and difficulties to him, hoping to obtain, from his clear and matured judgment, some clew which mi^ht enable her to emerge from the labyrinth that involved 'her. She knelt, and tried to pray. To what did she, on bended fences, send up passionate supplications? To nature? to heroes? These were the new deities. She could not pray ; all grew dark ; she pressed her hands to her throbbing brain, striving to clear away the mists. " Sartor " had effectually blindfolded her, and she threw herself down to sleep with a shivering dread, as of a young child separated from its mother, and wailing in some starless desert. CHAPTER XXI. IT was Christmas eve; cold, cloudy, and damp. The store windows were gay with every conceivable and inconceivable device for attracting attention. Parents, nurses and porters harried along with mysterious looking bundles, and important countenances. Crowds of curious, merry children thronged tht 260 BKULAH. ' sidewalks: here a thinly clad, meagre boy, looked, with eyes and empty pockets, at pyramids of fruit and sweetmeats, and there a richly dressed group chattered like blackbirds, ar.? occasionally fired a pack of crackers, to the infinite dismay o! horses and drivers. Little chaps just out of frocks rushed about, with their round rosy faces hid under grotesque masks; a;id shouts of laughter, and the squeak of penny trumpets, and mutter of miniature drums, swelled to a continuous din, which would have been quite respectable even on the plain of Shinar The annual jubilee had come, and young and old seemed deter- mined to celebrate it with due zeal. From her window, Beulah looked down on the merry groups, and involuntarily contrasted the bustling, crowded streets, with the silence and desolation which had reigned over the same thoroughfares only a few months before. One brief year ago, childish voices prattled of Santa Glaus and gift stockings, and little feet pattered along these same pavements, with tiny hands full of toys. Fond parents, too, had gone eagerly in and out of these gay shops, hunting presents for their darlings. Where were they ? chil- \ dren and parents ? Ah 1 a cold, silent band of sleepers in yonder necropolis, where solemn cedars were chanting an ever- lasting dirge. Death's harvest time was in all seasons; when would her own throbbing pulses be stilled, and her questioning tones hushed ? Might not the summons be on that very wintry blast, which rushed over her hot brow ? And if it should be so ? Beulah pressed her face closer to the window, and thought it was too inconceivable that she also should die. She knew it was the common birthright, the one unchanging heritage of all humanity; yet long vistas of life oper.ed before her, and though, like a pall, the shadow of the tomb hung over the end, it wa It'ry distant, very dim. "What makes you look so solemn?" asked Clara, who hatf oecn busily engaged in dressing a doll for one of Mrs. Boyt if children. " Because ] feel solemn, I suppose." BEULAH 26J Clara came up, an! passing her arm round Beulah'a shoulder, grazed down into the noisy street. She still wore mourning, and the alabaster fairness of her complexion contrasted vividly with the black bombazine dress. Though thin and pale, there was an indescribable expression Of peace on the sweet face ; a calm, ?lear light of contentment in the mild, brown eyes. The holy serenity of the countenance was rendered more apparent by the restless, stormy visage, of her companion. Every passing cloud of perplexed thought cast its shadow over Beulah's face, and on this occasion she looked more than usually grave. "Ah! how merry I used to be on Christmas eve. Indeed, I can remember having been half wild with excitement. Yet now it all seems like a flitting dream." Clara spoke musingly, yet without sadness. " Time has laid his wonder-working touch upon you," answered Beulah. " How is it, Beulah, that you never speak of your childhood?" " Because it was " All dark and barren as a rainy sea,' " " But you never talk about your parent ; ?" " I love my father's memory. Ah! it is enshrined in my heart's holiest sanctuary. He was a noble, loving man, and my affec- tion for him bordered on idolatry." " And your mother ?" " I knew little of her. She died before I was old enough to remember much about her." Her face was full of bitter recol- lections; her eyes seemed wandering through some storehouse of sorrows. Clara feared her friend, much as she loved her, and avace the partial discovery of her skepticism, she had rather shunned her society. Now she watched the heavy brow, and deep, piercing eyes, uneasily, and gently withdrawing her arm, Bhe glided out of the room. The tide of life still swelled through the streets, and forcibly casting the load of painful reraiuscencei from her, Beulah kept, her eyes on the merry faces, and listened 202 BEULAH. to the gay, careless prattle of the excited children. The statelj rustle of brocaded silk caused her to look up, and Cornelia Graham greeted her with: " T have come to take you home with me for the holidays.* " I can't go." " Why not ? You cling to this dark garret of yours as if it possessed all the charms of Vaucluse." "Diogenes loved his tub, you know," said Beulah, quietly. " An analogous case, truly. But jesting aside, you must come, Beulah. Eugene expects you; so do my parents; and, above all, I want you. Come." Cornelia laid her hand on the girl's shoulder as she spoke. "You have been ill again," said Beulah, examining the sallow face. " Not III, but I shall be soon, I know. One of my old attacks is coming on; I feel it; and Beulah, to be honest, which I can with you (without casting pearls before swine), that very cir- cumstance makes me want you. I dined out to-day, and have just left the fashionable crowd to come and ask you to spend the holidays with me. The house will be gay. Antoinette intends to have a set of tableaux, but it is probable I shall be confined to my room. Will you give your time to a cross invalid, for such I certainly am ? I would be stretched upon St. Lawrence's gridiron before I could be brought to say as much to anybody else. I am not accustomed to ask favors, Beulah; it has been iny habit to grant them. Nevertheless, I want you, and am not too proud to come after you. Will you come ?" " Yes, if I may remain with you, altogether." " Thank you. Come, get ready, quick 1 Give me a fan." Sinking into a chair, she wiped away the cold drops which had collected about her brow. " Cornelia, I have only one day's "leisure. School begins agaic Hay- after-to-morrow." " Well, well ; one day, then. Be quick." In a few moments, Beulah was ready ; and a'ter informing B E U L A FT . 2o3 Clai-a and Mrs. Hoyt cf her intended absence, the two entered Mr. Graham's elegant carriage. The gas was now lignted, and the spirited horses dashed along, through streets brilliantly illunii- aated and thronged with happy people. " What a Babel 1 About equal to Constantinople, and iti i g-orchestra," muttered Cornelia, as the driver paused to nllovi or.e of the military companies to pass. The martial music, together with the hubbub which otherwise prevailed, alarmed the horses, and they plunged violently. The driver endeavored to back out into an alley, but in the attempt, the carriage waa whirled round, the coachman jerked over the dashboard into the gutter, and the frightened animals dashed at furious speed down the main street. Luckily the top was thrown back, making th row,' said the preacher ; but I cannot even boast of to-day, or ibis hour. The world knows nothing of this ; it has been carefully concealed by my parents ; but I know it ! and, Beulah, I feel as did that miserable, doomed prisoner of Poe's ' Pit and Pendnlurn/ who saw the pendulum, slowly but surely, sweeping iown upon him. My life has been a great unfulfilled promise. With what are generally considered elements of happiness in my oome, I have always been solitary aud unsatisfied. Conscious of my feeble tenure on life, I early set out to anchor myself in a ;alm faith, which would secure me a happy lot in eternity. My nature was strongly religious, and I longed to find hope and consolation in some of our churches. My parents always had a pew in the fashionable church in this city. You need not smile I speak advisedly when I say ' fashionable ' church; for assuredly, ' fashion has crept into religion also, now-a-days. From my child- I hood, I was regularly dressed, and taken to church ; but I soon began to question the sincerity of the pastor, and the consistency of the members. Sunday after Sunday, I saw them in their pews, and week after week, listened to their gossiping, slan- derous chit-chat. Prominent members busied themselves about charitable associations, and headed subscription lists, and all the while set examples of frivolity, heartlessness, and what is scftly termed ' fashionable excesses,' which shocked my ideas of Christ- .an propriety, and disgusted me with the mockery their live! presented. I watched the minister in his social relations, and instead of reverencing him as a meek and holy man of God, * ec lid not forbear looking with utter contempt upon his pompom^ 291 BEULAH. self-sufficient demeanor toward the mass of his fleck ; while It the most opulent aud influential members lie bowed down, with 3 servile, fawning sycophancy, absolutely disgusting. I attended various churches, listening to sermons, and watching the conduct of the prominent professing Christians of each. Many ^ave most liberally to so-called religious causes and institutions, and made amends by heavily draining the purses of widows and orphans. Some affected an ascetical simplicity of dress, aud yet hugged their purses where their Bibles should have been. It was all Mammon worship ; some grossly palpable, some adroiily cloaked under solemn faces aud severe observance of the out- ward ceremonials. The clergy, as a class, I found strangely unlike what I had expected : instead of earnest zeal for the promotion of Christianity, I saw that the majority were bent only on the aggrandizement of their particular denomination. Verily, I thought in my heart, 'Is all this bickering the result of their religion ? How these churches do hate each other 1 J According to each, salvation could only be found in their special tenets within the pale of their peculiar organization ; and yet, all professed to draw their doctrines from the same book : and, Beulah, the end of my search was, that I scorned all creeds and churches, aud began to find a faith outside of a revelation which gave rise to so much narrow-minded bigotry so much pharisaism and delusion. Those who call themselves ministers of the Christian religion should look well to their commissions, aud beware how they go out into the world, unless the seal of Jesus be indeed upon their brows. They offer themselves as the Pharos of the people, but, ah ! they sometimes wreck immorta? souls by their unpardonable inconsistencies. For the last two years, I have been groping my way after some system upos which 1 could rest the little time I have to live. Ob s I am heart-sick and despairing I" " What ? already ! Take courage, Cornelia ; there is tratli somewhere," answered Beulah, with kindling eyes " Whe*r , where ? Ah 1 that echo mocks you, turn which way SEULAII. 285 JTOU will. 1 sit like Raphael-Abeu-Ezra at the ' Bottom of the Abyss," but unlike him, I am no Democritus to jest over my position. I am too miserable to laugh, and my grim Emersoniais fatalism gives roe precious little comfort, though it is about tho only thing that I do firmly believe in."' She stooped to pick up her necklace, shook it in the glow of ibe fire until a shower of rainbow hues flashed out, and holding it up, asked contemptuously : " What do you suppose this piece of extravagance cost ?" " I have no idea." " Why, fifteen hundred dollars that is all ! Oh, what is the blaze of diamonds to a soul like mine, shrouded in despair- ing darkness, and hovering upon the very confines of eternity, if there be any 1" She threw the costly gift on the table, and wearily closed her eyes. " You have become discouraged too soon, Cornelia. Your Tery anxiety to discover truth evinces its existence, for Nature tlways supplies the wants she creates 1" " You will tell me that this truth is to be found down in the depths of my own soul ; for no more than logic, has it ever been discovered 'parcelled and labelled.' But how do I know that all truth is not merely subjective ? Ages ago, skepticism intrenched itself in an impregnable fortress : ' There is no criterion of truth.' How do I know that my 'true,' ' good,' and ' beautiful ' are absolutely so ? My reason is no infallible plummet to sound the sea of phenomena and touch noumcna. I tell you, Beulah. it is all " A hasty rap at the door cut short this discussion, and as Iw gene entered, the cloud on Cornelia's brow instantly lifted. His gay Christmas greeting, and sunny, handsome face, diverted her mird, and as her hand rested on his arm, her countenance evinced! a degree of intense love, such as Beulah had supposed her iuca- l pable of feeling. " It is very selfish, sister mine, to keep Beulah so constantly you, when we all want to see something of her." 286 BECLAH. " Was I ever anything else but selfish ?" "But I thought you prided yourself on requiiing no jociety f* " So I do, as regards society in general 5 but Beulah is an ex- ception." " You intend to come down to-night, do you not ?" " Not if I can avoid it. Eugene, take Beulah into the parlor, and ask Antoinette to sing. Afterward make Beulah sing, alsOj and be sure to leave all the doors open, so that I can hear. Mind, you must not detain her long." Beulah would have demurred, but at this moment she saw Dr. Hartwell's buggy approaching the house. Her heart seemed to spring to her lips, and feeling that after their last unsatisfactory interview, she was in no mood to meet him, she quickly descended the steps, so blinded by haste that she failed to perceive tho hand Eugene extended to assist her. The door-bell uttered a Aarp peal as they reached the hail, and she had just time fo escape into the parlor, when the doctor was ushered in. " What is the matter ?" asked Eugene, observing the nervous flutter of her lips. " Ask Miss Dupres to sing, will you ?" He looked at her curiously an instant, then turned away and persuaded the little beauty to sing. She took her seat, and ran her jewelled fingers over the pearl keys with an air which very clearly denoted her opinion of her musical proficiency. " Well, sir, what will you have ?" " That favorite morceau from ' Linda. 1 " 11 You have never heard it, I suppose," said she, glanchg ovef her shoulder at the young teacher. " Yes, 1 have heard it," answered Beulah, who could with dif ficulty repress a smile. Antoinette half shrugged her shoulders, as if she thought the statement questionable, and began the song. Beulah listened attentively ; she was conscious of feeling more than ordinary Interest in this performance, and almost held her breath as th BEULAH. 287 clear, silvery voice carol ed through the most intricate passages Antoinette had been thoroughly trained, and certainly her voice was remarkably sweet and flexible ; but as she concluded the piece, and fixed her eyes complacently on Beulah, the latter lifted W hsad, in proud consciousness of superiority. " Sing me something else," said she. Antoinette bit her lips, and answered ungraciously : *' No; I shall have to sing to-night, and can't wear myself OLi.' "Now, Beulah, I shall hear you. I have sought an opportu- nity ever since I returned." Eugene spoke rather carelessly "Do you really wish to hear me, Eugene?" " Of course I do," said he, with some surprise. "And so do I," added Mrs. Graham, leaning against the piano, and exchanging glances with Antoinette. Beultih looked up, and asked quietly : " Eugene, shall I sing you a ballad ? One of those simple old tunes we used to love so well in days gone by." "No, no. Something operatic," cried Antoinette, without giving him an opportunity to reply. " Well, then, Miss Dupres, select something." " Can't you favor us with ' Casta-Diva ?' " returned the beauty, \ with something very like a sneer. Beulah's eyes gave a momentary flash, but by a powerful effort she curbed her anger, and commenced the song. It was amusing to mark the expression of utter astonishment which gradually overspread Antoinette's face, as the magnificent roice of her despised rival swelled in waves of entrancing melody through the lofty rooms. Eugene looked quite as much amazed. Beulah felt her triumph, and heartily enjoyed it. There was a sparkle in her eye, and a proud smile on her lip, which she did cot attempt to conceal. As she rose from the piano, Eugene caught her hand, and said eagerly : " I never dreamed of your possessing such a voice. It is inpeib perfectly magnificent 1 Why did not you tell roe of U before ?" 288 BEULAH. " You heard it long ago, in the olden time," said she, witbr drawing her hand and looking steadily at him. " Ah, but it has improved incredibly. You were all untutored theu." " It is the culture, then, not the voice itself? Eh, Eugene ?" " It is both. Who taught you ?" " I had several teachers, but owe what excellence I may pos- *e5 to my guardian. He aided me more than all the instruction- books that ever were compiled." " You must come and practise with the musical people who meet here very frequently," said Mrs. Graham. " Thank you, madam ; I have other engagements which wi)L prevent my doing so." " Nonsense, Beulah, we have claims on you. I certainly have," answered Eugene. " Have you ? I was not aware of the fact." There was a patronizing manner iu all this which she felt no disposition to submit to. " Most assuredly I have, Beulah, and mean to maintain them." She perfectly understood the haughty expression of his coun- tenance, and, moving toward the door, replied coldly: " Another time, Eugene, we will discuss them." ' Where are you going ?" inquired Mrs. Graham, rather stiffly. "To Cornelia. The doctor came down a few minutes since," She did not pause to hear what followed, but ran up the steps, longing to get out of a house where she plainly perceived her presence was by no means desired. Cornelia sat with her head drooped on her thiu hand, and without looking up, said, more gently than was her custom : " Why did you hurry back so soon ?" "Because the parlor was not particularly attractive." There came the first good-humored laugh which Beulah had B7er heard from Cornelia's lips, as the latter replied : *' What friends you and old growling Diogenes would har been. Pray, how did my cousin receive your performance I" BEULAH. 299 n Very much as if she wished me amid the ruins of Persepolis, where I certainly shall be before I inflict anything more upon her. Cornelia, do not ask or expect me to come here again, for I will not; of course, it is quite as palpable to you as to me that 1 am no favorite with your parents, and something still less with your ccosia. Consequently, you need not expect to see me here again. "Do not say so, Beulah; you must, you shall come, and I wil. ee that no one dares interfere with my wishes. As for Antoi- nette, she is simply a vain idiot; you might just as well be told the truth, for doubtless you will see it for yourself; she is my mother's niece, an only child, and possessed of considerable wealth. I suppose it is rather natural that my parents should fondle the idea of her being Eugene's wife. They do not see now utterly unsuited they are. Eugene will, of course, inherit the fortune which I once imagined I should have the pleasure of squandering. My father and mother dread lest Eugene should return to his ' boyish fancy' (as you are pleased to term it), and look on you with jealous eyes. Oh! Mammon is the God of this generation. But, Beulah, you must not allow all this miserable manceuvering to keep you from me. If you do, I will very soon succeed in making this home of mine very unpleasant for Antoi- nette Dupres. When I am dead, she can wheedle my family as successfully as they choose to permit; but while I do live, she shall forbear. Poor, contemptible human nature! verily, I rejoice sometimes when I remember that I shall not be burdened with any of it long." An angry spot burned on each pallid cheek, and the beautiful mouth curled scornfully. "Do not excite yourself so unnecessarily, Cornelia. What foa may or may not think of your relatives is no concern of mine. You have a carriage always at your command, and when you desire to see a real friend, you can visit me. Let this suffice for this subject. Suppose we have a game of chess or back- gammon ? What do you say ?" She wheeled a light table toward the hearth, but the invalid motioned it away, and answered moodilv : 29t) B K U L A H . " I am in no humor for games. Sit down aua tell intf your leaving Dr. Hartwell's protection." " I have nothing to tell." " He is a singular being ?" Receiving no answer, she added impatiently : " Don't you think so ?" 41 1 do, in the sense of great superiority." " The world is not so flattering in its estimate." " No, for slander loves a lofty mark." " Beulah Benton, do you mean that fci me ?" " Not unless you feel that it applies to you particularly.* "If he is so faultless and unequalled, pray, why did not JJ1 remain in his house ?" " I am not in the habit of accounting to any one for my motives or my actions." She lifted her slender form haughtily. " In which case, the public has a habit of supplying both." " Then accept its fabrications." " You need not be so fierce. I like Dr. Hartwell quite as well BS you do, I dare say; but probably I know more of his history." " It is all immaterial to me. Drop the subject, if you please, and let me read to you. I believe I came here for quiet com- panionship, not recrimination and cross-questioning." " Beulah, the world says you are to marry your guardian. 1 do not ask from impertinent curiosity, but sincere friendship is it true ?" " About as true as your notion of my marriage with Eugene. \o; scarcely so plausible." " Our families were connected, you know." " No, I neither know, i?or wish to know. He never alladed ^o his wife, or his history, and I have just UDW no desire to hear anything about the matter. He is the best friend I ever had; I want to honor and reverence him always; and, of course, the world's version of his domestic affairs does him injustice. So be good enough to say no more about him." " Yerv well. On hearing your roice from the parlor, he left BEULAH. 293 a small parcel, which he requested me to give you. He laid il on the table, I believe; yes, there it is. Now read 'Egmont' to me, if you please." Cornelia crossed the room, threw herself on a conch, and set- tled her pillow comfortably. Beulah took the parcel, which waa arefully sealed, and wondered what it contained. It was heavy, and felt hard. They had parted in anger; what could it possi- bly be ? Cornelia's black eyes were on her countenance. She put the package in her pocket, seated herself by the couch, and commenced " Egmont." It was with a feeling of indescribable relief that the orphan avroke, at dawn the following morning, and dressed by the grey twilight. She had fallen asleep the night before amid the hum of voices, of laughter, and of dancing feet. Sounds of gaiety, from the merry party below, had found their way to the cham ber of the heiress, and when Beulah left her at midnight, she was still wakeful and restless. The young teacher could not wait for the late breakfast of the luxurious Grahams, and jus as the first level ray of sunshine flashed up from the east, she tied on her bonnet, and noiselessly entered Cornelia's room. The heavy curtains kept it close and dark, and on the hearih a taper burned with pale, sickly light. Cornelia slept soundly; but her breathing was heavy and irregular, and the face wore a scowl, as if some severe pain had distorted it. The ivory-like arms were thrown up over the head, and large drops glistened on the wan brow. Beulah stood beside the bed a few minutes; the apartment was furnished with almost oriental splendor; but how all this satin, and rosewood, and silver, and marble, mocked the restless, suffering sleeper ? Beulah felt tears of compassion weighing down her lashes, as she watched the haggard counte- nance of this petted child of fortune; but unwilling to rouse her, she silently stole down the steps. The hall was dark; the smell of gas almost stifling. Of course, the servants followed -the example of their owners, and as no one appeared, she unlocked the street door, and walked homeward with a sensation of plea 202 B E U L A H . Durable relief, which impressed itself very legibly r .n lier faco. The sky was cloudless; the early risen sun looked over the earth in dazzling radiance ; and the cold, pure, wintry air, made the I blood tingle in Beulah's veins. A great, unspeakable joy filled her soul ; the uplifted eyes beamed with gladness; her brave, bopeful spirit, looked into the future with unquestioning trust; and as the image of her unhappy friend flitted across her mind, I she exclaimed : " This world is full of beauty, like other worlds above , And if we did our duty, it might be full of lovo. ' She ran up to her room, threw open the blinds, .ooped baei the curtains, and drew that mysterious package from her pocket. She was very curious to see the contents, and broke the seal with trembling fingers. The outer wrappings fell off, and dis- closed an oblong, papier-mache case. It opened with a spring, mid revealed to her a beautiful watch and chain, bearing her name in delicate tracery. A folded slip of paper lay on the crimson velvet lining of the box, and recognizing the characters, she hastily read this brief sentence : " Wear it constantly, Beulah, to remind you that, in adversity, you sd bare " A GUARDIAN." Tears gushed unrestrained, as she looked at the beautiful gift, Not for an instant did she dream of accepting it, and she shrank shudderingly from widening the breach which already existed, by B refasal. Locking up the slip of paper in her workbox, she returned the watch to its case, and carefully retied the parcel. Long before, she had wrapped the purse in paper, and prevailed on Clara to give it to the doctor. He had received it without comment, but she could not return the watch in the same way, for Clara was now able to attend regularly to her school duties, and it was very uncertain when she would see him. Yet she felt comforted, for this gift assured her, that however eoKriy he chose B E U L A H . 293 to treat her when they met, hfc had not thrown her off entirely With all her independence, she could not bear the thought of hit utter alienation ; and the consciousness of his remaining interest *hrilled her heart with gladness. CHAPTER XXIII. ONS Saturday morning, some days subsequent to her visit to the Grahams, Beulah set off for the business part of the city. She was closely veiled, and carried under her shawl a thick roll of neatly written paper. A publishing house was the place of j her destination; and as she was ushered into a small back room, V to await the leisure of the gentleman she wished to see, she could not forbear smiling at the novelty of her position, and the auda- city of the attempt she was about to make. There she sat, in the editor's sanctum, trying to quiet the tumultuous beating of her heart. Presently, a tall, spare man, with thin, cadaverous visage, entered, bowed, took a chair, and eyed her with a " what-do-you- want" sort of expression. His grizzled hair was cut short, and stood up like bristles, and his keen ome eyes were by no means promising, in their cold glitter. Benlah threw off her veil, and aaid, with rather an unsteady voice : " You are the editor of the magazine published here, I be- lieve P He bowed again, leaned back in his chair, and crossed bit hands at the back of his head. " I came to offer you an article for the magazine." She threw flown the roll of paper on a chair. " Ah ! hem ! will you favor me with your name ?" " Beulah Benton, sir. One altogether unknown to fame.* He contracted his eyes, coughed, and said, constrainedly tf : B E U L A H . *' Are you a subscriber ? w " I aui. " What is the character of your manuscript ?" He took it of s he spoke, and glanced over the pages. '-' You can determine that from a perusal. If the sketch suitfl fou, I should like to become a regular contributor." A gleam of sunshine strayed over the countenance, and the editor answered, very benignly : " If the article meets with our approbation, we shall be very happy to afford you a medium of publication in our journal. Can we depend on your punctuality ?" " I think so. What are your terms ?" "Terms, madam? I supposed that your contribution was gratuitous," said he, very loftily. " Then you are most egregiously mistaken 1 What do you magine induces me to write ?" " Why, desire for fame, I suppose." " Fame is rather unsatisfactory fare. I am poor, sir, and irate to aid me in maintaining myself." " Are you dependent solely on your own exertions, madam ?'' " Yes." " I am sorry I cannot aid you ; but now-a-days, there are plenty of authors, who write merely as a pastime, and we have as many contributions as we can well look over." " I am to understand, then, that the magazine is suppoi ted altogether by gratuitous contributions ?" said Beulah, uuabie to repress a smile. " Why, you see, authorship has become a sort of luxury," was the hesitating reply. " I think the last nunber of your magazine contained, among Other articles in the 'editor's drawer,' an earnest appeal to southern authors to come to the rescue of southern periodicals ?" *' True, madam : southern intellect seems steeped in a lethargy, from which we are most faithfully endeavoring to arouse it." " The article to which I allude, also animadverted severely B E U L A H . 295 cpon the practice of southern authors patronizing northern pil> lishing establishments ?" " Most certainly, it treated the subject stringently." H> moved uneasily. " I believe the subscription is the same as that of the norther? periodicals ?" A very cold bow was the only answer. " I happen to know that northern magazines are not composed of gratuitous contributions ; and it is no mystery why southern authors are driven to northern publishers. Southern periodicals are mediums only for those of elegant leisure, who can afford tc write without remuneration. With the same subscription price, you cannot pay for your articles. It is no marvel that, under i>'ich circumstances, we have no southern literature. Unluckily. I belong to the numerous class who have to look away from home for remuneration. Sir, I will not trouble you with my ir.anuscript." Eising, she held out her hand for it ; but the keen eyes had fallen upon a paragraph which seemed to interest the editor, and knitting his brows, he said, reluctantly : " We have not been in the habit of paying for our articles, but I will look over this, and perhaps you can make it' worth our while to pay you. The fact is, madam, we have more trash sent us than we can find room for ; but if you can contribute anything of weight, why, it will make a difference of course. I did not recognize you at first, but I now remember that I heard your valedictory to the graduating class of the public schools. If we should conclude to pay you for regular contributions, we wish nothing said about it." Very well. If you like the manuscript, and decide to pay me, you can address me a note through the post-office. Should I write for the magazine, I particularly desire net to be known." She lowered her veil, and most politely he bowed her out. She was accustomed to spend a portion of each Saturrlay in prac- tising duets with Georgia Asbury, and thither she now directed w steps. Unluckily, the parlor was full of visitors, and with 296 B E U L A B . oat seeing any of the family, she walked back into the musk room. Here she felt perfectly at home, and closing the door, forgot everything but her music. Taking no heed of the laps* of time, she played piece after piece, until startled by the clear tones of the doctor's voice. She looked up, and saw him stand 1 ing in the door which opened into the library, taking off hii great-coat. " Why, Beulah, that room is as cold as a Texas ncrther What on earth are yon doing there without a fire ? Come in here, child, and warm your frozen digits. Where are those two harum-scarum specimens of mine ?" " I believe they are still entertaining company, sir. The parlor was full when I came, and they know nothing of my being here." She sat down by the bright fire, and held her stiff finger? toward the glowing coals. " YPS, confound their dear rattlepates ; that is about the sum-total of their cogitations." He drew up his chair, put his feet on the fender of the grate, and lighting his cigar, added : " Is my spouse also in the parlor ?" " I suppose so, sir." " Time was, Beulah, when Saturday was the great day of preparation for all housekeepers. Bless my soul ! My rnotht. would just about as soon have thought of anticipating the dis- covery of the open Polar Sea, by a trip thither, as going out to visit on Saturday. Why, from my boyhood, Saturday has been synonymous with scouring, window-washing, pastry-baking, stocking-darning, and numerous other venerable customs, which this age is rapidly dispensing with. My wife had a lingering reverence for the duties of the day, and tried to excuse herself, but I suppose those pretty wax dolls of mine have coaxed her Into ' receiving,' as they call it. Beulah, my wife is an execp tion, but the mass of married women, now-a-day, instead of being thorough housewives (as nature intended they should), are deli cate, do-nothing, know-nothing, fine ladies. They have nc duties. ' tempora, mores !' " He paused to relight hi BEULAH. 297 cigar, and just then Georgia came in, dressed very richly. 1I tossed the taper into the grate, and exclaimed, as she threw hoi arms round his neck and kissed him : " You pretty imp ; what is to pay now ? Here, Beulah has been sitting, nobody knows how long, in that frigid zone yoa ou came I was putting on my bonnet to go and see you." " Are you telling the truth ?" " Yes ; positively I am." " Well, I am glad you felt disposed to see me. After my ancle, you and Charon are all I cared anything about meeting here. Bless your dear, solemn, grey eyes ! how often I have wanted to see you." The impulsive girl threw her arms round Beulah's neck, and kissed her repeatedly. "Be quiet, and let me look at you. Oh, Pauline, how beauti- ful you have grown 1" cried Beulah, who could not forbear ex- pressing the admiration she felt. " Yes ; the artists in Florence raved considerably about my beauty. I can't tell you the number of times I sat for my por- trait. It is very pleasant to be pretty ; I enjoy it amazingly," aid she, with all the candor which had characterized her in hildhood ; and with a vigorous squeeze of Benlah's hand, she ontinued : " I was astonished when I came, and found that yon had left Uncle Guy, and were teaching little ragged, dirty children their A, B, Cs. What possessed you to do such a silly thing ?" " Duty, my dear Pacline." B E U L A H . 80i 1 Ob, for heaven's sake, don't begin about duty. Ernest n - She paused, a rich glow swept over her face, and shaking bacS her curls, she added : " You must quit all this. _ say you must 1" " I see you are quite as reckless and scatter-brained as ever," itswered Beulah, smiling at her authoritative tone. " No, I positively am not the fool Uncle Guy used to think me I have more sense than people give me credit for, though I dare say I shall find you very skeptical on the subject. Beulah, 1 know very well why you took it into your wise head to be a teacher. You were unwilling to usurp what you considered my place in Uncle Guy's home and heart. You need not straighten yourself in that ungraceful way. I know perfectly well it is tin truth ; but I am no poor, suffering, needy innocent, that you should look after. I am well provided for, and don't intend tc take one cent of Uncle Guy's money, so you might just as well have the benefit of it. I know, too, that you and ma did not exactly adore each other. I understand all about that old skir- mishing. But things have changed very much, Beulah ; so you must quit this horrid nonsense about working, and being inde- pendent." " How you do rattle on, about things you don't comprehend," laughed Beulah. " Come, don't set me down for a simpleton 1 I tell you I am In earnest ! You must come back to Uncle Guy 1" " Pauline, it is worse than useless to talk of this matter. I de'.'ided long ago as to what I ought to do, and certainly shall not change my opinion now. Tell me what you saw in Europe." " "Why, has not Eugene told you all you wish to know ? AprDpos ! I saw him at a party last night, playing the devoted to that little beauty, Netta Dupres. We were all in Paris at the same time. I don't fancy her ; she is too insufferably vain ind affected. It is my opinion that she is flirting with Eugene^ which must be qiite agreeable to you. Oh, I tell you, Beulab I could easily put her mind, heart and soul, in my thimble I" I J6 B E U L A H . " I did not ask yoar estimate of Miss Dupres. I waut to knon something of your European t:mr. I see Eugene very rarely." " Oh ! of course we went tD see all the sights, and very stupid it was. Mr. Lockhart scolded continually about my want of taste and appreciation, because I did not utter all the interject tions of delight and astonishment over old, tumble-down ruins, nd genuine ' master-pieces ' of art, as he called them. Upon in, word, I have been tired almost to death, when he and ma descanted by the hour, on the ' inimitable, and transcendent, and entrancing' beauties and glories of old pictures, that were actually so black with age, that they looked like daubs of tar, and I could not tell whether the figures were men or women, archan- gels or cow-drivers. Some things I did enjoy ; such as the Alps, and the Mediterranean, and St. Peter's, and Westminster Abbey, and some of the German cathedrals. But as to keeping ruy finger on the guide-book, and committing all the ecstasy to memory, to spout out just at the exact moment, when I saw nothing to deserve it, why that is all fudge. I tell you there is nothing in all Europe equal to our Niagara I I was heartily glad to come home, though I enjoyed some things amazingly. 7 ' " How is Mr. Lockhart's health ?" " Very poor, I am sorry to say. He looks so thin and pale, 1 often tell him he would make quite as good a pictured saint as any we saw abroad." " How long will you remain here ?" " Till Uncle Guy thinks Mr. Lockhart is well enough to go to bis plantation, I suppose." " What makes you so restless, Pauline ? Why don't you sit ftill ?" asked Beulah, observing that her visitor twisted about, as U uncomfortable. " Because I want to tell you something, and really do not know how to begin," said she, laughing and blushing. " I cannot imagine what should disconcert you, Pauline." 11 Thank you. Truly, that is a flattering tribute to my aensi bility. Beulah, can't ycu guess what I have to tell you ?" B E D L A H . 301 " Certaijuy uot. But why should you hesitate to disclose it ?* " Simply because your tremendous grey eyes have such aa ftwlish way of looking people out of countenance. Now don't Jook quite througa me, and I will pluck up my courage, and con- fess. Beulah I am going to be married soon." She hid he? srimsoned cheeks behind her hands. " Married ? impossible 1" cried Beulah, " But I tell you I am 1 Here is my engagement ring. Now, the most astonishing part of the whole affair is, that my intended sovereign is a minister 1 A preacher, as solemn as Job 1" You a minister's wife, Pauline ? Oh, child, you are jesting 1" | haid Beulah, with an incredulous smile. " No 1 absurd as it may seem, it is nevertheless true. I am to be married in March. Ma says I am a fool ; Mr. Lockhart encourages and supports me ; and Uncle Guy laughs heartily every time the affair is alluded to. At first, before we went to Europe, there was violent opposition from my mother, but she found I was in earnest, and now it is all settled for March. Uncle Guy knows Ernest Mortimor, and esteems him very highly, but thinks that I am the last woman in the United States who ought to be a minister's wife. I believe he told Ernest as much, but of course he did not believe him." " Where does Mr. Mortimor reside ?" " In Georgia ; has charge of a church there. He had a sister at the same school I attended in New York ; and during a visit to her, he says he met his evil-angel in me. He is about five' years my senior ; but he is here now, and you will have an oppor- tunity of forming your own opinion of him." How long have you. known him ?" " About two years. I am rather afraid of him, to tell yea 1 the honest truth. He is so grave, and has such rigid notions, ' that I wonder very much what ever induced his holiness to fancy such a heedless piece of womanhood, as he is obliged tc know I am; for I never put on any humility or sanctity. What do you think, Beulah ? Uncle Guy coolly told me, this morning; 308 BEDLA.H. in Ernest's presence, that he was only charmed by my prtttj face, and that if I did not learn some common sense, he would very soon repent his choice. Oh, the doleful warnings I hava i been favored with ! But you shall all see that I am worthy cf ' Mr. Mortimer's love " Her beautiful face was "adiant with hope, yet in the rioiet eyes, there lurked unshed tears. " I am very glad that you are so happy, Pauline ; and if yon will, I am very sure you can make yourself all that Mr. Morti- mor could desire." " I am resolved I will. Yesterday he talked to me very seriously about the duties which he said would devolve on me. I tried to laugh him out of his sober mood, but he would talk about 'pastoral relations,' and what would be expected of a pastor's wife, until I was ready to cry with vexation. Ernest is not dependent, on his salary; his father is considered wealthy, I believe, which fact reconciles ma in some degree. To-morrow he will preach in Dr. Hew's church, and you must go to hear \ him. 1 have never yet heard him preach, and am rather anxioub to kuow what sort of sermons I am to listen to for the remain- < der of my life." She looked at her watch, and rose. " I shall certainly go to hear him," answered Beulah. " Of course you will, and after service you must go houie an<1 spend the day with me. Ma begs that you will not refuse tu dine with her ; and as you are engaged all the week, Uncle Guy expects you also ; that is, he told me to insist on your coming, but thought you would probably decline. Will you come ? De lay yes." " I don't know yet I will see you at church * Thus they partnL 809 CHAITEK XXIV Ox Sabbath morning, Beulah sat beside the window, with her &lded hands resting on her lap. The day was cloudless and serene ; the sky of that intense melting blue which characterizes car cliine. From every quarter of the city brazen muezzins called worshippers to the temple, and bands of neatly clad, .happy children thronged the streets, on their way to Sabbath school. Save these, and the pealing bells, a hush pervaded all things, as though nature were indeed " at her prayers." Blessed be the hallowed influences which every sunny Sabbath morn exerts 1 Blessed be the holy tones, which at least once a week call every erring child back to its Infinite Father I For some time Beulah had absented herself from church, for she found that instead of profiting by sermons, she came home to criticise and question. But early associations are strangely tenacious,'"* and as she watched the children trooping to the house of God, there rushed to her mind memories of other years, when the orphan bands from the Asylum regularly took their places in the Sabbath school. The hymns she sang then rang again in^ her ears ; long-forgotten passages of Scripture, repeated then, seemed learned but yesterday. How often had the venerable superintendent knelt and invoked special guidance for the afflicted band from the God of orphans ? Now she felt doubly orphaned. In her intellectual pride, she frequently asserted that / she was " the star of her own destiny ;" but this morning I childish memories prattled of the Star of Bethlehem, before srhich she once bent the knee of adoration. Had it set forever., arnid clouds of superstition, sin and infidelity ? Glittering spire? pointed to the bending heavens, and answered : " It burns ou forever, ' brighter and brighter unto the perfect day V" WitJr 810 R E U L A H . a dull weight cm her heart, she took down her Bilxc and opened it indifferently at he book-mark. It proved the thirty-eighth chapter of Job, and she read on and on, until the bells warned her it was the hour of morning service. She walked to church, not humbled and prepared to receive the holy teachings of revela tion, but with a defiant feeling in her heart, which she did not attempt or care to analyze. She was not accustomed to attend Dr. Hew's church, but the sexton conducted her to a pew, and us she seated herself, the solemn notes of the organ swelled through the vaulted aisles. The choir sang a magnificent anthern from Haydn's " Creation,*' and then only the deep, thun- dering peal of the organ fell on the dim, cool air. Beulah could bear no more ; as she lowered her veil, bitter tears gushed over aer troubled face. Just then, she longed to fall on her kucca before the altar and renew the vows of her childhood ; but this impulse very soon died away, and while the pews on every side rapidly filled, she watched impatiently for the appearance of the minister. Immediately in front of her sat Mr. and Mrs. Graham and Antoinette Dupres. Beulah was pondering the absence of \ Cornelia and Eugene, when a full, manly voice fell on her ear, ' and looking up, she saw Mr. Mortimor standing in the pulpit. He looked older than Pauline's description had prepared her to expect, and the first impression was one of disappointment. But the longer she watched the grave, quiet face, the more attrac- tive it became. -, Certainly he was a handsome man, and, judging from the contour of head and features, an intellectual one. There was an absolute repose in the countenance, which might have passed with casual observers for inertia, indifference; but I to' the practised physiognomist, it expressed the perfect peace of a mind and heart, completely harmonious. The voice va remarkably clear and well modulated. His text was selected from the first and last chapters of Ecclesiastes, and consisted of these verses : " For in much wisdom is much grief ; and he ttat increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow." BKULAH. 3X1 " And further, by these, my son, be admonished ; of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weatiness ol the flesh. Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter Fear God, and keep his commandments, for this is the whola duty of man." To the discourse which followed, Beulah listened with taa deepest interest. She followed the speaker over the desert ;1 ancient oriental systems, which he rapidly analyzed, and held up as empty shells; lifting the veil of soufism, he glanced at the mystical creed of Algazzali; and in an epitomized account of the Grecian schools of philosophy, depicted the wild vagaries into which many had wandered, and the unsatisfactory results to which all had attained. Not content with these instances of the insufficiency and mocking nature of human wisdom and learning, he adverted to the destructive tendency of the Helvetian and D'Holbach system, and after a brief discussion of their ruinous tenets, dilated, with some erudition, upon the conflicting and dangerous theories propounded by Germany. Then came the contemplation of Christianity, from its rise among the fishermen of Galilee to its present summit of power. For eighteen hun- dred years it had been assaulted by infidelity, yet each century saw it advancing a conquering colossus. Throughout the ser- , rnon, the idea was maintained that human reason was utterly inadequate to discover to man his destiny, that human learning j was a great cheat, and that only from the pages "of Iloly Writ could genuine wisdom be acquired. Men were to be as little children in order to be taught the truths of immortality. Cer- tainly, the reasoning was clear and forcible, the philosophic allusions seemed very apropos, and the language was eiegant and impassioned. The closing hymn was sung ; the ' organ bushed its worshipping tones; the benediction was pronounced; the congregation dispersed. As Beulah descended the steps, she found Pauline and Mra Lockhart waiting at the carriage for her. The latter greeted her with quite a shcMr of cordiality j but the orphan shrank batk 812 BEULAH. from the offered kiss, and merely touched the extended hand She had not forgotten the taunts and unkindness of other daysj and though not vindictive, she could not feign oblivion of the past, nor assume a friendly manner foreign to her. She took "ler seat in ihe carnage, and found it rather difficult to with- arnw her fascinated eyes from Pauline's lovely face. She knew What, was expected of her, however; and said, as they drovt rapidly homeward: "Mr. Mortimer seems to be a man of more than ordinary erudition." " Did you like his sermon? Do you like him?" asked Pauline, eagerly. " I like him very much, indeed; bat do not like his sermon ai all," answered Beuiah, bluntly. " 1 am sure everybody seemed to be delighted with it," said Mrs. Lockhart. "Doubtless the majority of his congregation were; and I was ery much interested, though 1 do not accept his views. His Delivery is remarkably impressive, and his voice is better adapted to the pulpit than any I have ever listened to." She strove to say everything favorable which, in candor, she could. " Still you did not like his sermon ?" said Pauline, gravely. " I cannot accept his conclusions." " I liked the discourse particularly, Pauline. I wish Percy could have heard it," said Mrs. Lockhart. The daughter took no notice whatever of this considerate speech, and sat quite still, looking more serious than Beuiah had ever seen her. Conversation flagged, despite the young teacher's efforts, and she was heartily glad when the carriage entered the avenue. Her heart swelled as she caught sight of the noble old cedars, whose venerable heads seemed to bow ic welcome, while the drooping branches held out their arms, as if to embrace her. Each tree was familiar; 3veu the bright coral yupon clusters were like dear friends greeting her after a long absence. She had never realized until now how much she loved BEULAH. 813 his home of her early childhood, and large drops dimmed hei eyes as she passed along the walks where she had so often wan- dcred. The carriage approached the house, and she saw her quondam guardian standing before the door. He was bare- beaded, and the sunshine fell like a halo upon his brown, clustering hair, threading it with gold. He held, in one hand, a small basket of grain, from which he fed a flock of hungry pigeoni. On every side they gathered about him blue and white, brown and mettled some fluttering down from the roof of the house; two or three, quite tarae, perched on his arm, eat- ing from the basket; and one, of uncommon beauty, sat on hia shoulder, cooing softly. By his side stood Charon, looking gravely on, as if he, wise soul, thought this familiarity signally impudent. It was a singularly quiet, peaceful scene, which indelibly daguerreotyped itself on Beulah's memory. As the carriage whirled round the circle, and drew up at the door, the Btartled flock wheeled off; and brushing the grain from his nands, Dr. Hartwell advanced to assist his sister. Pauline sprang tnit first, exclaiming: " You abominable heathen 1 Why didn't you comu to church ? Even Dr. Asbury was out." " Guy, you missed an admirable sermon," chimed in Mrs. Lockhart. He was disengaging the fringe of Pauline's sh, wl, which caught the button of his coat, and looking up as his sister spoke, his eyes met Beulah's anxious gaze. She had wondered very much how he would receive her. His countenance expressed neither surprise nor pleasure ; he merely held out hia hand to Assist her, saying, in his usnal grave manner : " I am glad to see you, Benlnli." She looked up in his face for some trace of the old kindness, But the rare, fascinating smile and protective tenderness had utterly vanished. He returned her look with a calmly indifferent glance, which pained her mor3 than any amount of sternness wuld have done. She snatched her hand fr^in his, and, missing 814 BECLAn, the carriage-step, would have fallen, but he cautrht and placed her safely on the ground, saying coolly : " Take care ; you are awkward." She followed Pauline up the steps, wishing herself at home in her little room. But her companion's gay chat diverted her miud, and she only remembered how very beautiful was the fa^e she looked on. They stood together before a mirror, smoothing their hair and Beulah could not avoid contrasting the images reflected. One was prematurely grave and thoughtful in its expressionthe other, radiant with happy hopes. Pauline surmised what was passing in her friend's mind, and said merrily : " For shame, Beulah ! to envy me my poor estate of good looks 1 Why, I am all nose and eyes, curls, red lips and cheeks; but you have an additional amount of brains to balance my | gifts. Once I heard Uncle Guy say that you hud uiore intellect 1 than all the other women and children in the town 1 Come, Mr Lockhart wants to see you very much." She ran down the steps as heedlessly as in her childhood, and Beulah followed her more leisurely. In the study they found the remainder of the party ; Mr. Lockhart was wrapt in a heavy dressing-gown, and reclined on the sofa. He welcomed Beulah very warmly, keeping her hand in his, and making her sit down near him. He was emaciated, and a hacking cough prevented his taking any active part in the conversation. One glance at his sad face sufficed to show her that his days on earth were numbered, and the expression with which he regarded his wifj told all the painful tale of an unhappy marriage. She was dis- cussing the sermon, and declaring herself highly gratified at the impression which Mr. Mortiraor had evidently made on his large and fashionable congregation. Dr. Hartwell stood on the hearth, listening in silence to his sister's remarks. The Atlantic mighv have rolled between them, for any interest lie evinced in tha subject. Pauline was restless and excited ; finally she crossed tie room, stood close to her uucle, and carelessly fingering hia BEULAE. 315 wetcl JiaiL, said earnestly : " Uncle Guy, what did Ernest mean, this morning, by a ' Fourieristic-phalaux ?' " " A land where learned men are captivated by blue eyes and rosy lips," answered the doctor, looking down into her sparkling face. As they stood together, Beulah remarked how very modi Pauline resembled him. True, he was pale, and she was a veiy Hebe, but the dazzling transparency of the complexion was tho same ; the silky nut-brown hair the same, and the classical chisel- ling of mouth and nose identical. Her eyes were " deeply, darkly," matchlessly blue, and his were hazel ; her features wero quivering with youthful joyousness and enthusiasm, his might have been carved in ivory, they seemed so inflexible, still they were alike. Pauline did not exactly relish the tone of his reply, and said hastily : ' Uncle Guy, I wish you would not treat me as if I were an idiot ; or what is not much better, a two-year old child ! How am I ever to learn any sense ?" " Indeed, I have no idea," said he, passing his soft hand over her glossy curls. " You are very provoking 1 Do you want Ernest to think me a fool r " Have you waked to a consciousness of that danger ?" "Yes, and I want you to teach me something. Come, tell me what that thing is I asked you about." "Tell you what?" ' Why, what a a ' Fourieristic-phalanx ' is ?" said she, earn- estly. Beulah could not avoid smiling, and wondered how he man ged to look so very serious, as he replied : " I know very little about the tactics of Fourieristic-phalanxef, but believe a phalange is a community or association of about eighteen hundred persons, who were supposed or intended to practise the Fourieristic doctrines. In fine, a phalange is a son of Freiijh Utopia." 816 . BED L AH. " And where is thai sir ?" asked Pauline, innocently without '.aking ner eyes from his face. " Utopia is situated in No-country, and its chief city is on the hanks of the river Waterless." "Oli, Uncle Guy I how can you quiz me so unmercifully, when \ ask you to explain things to me ?" " Why, Pauline, I am answering your questions correctly. Sir Thomas More professed to describe Utopia, which means No place, and mentions a river Waterless. Don't look so despe- rately lofty. 1 will show you the book, if you are so incorrigibly stupid." He passed his arm round her, as he spoke, and kept her close beside him. " Mr. Lockhart, is he telling the truth ?" cried she, incredu- lously. " Certainly he is," answered her step-father, smiling. " Oh, I don't believe either of you ! You two think that I am simple enough to believe any absurdity you choose to tell me. Beulah, what is Utopia ?" " Just what your uncle told you. More used Greek words which signified nothing, in order to veil the satire." " Oh, a satire I Now, what is the reason you could not say it was a satire, you wiseacre ?" " Because 1 gave you credit for some penetration, and at least common sense." " Both of which I have proved myself devoid of, I suppose ? Thank you." She threw her arms round his neck, kissed hi hi once or twice, and laughingly added : " Come, now, Uncle Guy, tell me what these ' phalanxes,' as you call them, have to do Tilth Ernest's text ?" " 1 really cannot inform you. There is the dinner-bell." ('nclasping her arms, he led the way to tht diniug-rooin. Later in the afternoon, Mr. Lockhart retired to his own room; his wife fell asleep on the sofa, and Beulah and Pauline sat at the parlor window, discussing the various occurrences of their long separation. Pauline talked of her future how bright H BEULAH. 31 3 was j how very much she and Ernest I >ved each other, and how busy she would be when she had a home of her own. She sup posed she would be obliged to give up dancing ; she had aE indistinct idea that preachers' wives were not in the habit of indulging in any such amusements, and as for the theatre and opera, she rather doubted whether either were tc be found ic the inland town where she was to reside. Uncle Guy wished to furnish the parsonage, and, among other things, had ordered an elegant piano for her ; she intended to practise a great deal, because Ernest was so fond of music. Uncle Guy had a hateful h^bit of lecturing her about "domestic affairs," but she imagined the cook would understand her own business ; and if Mr. Morti "1 mor supposed she was going to play housemaid, why, she would very soon undeceive him. Beulah was much amused at the cLild-like simplicity with which she discussed her future, and began to think the whole affair rather ludicrous, when Pauline started, and exclaimed, as the blood dyed her cheeks : " There is Ernest coming up the walk 1" He came in, and greeted her with gentle gravity. lie was a i dignified, fine-looking man, with polished manners, and perfect , self-possession. There was no trace of austerity in his counte- nance, and nothing in his conversation betokening a desire to impress strangers with Ms ministerial dignity. He was highly cultivated in all his tastes, agreeable, and, in fine, a Christian gentleman. Pauline seemed to consider his remarks oracular, and Beulah could not forbear contrasting her quietness in his presence, with the wild, frolicsome recklessness which character- ized her manner on other occasions. She wondered what singu- lar freak induced this staid, learned clergyman to select a companion so absolutely antagonistic in every element of charao tor. But a glance at Pauline's perfectly beautiful face explained the mystery. How could any one help loving her, she was sc ( radiant and so winning in bur unaffected artlessness. Beulab coajectured that they might, perhaps, entertain each other with out her assistance, and soon left them for the greenhouse, which 318 BEULAH. was connected with the parlors by a glass door. Followed o Charon, who had remained beside her all day, she walked slowly between the rows of plants, many of which were laden with flowers. Brilliant clusters of scarlet geranium, pale, fragrant heliotropes, and camellias of every hue surrounded her. Two or three canary birds, in richly ornate cages, chirped and twittered continually, and for a moment she forgot the changes that had taken place since the days when she sought this favorite green- house to study her text-books. Near her stood an antique china vase containing a rare creeper, now full of beautiful, star-shaped lilac flowers. Many months before, her guardian had given her this root, and she had planted it in this same vase ; now the long, graceful wreaths were looped carefully back, and tied to a slender stake. She bent over the fragrant blossoms, with a heart brimful of memories, and tears dropped thick and fast on the delicate petals. Charon gave a short bark of satisfaction, and raising her head, she saw Dr. Hartwell at the opposite end of the greenhouse. He was clipping the withered flowers from a luxuriant white japonica, the same that once furnished orna- ments for her hair. Evidently, he was rather surprised to see her there, but continued clipping the faded blossoms, and whis- tled to his dog. Charon acknowledged the invitation by another bark, but nestled his great head against Beulah, and stood quite still, while she passed her hand caressingly over him. She fancied a smile crossed her guardian's lips, but when he turned toward her, there was no trace of it, and he merer? said : " Where is Pauline T" " In the parlor, with Mr. Mortimor." " Here are the scissors ; cut as many flowers as you like." He hell out the scissors, but she shook her head, and answered, testily : " Thank yon, I do not want any." He looked at her searchingly, and observing unshed tear* il Her eyes said, in a kinder tone than he had yet employed : BEULAH. 31$ " Beulah, what do you want ?" M Something that I almost despair of obtaining." " Child, you are wasting your strength and energies in a fruit L.4S undertaking. Already you have grown thin and hollow* e 'ed ; your accustomed contented, cheerful spirit, is deserting j -u, 5four self-appointed task is a hopeless one ; utterly hope lew !" " t will not believe it," said she, firmly. " Very well ; some day you will be convinced that you are no I infallible." He smiled grimly, and busied himself with his flowers. " Sir, you could help me, if you would." She clasped her hands o/er his arm, and fixed her eyes on his countenance, with all ihe confidence and dependence of other days. " Did I ever refuse you anything you asked ?" said he, looking dowu at the little hands on his arm, and at the pale, anxious face, with its deep, troubled eyes. " No I and it is precisely for that reason that I ask assistance from you iiow." " I suppose you are reduced to the last necessity. What haa become of your pride, Beulah ?" " It is all here, in my heart, sir ! thundering to me to walk out and leave you, since you are so unlike yourself." He looked stern, and indescribably sad. She glanced np an instant at his fascinating eyes, and then laying her head down on his arm, as she used to do in childhood, said, resolutely : " Oh, sir 1 you must aid me Whom have I to advise me bu\ you ?" " My advice has about as much weight with you as Charon's would, could he utter it. I am an admirable counsellor, only st long as my opinions harmonize with the dictates of yoar owi; Kill. How am I to aid you? I went, at twelve o'clock last night, to see a dying man, and passing along the street, saw a tight burning from your window. Two hours later, as I returned, t glimmered there still. Why were you up ? Benlah. what if 820 B E U L A H . the matter with you ? Has your last treatise on the * Origin ?f Ideas ' run away with those of its author, and landed you both in a region of vagaries ? Remember, I warned you." " Something worse, sir." " Perhaps German metaphysics have stranded you on th* I 'leak, bald cliffs of Pyrrhonism ?" " b:r f it seems to me there is a great deal of unmerited odium laid upon the innocent shoulders of German metaphysics. People declaim against the science of metaphysics, as if it were the disease itself, whereas it is the remedy. Metaphysics 'do not originate the trouble ; their very existence proves the priority of the disease which they attempt to relieve" " Decidedly a homoeopathic remedy," interrupted her guar- dian, smiling. " But, sir, the questions which disturb my mind are older than my acquaintance with so-called philosophic works. They havo troubled me from rny childhood." '' Nevertheless, I warned you not to explore my library," said he, with a touch of sorrow in his voice. " How, then, can you habitually read books which you are unwilling to put into ray hands ?" "To me all creeds and systems are alike null. With you, Bctilab, it was once very different." " Once ! yes, once 1" She shuddered at the wild waste into which she had strayed. " What are the questions that have so long disturbed you ?" " Questions, sir, which, all my life, have been printed on even ing sun- flushed clouds, on rosy sea shells, on pale, sweet, delicate blossoms, and which I have unavailingly sought to answer for jnyself. There are mysteries in physics, morals and metaphy- sics, that have wooed me on to an investigation ; but the furtbn I wander, deeper grows the darkness. Alone, and unaided, 1 Lave been forced to brave these doubts ; I have studied, and read, and thought. Cloudy symbolisms mock me on every side ; Uid the more earnestly I strive to overtake truth, the tighter BEULAH. S2i prow my gyves Now, sir, yon are much older ; rou have scaled I the dizzy heights of science, and carefully explored the mines of | philosophy ; and if human learning will avail, then you can help me. It is impossible for you to have lived and studied so long, without arriving at some conclusion relative to these vexing jBcstions of this and every other age. I want to know whether*" I have ever lived before ; whether there is not an anterior life of my soul, of which I get occasional glimpses, and the memory of which haunts and disquiets me. This doubt has not been engen dered by casual allusions to Plato's ' reminiscence theory f before I knew there was such a doctrine in existence, I have" sat by your study fire, pondering some strange coincidences, for which I could not account. It seemed an indistinct outgoing into the far past ; a dim recollection of scenes and ideas, older than the aggregate of my birth-days : now a flickering light, then all darkness ; no clew ; all shrouded in the mystery ol voiceless ages. I tried to explain these psychological phenomena by the theory of association of ideas, but they eluded an aualy. sis ; there was no chain along which memory can pass. They } were like ignesfatui, flashing up from dank caverns, and dying out while I looked upon them. As I grew older, I found strange confirmation in those curious passages of Coleridge and Words- ; worth,* and continually I propound to my soul these questions : ' If you are immortal, and will exist through endless ages, have you not existed from the beginning of time ? Immortality knows neither commencement nor ending. If so, whither shall I go, when this material frame-work is dissolved, to make other frame- works, to a final rest ? or shall the I, the me, the soul, lose iia farmer identity ? Am I a minute constituent of the all-diffused, All perva'ling Spirit, a breath of the Infinite Essence, one day tc be divested of my individuality ? or is God an awful, gigantic, Immutable, isolated Personality ? If EO, wha* medium of com * Coleridge's " Sonnet on the birth of a son/ Wo-d*wor*h't Vntimations of Immortality." u* 822 B E D L A H . tnunitation is afforded ? Can the spiritual coramui.e with mat ter ? Can the material take cognizance of the purely spiritual an J divine ?' Oh, sir ! T know that yon do not accept the holj nw.'ti of Galilee as His deputed oracles. Tell me where you find surer prophets ! Only show me the truth the eternal truth fcud I would give my life for it 1 Sir, how can you smile at such questions as these ; questions involving the soul's destiny ? One might fancy you a second Parrhasius." She drew back a step or two, and regarded him anxiously, nay, pleadingly, as though he held the key to the Temple of Truth, and would not suffer her to pass the portal. A sarcastic emile lighted his Apollo-like face, as he answered : "There is more truth in your metaphor than you imagined ; a la Parrhasius, I do see you, a tortured Prometheus, chained by links of your own forging to the Caucasus of Atheism. But listen to " " No, no ; not that 1 not Atheism ! God save me from that deepest, blackest gulf 1" She shuddered, and covered her face with her hands. " Beulah, you alone must settle these questions with your own soul | my solutions would not satisfy you. For thousands of years they have been propounded, and yet no answer comes down on the ' cloudy wings of centuries.' Each must solve to suit his or her peculiar conformation of mind. My child, if I could aid you, 1 would gladly do so ; but I am no Swedenborg, to whom the arcana of the universe have been revealed." " Still, after a fashion, you have solved these problems ; may I not know what your faith is ?" said she, earnestly. " Child, I have no faith 1 I know that I exist ; that a beau- tiful universe surrounds me, and I am conscious of a multitude f conflicting emotions ; but, like Launcelot Smith, I doubt whether I am ' to pick and choose myself out of myself.' Further than this, I would assure you of nothing. I stand on the ever lasting basis of all skepticism, ' there is no criterion of troth F All must be but subjectively, relatively true " B E U L A II . 823 " Sir, this may be so as regards psychological abstractions j hat can you be contented with this utter negation of the grand problems of ontology ?" " A profound philosophic writer of the age intimates that the Tariona psychological systems which have so long vexed the world, are but veiled ontologic speculations. What matters the machinery of ideas, but as enabling philosophy to cope success fully with ontology ? Philosophy is a huge wheel, which has been revolving for ages ; early metaphysicians hung their finely- spun webs on its spokes, and metaphysicians of the nineteenth century gaze upon and renew the same pretty theories as the Wheel revolves. The history of philosophy shows but a repro- duction of old systems and methods of inquiry. Beulah, no mine of ontologic truth has been discovered. Conscious of this, out Beers tell us there is nothing now but ' eclecticism !' Ontology is old as human nature, yet the stone of Sisyphus continues to roil back upon the laboring few who strive to impel it upward. Oh, child, do you not see how matters stand ? Why, how can the finite soul cope with Infinite Being ? This is one form the other, if we can take cognizance of the Eternal and Self-Existing Being, underlying all phenomena, why, then, we are part and parcel of that Infinity. Pantheism or utter skepticism there is no retreat." "I don't .want to believe that, sir. I will not believe it. What was my reason given to me for ? Was this spirit of inquiry after truth only awakened in my soul to mock me with a sense of my nothingness ? Why did my Maker imbue me with an in- satiable thirst for knowledge ? Knowledge of the deep thing! of philosophy, the hidden wonders of the universe, the awful mysteries of the shadowy spirit realm ? Oh, there are analogies pervading all departments I There is physical hunger to goad \o exertions which will satisfy its demands, and most tonics are bitter ; so, bitter struggles develop and strengthen the soul, even as hard study invigorates the mind, and r. imerous sorrows chasten oe heart. There is truth for the earne t seeker somewhere - 24 BEULAH. somewhere ! If 1 live a thousand years, I will toil after il till I find it. If, as you believe, death is annihilation, then will I make the most of my soul while I have it. Oh, sir, what is life for ? Merely to eat and drink, to sleep and to be dothed ? ]? it to be only a constant effort to keep soul and body together f If I thought so, I would rather go back to nothingness this daj this hour 1 No, no. My name bids me press on ; there is a land of Beulah somewhere for cay troubled spirit. Oh, I will go back to my humble home, and study on, unguided, unassisted even as I have begun. I cannot rest on your rock of negation." She could not control her trembling voice, and tears of bitter disappointment fell over her pale, Cxed features. A melancholy smile parted Dr. HartwelPs lips, and smoothing the bands of rippling hair which lay on her white brow, he answered in hia own thrilling, musical accents : " Child, you are wasting your energies in vain endeavors to build up walls of foam, that " " Sir, I am no longer a child 1 I am a woman, and " " Yes, my little Beulah, and your woman's heart will not be satisfied long with these dim abstractions, which now you chase BO eagerly. Mark me, there surely comes a time when you will loathe the bare name of metaphysics. You are making a very hot-bed of your intellect, while your heart is daily becoming a dreary desert. Take care, lest the starvation be so complete, that eventually you will be unable to reclaim it. Dialectics aiiswer very well in collegiate halls, but will not content you. Remember ' Argemone.' " " She is a miserable libel on woman's nature and intellect. I curn the attempted parallel 1" answered Beulah, indignantly. " Very well ; mark me though, your intellectual priae will yet Meek your happiness." He walked out of the greenhouse, whistling to Charon, who bounded after him. Beulah saw from the slanting sunlight that vhe afternoon was far advanced, and feeling in no mood to listen to Pauline's nonsense, she found her bonnet and shawl, and EEULAB. 32S repaired to the parlor to say good bye to the happy pair, wh seemed unconscious of her long' absence. As she left the house, the window of the study was thrown open, and Dr. Hartwell Called out, carelessly : " Wait, aud let me order the carriage." " No, thank you." " 1 am going into town directly, and can take you home li the buggy." " I will not trouble you ; I prefer walking. Good bye." He bowed coldly, and she hurried away, glad to reach the gate, j and feel that she was once more free from his searching glance, \ aud beyond the sound of his reserved, chilling tones. As she walked on, groups of happy parents and children were seen ia every direction, taking their quiet Sabbath ramble through the suburbs ; and as joyous voices and innocent laughter fell upon the still air, she remembered with keen sorrow that she had no ties, no kindred, no companions. Lilly's cherub face looked out at her from the sombre frame of the past, and Eugene's early friendship, seemed now a taunting spectre. In her warm, loving" V heart were unfathomable depths of intense tenderness ; was it the wise providence of God which sealed these wells of affection, or was it a grim, merciless fate which snatched her idols from her, one by one, and left her heart desolate ? Such an iuquiry darted through her mind, but she put it resolutely aside, and consoled herself much after this fashion : " Why should I ques- tion the circumstances of my life ? If the God of Moses guards his creation, all things are well. If not, life is a lottery, and though I have drawn blanks thus far, the future may contain a prize, and for me that prize may be the truth my soul pants ifter. I have no right to complain ; the very loneliness of my position fits me peculiarly for the work I have to do. I will labor, and be content." The cloud passed swiftly from he* countenance, and she looked up to the quiet sky with a Vopeful heart. BKULAH. CHAPTER XXV. AMONG the number of gentlemen whom Beulah occasionallj ma 1 : at Dr. A.sbury's house, were two whose frequent visits and general demeanor induced the impression that they were more than ordinarily interested in the sisters. Frederick Vincent evinced a marked preference for Georgia, while Horace Maxwell was conspicuously attentive to Helen. The former was wealthy, handsome, indolent, and self-indulgent ; the latter rather supe- rior, as to business habits, which a limited purse peremptorily demanded. Doubtless both would have passed as men of ] medium capacity, but certainly as nothing more. In fine, they ! were fair samples, perfect types of the numerous class of fashion- able young men who throng all large cities. Good-looking, vain, impudent, heartless, frivolous, and dissipated ; adepts at the gaming-table and pistol gallery, ciphers in an intelligent, refined assembly. They smoked the choicest cigars, drank the most costly wines, drove the fastest horses, and were indispensable at champagne and oyster suppers. They danced and swore, visited and drank, with reckless indifference to every purer and nobler aim. Notwithstanding manners of incorrigible effrontery which gharacterized their clique, the ladies alvrays received them with marked expressions of pleasure, and the entree of the "first Circle " was certainly theirs. Dr. Asbury knew comparatively I'ttle of the young men who visited so constantly at his house, but of the two under discussion he chanced to know, that they TF^re by no means models of sobriety, having met them late ono Bight as they supported each other's tottering forms homeward, after a card and wine party, vbich ended rather disastrously for woth. He openly avowed his discontent at the intimacy their frequent visits induced, and wondered how his daughter! B E u L A a . 827 could patiently indulge in the heartless chit-chat whi.;h alonf could enter taiu them. But he was a fond, almost doting father, ] and seemed to take it for granted, that the} were mere danchg acquaintances, whose society must be endured. Mrs. Asbury was not so bliud, and discovered, with keen sorrow and dismay that Georgia was far more partial to Vincent than she had dreamed possible. The mother's heart ached with dread, lest her child's affections were really enlisted, and without her hus- band's knowledge she passed many hours of bitter reflection, as to the best course she should pursue to arrest Vincent's inti- macy at the house. Only a woman knows woman's heart, and | she felt that Georgia's destiny would be decided by the measures she now employed. Ridicule, invective, and even remonstrance, she knew would only augment her interest in One whom she considered unjustly dealt with. She was thoroughly acquainted with the obstinacy which formed the stamen of Georgia's character, and very cautiously the mater- nal guidance must be given. She began by gravely regretting the familiar footing Mr. Vincent had acquired in her family, and urged upon Georgia and Helen the propriety of discouraging attentions tliat justified the world in joining their names. This had very little effect. She was conscious that because of his wealth, Vincent was courted and flattered by the most select and fashionable of her circle of acquaintances, and knew, alas 1 that he was not more astray than the majority of the class of young men to which he belonged. With a keen pang, she saw that her child shrank from her, evaded her kind questions, and seemed to plunge into the festivities of the season with unwonted zest. From their birth, she had trained her daughters to confide unre- servedly in her, and now to perceive the youngest avoiding her caresses, or hurrying away from her anxious glance, was bitter indeed. How her pure-hearted darling could tolerate the reck ' less, frivolous being in whose society she seemed so well sa tisfied, Tfaa a painful mystery; but the startling reality looked her in fee face, and she resolved, at every hazard, to Rave her from th 328 B E U L A H . misery which was in store for Fred Vincent's wife. Beuiaht quick eye readily discerned the state of affairs relative to Georgia and Vincent, and she could with difficulty restrain an expression of the disgust a knowledge of his character inspired He was a brother of the Miss Vincent she had once seen at Dr. IFartwell's, and probably this circumstance increased her dislike Vincent barely recognized her when they chanced to meet, and of all his antipathies, hatred of Beulah predominated. He wag perfectly aware that she despised his weaknesses and detested his immoralities ; and while he shrank from the steadfast grey . eyes, calm but contemptuous, he hated her heartily. Cornelia Graham seemed for a time to have rallied all her strength, and attended parties and kept her place at the opera, with a regularity which argued a complete recovery. Antoinette Dupres was admired and flattered ; the season was unusually gay. What if Death had so lately held his awful assize in the city ? Bereaved families wrapped their sable garments about lonely hearts, and wept over the countless mounds iu the ceme tery ; but the wine-cup and song and dance went their accus- tomed rounds in fashionable quarters, and drink, dress and be merry appeared the all-absorbing thought. Into this gaiety Eugene Graham eagerly plunged ; night after night was spent in one continued whirl ; day by day he wandered further astray, and ere long his visits to Beulah ceased entirely. Antoinette thoroughly understood the game she had to play, and easily and rapidly he fell into the snare. To win her seemed his only wish, and not even Cornelia's keenly searching eyes could check hia admiration and devotion. January had gone ; February drew near its close ; Beuiah had not seen Eugene for many days, and felt more than usually anxious concerning him, for little inter' course now existed between Cornelia and herself. One evening, however, as she stood before a glass and arranged her hair with more than ordinary care, she felt that she would soon have an opportunity of judging whether reports were true. If he indeed fashed along the highway to ruin, one glance would discover t % BEULAH. 329 fter tlie fact. Dr. Anbury wished to give Pauline Chilt;n a party, and his own and Mrs. Asbury's kind persuasions induced the orphan to consent to attend. The evening had arrived; she put on her simple Swiss muslin dress, without a wish for any thing more costly, and entered the carriage her friends had sent to convey her to the house. The guests rapidly assembled} soon the rooms were thronged with merry people, whose moving tc and fro prevented regular conversation. The brilliant chan- deliers flashed down on rich silks and satins, gossamer fabrics, and diamonds which blazed dazzlingly. Pauline was superbly beautiful. Excitement lighted her eyes, and flushed her cheeks, until all paused to gaze at her transcendent loveliness. It was generally known that ere many days her marriage would take place, aud people looked at her in her marvellous, queenly beauty, and wondered what infatuation induced her to give her hand to a minister, when she, of all others present, seemed made to move, in the gay scene where she reigned supreme. From a quiet seat near the window Beulah watched her airy, graceful form glide through the quadrille, aud feared that in> future years she would sigh for the gaieties which in her destined lot would oe withheld from her. She tried to fancy the dazzling beauty metamorphosed into the staid clergyman's wife, divested of satin and diamonds, and visiting the squalid aud suffering portion of her husband's flock. But the contrast was too glaring, and she turned her head to watch for Eugene's appearance. Before long she saw him cross the room with Antoinette on his arm. The quadrille had ended, and, as at the request of one of the guests, the band played a brilliant mazurka, numerous couples took their places on the floor. Beulah had never seen the mazurka iauced in public ; she knew that neither Helen nor Georgia 2ver danced the so-called " fancy dances," and was not a little surprised when the gentlemen encircled the waists of their partners and whirled away. Her eyes followed Eugene's tall 'icrm, as the circuit of the parlors was rapidly made, and hi approached the corner where she sat. He held his lovely part 330 B E U L A H ner close to his heart, and her head drooped very contentedly on bis shoulder He was talking to her as they danced, and hii lips nearly touched her glowing cheek. On they came, so close to Beulah that Antoinette's gauzy dress floated against her, and as the music quickened, faster flew the dancers. Beulah looked K with a sensation of disgust, which might have been easily read iu her countenance ; verily she blushed for her degraded sex, atd, sick of the scene, left the window and retreated to the library, where the more sedate portion of the guests were discussing ijrarious topics. Here were Mr. and Mrs. Grayson ; Claudia waa North, at school. Beulah found a seat near Mrs. Asbury, and endeavored to banish the painful recollections which Mrs. Gray- son's face recalled. They had not met since the memorable day whe_: the orphan first found a guardian, and she felt that there was still an unconquerable aversion in her heart, which caused it to throb heavily. She thought the time tediously long, and when at last the signal for supper was given, felt relieved. Aa usual, there was rushing and squeezing into the supper-room, and waiting until the hall was comparatively deserted, she ran up to the dressing-room for her shawl, tired of the crowd and anxious to get home again. She remembered that she had dropped her fan behind one of the sofas in the parlor, and as all were at sup- per, fancied she could obtain it unobserved, and entered the room for that purpose. A gentleman stood by the fire, but without noticing him, she pushed the sofa aside, secured her fan, and was turning away, when a well known voice startled her. " Beulah, where are you going ?" "Home, sir." " What 1 so soon tired ?" " Yes, heartily tired," said she, wrapping her shawl about he/ " Have you spoken to Eugene to-night ?" " No Her guardian looked at her very intently, as if striving to read fcer soul, and said slowly: " Child, he and Antoinette are sitting in the front parlor. I BEULAH. 831 happened to overhear a remark as I passed them. He is as accepted lover; they are engaged." A quick shiver ran over Beulah's frame, and a dark frowa farrowed her pale brow, as ske answered: '* J feared as much." " Why should you fear, child? She is a.beautiful heiress, and ce loves her," returned Dr. Hartwell, without taking his eyei from her face. "No; he thinks he loves her, but it is not so. He is fasci- nated by her beauty, but I fear the day will come when, disco- vering her true character, he will mourn his infatuation. I know his nature, and I know, too, that she cannot make him happy." She turned away, but he walked on with her to the carriage, handed her in, and said "good night" as coldly as usual. Meantime, the rattle of plates, jingle of forks and spoons, in the supper-room, would have rendered all conversa- tion impossible, had not the elevation of voices kept pace with the noise and confusion. At one end of the table, Cornelia Graham stood talking to a distinguished foreigner, who was spending a few days in the city. He was a handsome man, with fine colloquial powers, and seemed much interested in a discus- sion which he and Cornelia carried on, relative to the society oi American cities as compared with European. A temporary lull in the hum of voices allowed Cornelia to hear a remark made by a gentleman quite near her. " Miss Laura, who did you say that young lady was that Mrs. Asbury introduced me to ? The one with such magnificent hair aud teeth ?" His companion was no other than Laura Martin, whose mother, having built an elegant house, and given several large parties, was now a " fashionable," par excellence. Laura elevated her nose very perceptibly, and answered : " Oh, a mere nobody 1 Beulah Benton. I can't imagine how he contrived to be invited here. She is a teacher in the public 1 believe, but that is not *he worst She used to hire 332 B E U L A H . berseif ont as u servant. Indeed, it is a fact, she was my littlt brother's nurse some years ago. I thiuk 'ma hired her for sis dollars a month," She laughed affectedly, and allowed her escort to fill her plate with creams. Cornelia grew white with anger, and the stranger asked, with n smile, if he should consider this a sample of the society shfi boasted of. Turning abruptly to Laura, she replied, with uaais guised contempt: " The Fates forbid, Mr. Falconer, that you should juugo American society from some of the specimens you may see here to-night. Misfortune placed Miss Benton, at an early age, in an orphan asylum, and while quite young, she left it to earn a gapport. Mrs. Martiu (this young lady's mother), hired her as a nurse; but she soou left this position, qualified herself to teach, and now, with a fine intellect thoroughly cultivated, is the pride of all who can appreciate true nobility of soul, and, of course, T~"an object of envy and detraction to her inferiors, especially to some of our fashionable parvenus, whose self-interest prompts them to make money alone the standard of worth, and who are in the habit of determining the gentility of different persons by L what they have, not what they are." Her scornful glance rested witheringly on Laura's face, and, mortified and enraged, the lat ter took her companion's arm, and moved away. " I have some desire to become acquainted with one who could deserve such eulogy from you," answered the foreigner, somewhat, amused at the course the conversation had taker., and quite satisfied that Americans were accustomed to correct false impressions in rather an abrupt manner. " T will present you to her with great pleasure. She is not here; we must search for her." She took his arm, and they looked for Beulah from room to room; finally, Dr. HartwciJ informed Cornelia that she had gone home, and tired, an-1 out of humor, the latter excused herself, and prepared to follow her friend's example. Her father was deep in a game of whist, her Bother unwilling to return home so soon, and Eugene and B E U L A H . 333 Antoinette where were they ? Dr. Hartwell saw her perplexed expression, and asked: " Wl'om are you looking for ?" " Eugene." " He is with your cousin on the west gallery. I will conduct )oa to them, if you wish it." He offered his arm, and noticed the scowl that instantly darkened her face. Unconsciously, her fingers grasped his arm tightly, and she walked on with a lower- ing brow. As they approached the end of the gallery, Cornelia saw that the two she sought stood earnestly conversing. Eugene's arm passed round Antoinette's waist. Dr. Hartwell watched his companion closely ; the light from the window gleamed over her face, and showed it grey and rigid. Her white lips curled as she muttered : " Let us take another turn before I speak to them." " Surely, you are not surprised ?" "Oh, nol I am not blind." " It was an unlucky chance that threw your cousin in hia path," said the doctor, composedly. " Oh, it is merely another link in the chain of fatality which binds my family to misfortune. She has all the family traits of the Labords, and you know what they are," cried Cornelia. He compressed his lips, and a lightning glance shot out from his eyes, but he stilled the rising tempest, and replied coldly: " Why, then, c.id you not warn him ?" " Warn him ! So I did. But I might as well grasp at the itars yonder as hope to influence him in this infatuation." Once more they approached the happy pair, and leaning for ward, Cornelia said, hoarsely : " Eugene, my father is engaged ; come home with me. f He looked up, and answered carelessly : " Oh, you are leaving too early ; can't you entertain yourself a little longer ?'' " No, sir." Her freezing tone startled him, and for the first time he noticed the haggard face, with its expression cf angry scoru. Her eje 334 B E U I, A H . were fixed on Antoinette, who only smiled, and looked triumph- antly defiant. " Are you ill, Cornelia ? Of course, I will take you home if you really desire it. Doctor, I must consign Miss Dupres to your care till I return." Eugene by no means relished the expression of his sister'a countenance. She bade Dr. Hartwell adieu, passed her ara through her brother's, and they proceeded to their carriage. The ride was short and silent. On reaching home, Eugene con- ducted Cornelia into the house, and was about to return, when she said, imperiously : "A word with you before you go." She entered the sitting-room, threw her wrappings on a -hair and began to divest herself of bracelets and necklace. Eugene lighted a cigar, and stood waiting to hear what she might choose to communicate. Fastening her brilliant black eyes on his face, Bhe said, sneeringly : " Eugene Graham, did you learn dissimulation in the halls of Heidelberg ?" " What do you mean, Cornelia ?" " Where did you learn to deceive one who believed you pure and truthful as au archangel ? Answer me that." Her whole face was a glare of burning scorn. " Insulting insinuations are unworthy of you, and beneath my fiotice," he proudly replied. " Well, then, take the more insulting truth 1 What crawling serpent of temptation induced you to tell me you expected to marry Beulah ? No evasion ! I will not be put off 1 Why did you deceive me with a falsehood I was too stupidly trust- ing to discover until recently ?" " When I told you so, I expected to marry Beulah ; not j much becaase I loved her, but because I supposed that sherathei considered me bound to her by early ties. I discovered, however, that her happiness was not dependent OD me, and therefore abao doned the idea." BBULAH. 332 " And my peerless cousin is to be your bride, eh T " Yes, she has promised me her hand at an early day." "No 'doubt. You don't deserve anything better. Beulah tcorns you*; I see it in her eyes. Marry you ! You ! Oh. Eugene, she is too far superior to you. You are blind now ; bnt the day will surely come when your charmer will, with her own hand, tear the veil from your eyes, and you will curse your folly. It is of no nse to tell you that she is false, heartless, utterly un- principled ; you will not believe it, of course, till you find out her .miserable defects yourself. I might thunder warnings in your ears from now till doomsday, and you would not heed me. But whether I live to see it or not, yon will bitterly rue your infatu- ation. You will blush for the name which, as your wife, Antoi- nette will disgrace. Now leave me." She pointed to the door, and too much incensed to reply, he quitted the room with a suppressed oath, slamming the door behind him. Cornelia went up to her own apartment, and, with- out ringing for her maid, took off the elegant dress she wore, and threw her dressing-gown round her. The diamond hair-pins glowed like coals of fire in her black braids, mocking the grey, bloodless face, and look of wretchedness. She took out tho jewels, laid them on her lap, and suffered the locks of hair to fall upon her shoulders. Then great hot tears rolled over her face;"^ heavy sobs convulsed her frame, and bowing down her head, the haughty heiress wept passionately. Eugene was the only being . she really loved ; for years her hopes and pride had centred in nim. Now, down the long vista of coming time, she looked and saw him staggering on to ruin and disgrace. She knew her own Life would at best be short, and felt that now it had lost its only Interest, and she was ready to sink to her last rest, rather than witness his future career. This was the first time she had wept j since the days of early childhood ; but she calmed the fearful ! itruggle in her heart, and, toward dawn, Ml asleep, with a re- pulsive sneer on her lips. The ensuing day she was forced to listen to the complacent comments of her parents, who were vel 336 B E U L A H . pleased with tne alliance. Antoinette was to return home im- mediately, the marriage would take place in June, and the} were all to spend the summer at the North ; after which it was suggested that the young couple should reside with Mr. Graham. Cornelia was standing apart, when her mother made tins piopo- lition. and turning sharply toward the members of her family, the daughter exclaimed : " Never 1 You all know that this match is utterly odious to ine. Let Eugene have a house of his own ; I have no mind to have Antoinette longer in my home. -Nay, father ; it will not be for & great while. When I ani gone they can come ; I rather think I shall not long be in their way. While I do live, let me be quiet, will you ?" Her burning, yet sunken eyes ran over the group. Eugene sprang up, and left the room ; Antoinette put her embroidered handkerchief to dry eyes ; Mrs. Graham looked dis- tressed ; and her husband wiped his spectacles. But the mist was in his eyes, and presently large drops fell over his cheeks as he looked at the face and form of his only child. Cornelia sflw his emotion ; the great flood-gate of her heart Beemed suddenly lifted. She passed her white fingers over his grey hair, and murmured brokenly : " My father my father 1 I have been a care and a sorrow to you all my life ; I am very wayward and exacting, but bear with \ your poor child ; my days are numbered. Father, when my proud head lies low m the silent grave, then give others mj place." He took her in his arras, and kissed her hollow cheek, saying tenderly : " My darling, you break my heart. Have you ever been de- aicd a wish ? What is there that I can do to make you happy ?* " Give Eugene a house of his own, and let me be at peace is my home. Will you do this for me ?" "Yes." " Thank you, my father." B E U L A H . 83? Disengaging bio clasping arm, she left them. A few days after the party at her house, Mrs. Asbury returned home from a visit to the Asylum (of which she had recently been elected a manager). In passing the parlor door, she heard sup- pressed voices, looked in, and perceiving Mr. Vincent seated near Georgia, retirsd, without speaking, to her own room. Securing the door, she sank on her knees, and besought an all-wise God to direct and aid her in her course of duty. The time had arrived when she must hazard everything to save her child from an ill -fated marriage ; and though the mother's heart bled, she was firm in her resolve. When Mr. Vincent took leave, and Georgia had returned to her room, Mrs. Asbury sought ner She found her moody, and disposed to evade her questions Passing her arm round her, she said, very gently : " My dear child, let there be perfect confidence between aa. Am I not more interested in your happiness than any one else? My child, what has estranged you of late ?" Georgia made no reply. " What, but my love for you, and anxiety for your happiness, could induce me to object to your receiving Mr. Vincent's atten- tions ?" " You are prejudiced against him, and always were !" " I judge the young man only from his conduct. You know you are obliged to know, that he is recklessly dissipated, selfish and immoral." " He is no worse than other young men. I know very few who are not quite as wild as he is. Beside, he has promised to sign the temperance pledge, if I will marry him." " My child, you pain me beyond expression. Does the d"pra pity which prevails here sanction Vincent's dissipation ? Oh Georgia, has association deprived you of horror of vice ? Can you be satisfied because others are quite as degraded ? H does not mean what he promises, it is merely to deceive you. His intemperate habits are too confirmed to be remedied no* j he began iwly at college, and has constantly grown worse. 15 838 B E U L A H . *' You are prejudiced/' persisted Georgia, unable t3 restrain her tears. " If I am, it is because of his profligacy 1 Can you possibly be attached to such a man ?" Georgia sobbed, and cried heartily. Her good sense told he* that her mother was right, but it was difficult to relinquish the hope of reforming him. As gently as possible, Mrs. Asbury dwelt upon his utter worthlessness, and the misery and wretched- ness which would surely ensue from such a nnion. With stream- Ing eyes, she implored her to banish the thought, assuring her she would sooner see her in her grave, than the wife of a drunk- ard. And now the care of years was to be rewarded ; her firm, but gentle reasoning prevailed. Georgia had always reverenced her mother ; she knew she was invariably guided by principle; and now, as she listened to her earnest entreaties, all her obsti- nacy melted away ; throwing herself into her mother's arms, she bogged her to forgive the pain and anxiety she had caused her. Mrs. Asbury pressed her to her heart, and silently thanked God for the success of her remonstrances. Of all this, Dr. Asbury knew nothing. When Mr. Vincent called, the following day, Georgia very decidedly rejected him. Understanding from her manner, that she meant what she said, he became violently enraged ; swore, with a solemn oath, that he would make hei repent her trifling, took his hat, and left the house. This su* ficed to remove any lingering tenderness from Georgia's heart, and from that hour, Fred Vincent darkened the honu circle u man BBULAH. CHAPTER XXVI. PAULINE'S wedding-day dawned clear and bright, meet fo th* ?appy event it was to chronicle. The ceremony was to be per- formed in church, at an early hour, to enable the newly mairiec pair to leave on the morning boat, and the building was crowded with the numerous friends assembled to witness the rites. The minister stood within the altar, and after some slight delay, Mr. Mortimor led Pau^ie down the aisle. Dr. Hartwell and Mrs Lockhart stood near the altar. Mr. Lockhart's indisposition prevented his attendance. Satin, blond and diamonds were dis- carded ; Pauline was dressed in a grey travelling habit, and wore a plain drab travelling bonnet. It was a holy, a touching bridal. The morning sunshine, stealing through the lofty, arched windows, fell on her pure brow with dazzling radiance, and lent many a golden wave to th- silky, clustering curls. Pauline was marvellously beautiful ; tot violet eyes were dewy with emotion, and her ripe, coral lips wreathed with a smile of trembling joyousness. Perchance a cursory observer might have fancied Mr. Mortimer's countenance too grave and thoughtful for such an occasion ; but though the mouth was at rest, and the dark, earnest eyes sparkled not, there was a light of grateful, chastened gladness shed over the quiet \ features. Only a few words were uttered by the clergyman, and Pauline, the wild, wayward, careless, high-spirited girl, stood there a wife. She grew deadly pale, and looked up with a feeO ing of awe to him who was now, for all time, the master of her destiny The vows yet upon her lips bound her irrevocably to his side, and imposed on her, as a solemn duty, the necessity of bear- ing all trials for herself ; of smoothing away home cares from hi/ , 840 BEELAH. path ; and, when her own heart was troubled, of putting bj the sorrow and bitterness, and ever welcoming his coming with a word of kindness, or a smile of joy. A wife 1 She must be brave enough to wrestle with difficulties for herself, instead of wearying . Mm with all the tedious details of 'domestic trials, and yet turn to him for counsel and sympathy in matters of serious import. N ' longer a mere self-willed girl, consulting only her own wishes and tastes, she had given another the right to guide and control her ; and now realizing, for the first time, the importance of tho I step she had taken, she trembled in anticipation of the trouble her wayward, obstinate will would cause her. But with her wonted, buoyant spirit, she turned from all unpleasant reflections, %nd received the congratulations of her friends with subdued gaiety. Beulah stood at some distance, watching the April face, checkered with smiles and tears ; and looking with prophetic 1 dread into the future, she saw how little genuine happiness could : result from a union of natures so entirely uncongenial. To her, the nuptial rites were more awfully solemn than those of death; for how infinitely preferable was a quiet resting-place in tho jhadow of mourning cedars, to the life-long agony of an unhappy anion. She looked up at her quondam guardian, as he stood, grave and silent, regarding his niece with sadly anxious eyes; &nd as she noted the stern inflexibility of his sculptured mouth, .she thought that he stood there a marble monument, recording Ihe misery of an ill-assorted marriage. But it was school time, and she approached to say " good bye," as the bridal pair took their seats in the carriage. Pauline seemed much troubled at bidding her adieu ; she wept silently a minute, then throwing her arms around Beulah's neck, whispered pleadingly : ' Won't you go back to Uncle Guy ? Won't you let him adopt you ? Do, please. See how grim and pale he looks Won't yon ?" " No. He has ceased to care aoout my welfare ; ho is noi distressed about me, I assure you. Good bye. Write to mi aften," B E U L A H . 841 * Yes, I will ; and in vacation, Ernest says you arc to come uj; and spend at least a mouth with us. Do you hear ?" The carriage was whirled away, and Beulah walked on to hci school room, with a dim foreboding that when she again mat the beautiful, warmhearted girl, sunshine might be banished frors her face. Days, weeks and months passed by How systematic! industry speeds the wheels of time. Beulah had little leisure, and tlu's was employed with the most rigid economy, School duties occupied her until late 'in the day ; then she gave, every afternoon, a couple of music lessons, and it was not until night that she felt herself free. The editor of the magazine found that her articles were worth remuneration, and consequently a monthly contribution had to be copied, and sent in at stated intervals. Thus engaged, spring glided into summer, and once more a June sun beamed on the city. One Saturday she accompanied Clara to a jewelry store to make some trifling purchase, and saw Eugene Graham leaning over the counter, looking at some sets of pearl and diamonds. He did not perceive her immediately, and Bhe had an opportunity of scanning his countenance unobserved, Her lip trembled as she noticed the flushed face and inflamed eyes, and saw that the hand which held a bracelet, was very unsteady. He looked up, started and greeted her with evident embarrassment. She waited until Clara had completed hei purchase, and then said, quietly : " Eugene, are you going away without coming to see me ?" " Why, no ; I had intended calling yesterday, but was pie- vented, and I am obliged to leave this afternoon. By the way, help me to select between these two pearl sets.. I suppose you can imagine their destination ?" It was the first time he had alluded to his marriage, and sin answered with an arch smile : " Oh, yes. 1 I dare say I might guess very accurately. It Would not require Yankee ingenuity." She examined the jewels, and after giving an opinion M W Iheir superiority, turned to go, saying : 542 B E C L A H . " I want to see you a few moments before you leave the citj I am going home immediately, and any time during the day when you can call, will answer. 7 ' He looked curious, glanced at his watch, pondered an instant, and promised to call in an hour. She bowed and returned home, with an almost intolerable freight on her heart. She sat with her face buried in her hands, \)llecting her thoughts, and when summoned to meet Eugene, /ent down with a firm heart, but trembling frame. It was more than probable that she would be misconstrued and wounded, | but she determined to hazard all, knowing how pure were the . motives that actuated her. He seemed restless and ill at ease, pet curious withal, and after some trifling commonplace remarks, Benlah seated herself on the sofa, beside him, and said : " Eugene, why have you shunned me so pertinaciously since four return from Europe ?" " I have not shunned you, Beulah; you are mistaken. I hav* fceen engaged, and therefore could visit but little." " Do not imagine that any such excuses blind me to the truth," Baid she, with an impatient gesture. " What do you mean ?" he answered, unable to bear the earn- est;, troubled look of the searching eyes. " Oh, Eugene ! be honest be honest ! Say at once you shunned me lest I should mark your altered habits in your altered lace. But I know it all, notwithstanding. It is no secret that Eugene Graham has more than once lent his presence to mid- night carousals over the wine-cup Once you were an example of temperance and rectitude, but vice is fashionable, and patron- ized in this city, and your associates soon dragged you down from your proud height to their degraded level. The circle in which you move were not shocked at your fall. Ladies accus- tomed to hear of drunken revels ceased to attach disgrace to them, and you were welcomed and smiled upon, as though yon were all a man should be. Oh Eugene 1 I understand why you have carefully shunned one woo has an unconquerable horror o f B fi U L A H . 343 that degradation into which you have fallen. I am your friend your best and most disinterested friend. What do your fashion abie acquaintauces care that your moral character is impugned, and your fair name taruished ? Your dissipation keeps their brothers and lovers in countenanc^ ; your once noble, unsullied nature would shame their depravity. Do you remember on bright, moonlight night, about six years ago, when we sat in Mrs. Williams' room, at the Asylum, and talked of our future ? Then, with a soul full of pure aspirations, you said : 'Beulah, 1 bave written 'Excelsior' on my banner, and I intend, like that noble youth, to press forward over every obstacle, mounting at every step, until I too stand on the highest pinnacle, and plant my banner where its glorious motto shall float over the world I 1 ' Excelsior 1' Ah, my brother, that banner trails in the dust J Alpine heights tower far behind you, dim in the distance, apd now with another motto ' Lower still ' you are rushing down to an awful gulf. Oh, Eugene 1 do you intend to go on to utter ruin ? Do you intend to wreck happiness, health, and charac- ter in the sea of reckless dissipation ? Do you intend to spend your days in disgusting intoxication ? I would you had a mother, whose prayers might save you, or a father, whose grey hairs you dared not dishonor, or a sister to win you back from ruin, Oh, that you and I had never, never left the sheltering walls of the Asylum 1" She wept bitterly, and more moved than he chose to appear, Eugene shaded his face with his fingers. Beulah placed her hand on his shoulder, and continued, falteringly : " Eugene, I am not afraid to tell you the unvarnished truth. You may get angry, and think it is no business of mine to conn sel you, who are older and master of your own fate ; but when ve were children I talked to you freely, and why should I not now ? True friendship strengthens with years, and shall I hesi tate to speak to you of what gives me so much pain ? In a very few days yot are to be married; Eugene, if the wine-cup ii iearer to you than your beautiful bride, what prospect of happi 844 B E U L A H . ness have cither of yen ? I had hoped her influence would detes yon from it, at least during her visit here; but if not then, hovt oan her presence avail in future ? Oh, for heaven's sake ! foi Antoinette's, for your own, quit the ranks of ruin you are in, and come back to temperance and honor. You are bowing down Cornelia's proud head in humiliation and sorrow. Oh, Eugene, have mercy on yourself 1" He tried to look haughty and insulted, but it would not answer. Her pale face, full of earnest, tearful entreaty, touched his heart, not altogether indurated by profligate associations. He knew she had not given an exaggerated account ; he had imagined that she would not hear of his revels, but certainly she told only the truth. Yet he resolved not to admit the charge, and shaking off her hand, answered proudly: " If I am the degraded character you flatteringly pronounce me, it should certainly render my society anything but agreeable to your fastidious taste. I shall not soon forget your unmerited insults." He rose as he spoke. " You are angry now, Eugene, because I have held up youf own portrait for your inspection. You are piqued because I tell you the truth. But wlren all this has subsided, and you think the matter calmly over, you will be forced to acknowledge that only the purest friendship could prompt me to remonstrate with you on your ruinous career. Of course, if you choose, you can soon wreck yourself ; you are your own master, but the infatua- tion will recoil upon you. Your disgrace and ruin will not afi'ect me, save that, as your friend, I should mourn your fall. Ah, Eugene, I have risked your displeasure I have proved my friendship 1" He took his hat and turned toward the door, but she placed forrself before it,, and holding out both hands, exclaimed sorrow fully : " Do not let us part in anger 1 I am an orphan without rela fives or protectors, and from early years you have been a kind brother. At least, let us part as friends I know that in futur* BEtTLAH. S4A ffc sliai oe completely alienated, bnt your friend Beulah wife always rejoice to hear of your welfare and happiness ; and if hei warning words, kindly meant, have no effect, and she hears, with keen regret, of your final ruin, she at least will feel that she honestly and anxiously did all in her power to save you. Good *;yj,. Shake hands, Eugene, and bear with you to the altar inj lincore wishes for your happiness." She held out her hands entreatingly, but ho took no notice of the movement, and hurrying by, left the house. For a moment Beulah bowed her head and sobbed ; then she brushed the teara from her cheek, and the black brows met in a heavy frown. True, she had not expected much else, yet she felt bitterly grieved, and it was many months ere she ceased to remembei the pain of this interview ; notwithstanding the coutempt 4 sh could not avoid feeling for his weakness. The Grahams all accompanied Eugene, and after the marriage, went North for the summer. A handsome house was erected near Mr. Graham's residence, and in the fall the young people were to take possession of it. Mr. Lockhart rallied sufficiently to be removed to his home " up the country," and, save Dr Asbury's family, Beulah saw no one but Clara and her pupils With July came the close of the session, and the young teaches was free again. One afternoon, she put on her bonnet auf" walked to a distant section of the town, to inquire after Kate Ellison (one of her assistant teachers), who, she happened tc hear, was quite ill. She found her even worse than she had expected, and on offering her services to watch over the sick girl, was anxiously requested to remain with her during tho &ight. She dispotched a message to Mrs. Hoyt, cheerfully laid a^.ids her bonnet, and took a seat near the sufferer, while the Infirm mother retired to rest. The family were very poor, and almost entirely dependent on Kate's salary for a support. The bouse was small and comfortless ; the scanty furniture, of the plainest kind. About dusk, Beulah left her charge in a sound lleep, and cautiously opening the blinds, seated herself on th 15* 846 B K V L A H . window sill. The solitary candle on tne table gave but a dim light, and sjbe sat for a long time looking out into the street and up at the quiet, clear sky. A buggy drew up beneath the win dow she supposed it was the family physician. Mrs. Ellison had not mentioned his coming, but of course it must be a physician, ird sure enough there was a knock at the door. She straight- jiied one or two chairs, picked up some articles of clothing scattered about the floor, and opened the door. She knew not what doctor Mrs. Ellison employed, and as her guardian entered, she drew back with a start of surprise. She had not seen him since the morning of Pauline's marriage, five months before, and then he had not noticed her. Now he ttopped suddenly, looked at her a moment, and said, as if much Chagrined : " What are you doing here, Beulah ?" " Nursing Kate, sir. Don't talk so loud ; she is asleep," answered Beulah, rather frigidly. She did not look at him, but knew his eyes were on her face, Mid presently he said : " You are always where you ought not to be. That girl has typhus fever, and, ten to one, you will take it. In the name of common sense ! why don't you let people take care of their own .sick, and stay at home, instead of hunting up cases like a pro- Ife.ssed nurse ? I suppose the first confirmed case of small pox you hear of, you will hasten to offer your services. You don't intend to spend the night here, it is to be hoped ?" " Her mother has been sitting up so constantly that she is completely exhausted, and somebody must assist in nursing Kate. I did not know that she had any contagious disease, but if she has, I suppose I might as well run the risk as anybody else. It but common humanity to aid the family." "Oh I if you choose to risk yonr life, it is your own affair Do not imagine for an instant that I expected my advice tr ireigh an iota with you." He walked off to Kate, felt her pulse, and without waking her BKULAH. 347 proceeded to replenish the glass of medicine on the table, Beulah was in 110 mood to obtrude herself on his attention ; she -ent to the window, and stood with her back to him. She could not tamely bear his taunting manner, yet felt that it was out of her power to retort, for she still reverenced him. Sh* was surprised when he came up to her and said abruptly : " To-day I read an article in ' T 's Magazine,' called Ih Inner Life/ by ' Delta.' A deep crimson dyed her pale face an instant, and her lipi curled ominously, as she replied, in a would-be indifferent tone : " Well, sir ?" " It is not well, at all. It is very ill. It is most miserable V " Well ! what do I care for the article in ' T 's Maga- zine ?' " These words were jerked out, as it were, with something like a sneer. " You care more than you will ever be brought to confess. Have you read this precious ' Inner Life ?' " ''Oh, yes!" " Have you any idea who the author is ?" " Yes, sir, I know the author ; but if it had been intended or desired that the public should know, also, the article would never have appeared over a fictitious signature." This " Inner Life," which she had written for the last number of the magazine, was an allegory, in which she boldly attempted to disprove the truth of the fact Tennyson has so inimitably em- oodied in " The Palace of Art," namely, that love of beauty, and intellectual culture, cannot satisfy the God- given aspirations of the soul. Her guardian fully comprehended the dawning, and aa yet unacknowledged dread which prompted this article, and baetily laying his hand on her shoulder, he said : "Ah, proud girl 1 you are struggling desperately with youi beart. You, too, have reared a ' palace ' on dreary, almost , Inaccessible crags ; and because already you begin to weary of your isolation, you would fain hurl invectives at Tennyson, who explores your mansion, ' so royal, rich and wide,' and discover* 848 B E U L A fl . the grim spectres that dwell with you ! You were very misera blc when you wrote that sketch ; you are not equal to what yon have undertaken. Child, this year of trial and loneliness has left its impresou your face. Are you not yet willing to give np the struggle ?" The moon had risen, and as its light shone on her connte- nance, he saw a fierce blaze in her eyes he had never noticed there before. She shook off his light touch, and answered : " No 1 I will never give up 1" He smiled, and left her. She remained with her sick friend until sunrise the next morn- ing, and ere she left the house, was rewarded by the assurance that she was better. In a few days, Kate was decidedly conva lescent. Beulah did not take typhus fever. CHAPTER XXVII. THE day was sullen, stormy and dark. Grey, leaden clouds were scourged through the sky by a howling southeastern gale, and the lashed waters of the bay broke along the shore with a solemn, continued boom. The rain fell drearily, and sheet light- ning, pale and constant, gave a ghastly hue to the scudding clouds. It was one of those lengthened storms which, during the month of August, are so prevalent along the gulf coast. Clara Sanders sat near a window, bending over a piece of needle- work, whih, w'.th her hands clasped behind her, Beulah walked ap and down the floor. Their countenances contrasted vividly; Clara's sweet, placid face, with drooped eyelids and Madonna- like serenity; the soft, auburn hair curled about her cheeks, auc* the delicate lips in peaceful rest. And Beulah ! how shall I adequately paiut the gK>rn and restlessness written in her storuij B E U L A H . 348 countenance ? To tell you that her brow was Dent aad lowei ing, that her lips were now unsteady, and now tightly compressed, and that her eyes were full of troubled shadows, would convej but a faint impression of the anxious discontent which seemed to hare taken entire possession of her. Clara glanced at her, sighed, and went on with her work ; she knew perfectly well sh* was in no humor for conversation. The rain increased until il foil in torrents, and the hoarse thunder muttered a dismal accom- paniment. It grew too dark to see the stitches ; Clara put by her work, and folding her hands on her lap, sat looking out into the storm, listening to the roar of the rushing wind, as it bowed the tree-tops and uplifted the white-capped billows of the bay Benlah paused beside the window, and said abruptly : " It is typical of the individual, social, moral, and intellectual life. Look which way you will, you find antagonistic elements fiercely warring. There is a broken cog, somewhere, in the machinery of this plunging globe of ours. Everything organic, and inorganic, bears testimony to a miserable derangement. There is not a department of earth where harmony reigns True, the stars are serene, and move in their everlasting orbits, with fixed precision, bnt they ars not of earth ; here there is nothing definite, nothing certain. The seasons are regular, but they are determined by other worlds. Verily, the contest is still fiercely waged between Ormuzd and Ahriraan, and the last has the best of it, so far. The three thousand years of Ahriman Beotn dawning." She resumed her walk, and looking after her anxiously, Clara ins'wered : " But remember, the ' Zend-Avesta,' promises that Ormuza shall finally conquer, and reign supreme. In this happy king join, I love to trace the resemblance to the millennium which was shown St. John on lonely Patraos." " It is small comfort to anticipate a time of blessedness for fntare generations. What benefit is steam or telegraph to th Bordering mammies of *.he catacombs ? I want to know whal 350 B E U L A H . gx>d the millennium will do you and me, when our dust ii mingled with mother earth, in some silent necropolis ?" " Oh, Beulah ! what ails you to-day ? You look so glooinj arid wretched. It seems to me, you have changed sadly of late, I knew *hat a life of labor, such as you voluntarily assumed, would chasten your spirit, but I did not expect this utter revolt tion of your nature so soon. Oh, have done with skepticism 1" " Faith in creeds is not to be put on and laid aside at will, like a garment. Granted that these same doctrines of Zoroaster are faint adumbrations of the Hebrew creed, the Gordian knot is by DO means loosed. That prologue in Faust v horrified you yesterday ; yet, upon niy word, I don't see why ; for very evidently it is taken from Job, and Faust is but an ideal Job, tempted in more subtle manner than by the loss of flocks, houses and child- ren. You believe that Satan was allowed to do his utmost to ruin Job, and Mephistopheles certainly set out on the same fiendish mission. Mephistopheles is not the defiant demon of Milton, but a powerful prince in the service of God. You need not shudder ; I am giving no partial account, I merely repeat the opinion of many on this subject. It is all the same to me. Evil exists : that is the grim fact. As to its origin ; I would about as soon set off to search for the city Asgard." " Still, I would not give my faith for all your learning and philosophy. See what it has brought you to," answered Clara, sorrowfully. "Your faith ! what does it teach you of this evil principle ?* retorted Beulah, impatiently. "At least, more than all speculation has taught you. Yon Adirat, that of its origin yon know nothing ; the Bible tells me, that time was when earth was sinless^ and man holy, and that death and sin entered the world by man's transgression " " Which I don't believe," interrupted Beulah. "So you might sit there and stop your ears, and close your yea, and assert that this was a sunny, serene day. Your recep iion, or rejection of the Biblical record, by no means affects it B E U L A H 351 authenticity. My faith teaches that the evil you so bitterly \ deprecate is not eternal ; shall finally be crushed, and the har roony you crave, pervade all realms. Why an All-wise, and All-powerful God, suffers evil to exist, is not for his finite crea> tures to determine. It is one of many mysteries, which it is as utterly useless to bother over as to weave ropes of sand." She gathered up her sewing materials, put them in her basket, and retired to her own room. Beulah felt relieved when the door closed behind her, and taking up Theodore Parker's " Dis- courses," began to read. Poor famishing soul ! what chaff she eagerly devoured. In her anxious haste, she paused not to per- ceive that the attempted refutations of Christianity contained objections more gross and incomprehensible than the doctrine assailed. Long before, she had arrived at the conclusion, that ethical and theological truth must be firmly established on psychologict 1 foundations, hence she plunged into metaphysics, studying trevitise after treatise, and system after system. To her grievous di< appointment, however, the psychology of each seemed different, nay opposed. She set out believing her " con- sciousness " v.he infallible criterion of truth ; this she fancied philosophy taught, at least professed to teach ; but instead of unanimity among metaphysicians, she found fierce denunciation of predecessors, ingenious refutations of principles, which they had evolved from rigid analysis of the facts of consciousness, and an intolerant dogmatism which astonished and confused her. One extolled Locke as an oracle of wisdom ; another ridiculed the shallowness of his investigations and the absurdity of his doctrines ; while a third, showed conclusively, that Locke's assail- ant knew nothing at all of what he wrote, and maintained that be alone could set matters right. She studied Locke for her- self. Either he was right, and all the others were wrong, or else there was no truth in any. Another philosopher professed to ground some points of his faith on certain principles of Des- cartes ; the very next work she read, proclaimed that Descartes never held any suca principles, that the writer had altogether , 852 B E TT L A H . mistaken bis views ; whereupon up started another, vrnt informed her that nobody knew what Descartes reallj did oelieve on the subject under discussion ; that it was a mooted question among his disciples. This was rather discouraging, bat, nothing daunted, she bought, borrowed and read on. Brown's descent upon Reid greatly interested her ; true, there were very many things she could not assent to, yet the argu- ments seemed plausible enough, when lo! a metaphysical giant rescues Reid ; tells her that Brown was an ignoramus ; utterly misunderstood the theory he set himself to criticise, and was a wretched bungler ; after which he proceeds to show that although Brown had not acumen enough to perceive it, Reid had himself fallen into grave errors, and culpable obscurity. Who was right, or who was wrong, she could not for her life decide. It would have been farcical, indeed, had she not been so anxiously in earnest. Beginning to distrust herself, and with a dawning dread lest, after all, psychology would prove an incom- petent guide, she put by the philosophies themselves and betook herself to histories of philosophy, fancying that here ah bitter invective would be laid aside, and stern impartiality pre- vail. Here the evil she fled from increased fourfold. One historian of philosophy (who was a great favorite of her guard- ian) having lost all confidence in the subjects he treated, se1 himself to work to show the fallacy of all systems, from Auaxi- mander to Cousin. She found the historians of philosophy as much at variance as the philosophers themselves, and looked with dismay into the dim land of vagaries, into which metaphy- sics had drawn the brightest minds of the past. Then lior guardian's favorite quotation recurred to her with painful signi- ficance : " There is 'no criterion of truth ; all is merely subjec- tive truth." It was the old skeptical palladium, ancient as metaphysics. She began to despair of the truth in this direc- tioii ; but it certainly existed somewhere. She commenced the study of Cousin with trembling eagerness ; if at all, she would eurely find in a harmonious " Eclectieism," the absolute truth B E U L A H b53 ghe had chased through so many metaphysica doublings ' { E- lecticism " would cull for her the results of all soarch and reasoning. For a time, she believed she had indeed found a resting-place ; his " true " satisfied her ; his " beautiful " fasci- nated her; but when she came to examine his " Theodicea/' And trace its results, she shrank back appalled. She was not ot prepared to embrace his subtle pantheism. Thus far had her sincere inquiries and efforts brought her. It was no wonder her hopeful nature grew bitter and cynical ; no wonder her brow was bent with puzzled thought, and her pale face haggard and joyless. Sick of systems, she began to search her own soul ; did the very thing of all others best calculated to harass her mind and Gil it with inexplicable mysteries. She constituted her own reason the sole judge; and then, dubious of the verdict, arraigned reason itself before itself. Now began the desperate"! struggle. Alone and unaided, she wrestled with some of the grimest doubts that can assail a human soul. The very preva- lence of her own doubts augmented the difficulty. On every side she saw the footprints of skepticism ; in history, essays, novels, ' poems, and reviews. Still, her indomitable will maintained the contlict. Her hopes, aims, energies, all centred in this momen- tous struggle. She studied over these world-problems until heij ryes grew dim, and the veins on her brow swelled like cords. Often, grey dawn looked in npoa her, still sitting before her desk, with a sickly, waning lamp-light gleaming over her pallid face. A.ud to-day, as she looked out on the flying clouds, and listened to the mournful wail of the rushing gale, she seemed to stand upon the verge of a yawning chaos. "What did she believe? She knew not. Old faiths had crumbled away ; she stood in a dreary waste, strewn with the wreck of creeds and systems ; a lilent desolation 1 And with Richters Christ she exclaimed : " Oh ! how is each so solitary in this wide grave of the All ? I am aloue with myself. Oh, Father I oh, Father, where is thy infinite bosom, that I might rest on it ?" A belief in something she must hare ; it was an absolute necessity c-f the Foul. Then 354 B E U L A H . was no scoffing tendency in her skepticism ; she could not jest over the solemn issues involved, and stood wondeiing which waj she should next journey after this " pearl of great price." L was well for her that garlands of rhetoric and glittering logic lay over the pitfalls before her; for there were unsounded abysses, Barker than any she had yet endeavored to fathom. Clara eaine back, and softly laid her hand on her friend's arm. " Please put up your book, and sing something for me, won't you?' Benlah looked at the serene countenance, so full of resignation, and answered, gloomily : " What 1 are you, too, tired of listening to this storm-anthem mature has treated us to for the last two days ? It seems to me the very universe, animate and inanimate, is indulging in an uncontrollable fit of the ' blues.' One would almost think the dead-march was being played up and down the aisles of creatiou." She pressed her hands to her hot brow, as if to wipe away the cobwebs that dimmed her vision, and raising the lid of the piano, ran her fingers over the keys. " Sing me something hopeful and heart-cheering," said Clara, " I have no songs of that description." " Yes, you have : ' Look Aloft,' and the ' Psalm of Life.' " " No, no. Impossible. I could not sing either now," replied Beulah, averting her face. " Why not now? They are the excelsior strains of struggling pilgrims. They were written for the dark hours of life." " They are a mockery to me. Ask me for anything else," said Bhe, compressing her lips. Clara leaned her arm on the piano, and looking sadly at hef companion, said, as if with a painful effort: " Beulah, in a little while we shall 6e separated, and only the All-Father knows whether we shall meet on eartb again. My application for that situation as governess, up the country, wrought me an answer to-day. I am to go very soon." Beulab made no reply, and Clara continued, sorrowfully: " It is very painful to leave my few remaining friends, and gc B E U L A H . 35i tmong perfect strangers, but it is best that I she old." Sh leaned her head on her hand, and wept. " Why is it best ?" *' Because here I am constantly reminded of other days, and other hopes, now lying dead on my heart. But we will not speak of this. Of all my ties here, my love for you is now the strongest. Oh, Beulah, our friendship has been sacred, and I dread the loneliness which will be my portion when hundreds of miles lay between us! The links that bind orphan hearts like ours are more lasting than all others." " I shall be left entirely alone, if you accept this situation. Tou have long been my only companion. Don't leave me, Clara," murmured Beulah, while her lips writhed and quivered. " You will have the Asbnrys still, and they are sincere friends " "Yes, friends, but not companions. What congeniality ia toere between those girls and myself? None. My isolation will be complete when you leave me." " Beulah, will yon let me say what is in my heart ? r " Say it freely, my brown-eyed darling." " Well then, Beulah; give it up; give it up. It will only bow down your heart with untold cares and sorrows." " Give up what ?" " This combat with loneliness and poverty." " I an not lonely," answered Beulah, with a wintry smile. "Oh, Beulah 1 yes, you are; wretchedly lonely. I have been bat a poor companion for you; intellectually, you are far beyond me, and there has been little congeniality in our tastes and pur- suite. I have always know this ; and I know, too, that you never will be a happy woman, until you have a companion equal in intellect, who nrderstands and sympathizes with yon. Ah, I Beulah! with all your stubborn pride, and will, and mental endowments, you have a woman's heart; and crush its impulses s you may, it will yet assert its sway. As I told ycu long ago, grammars, and geographies, ai'.d duty, could not fill the void in wy heart; aud believe me, neither will metaphysics and pbilo 856 B E u LAH sophy, and literature, satisfy you. Suppose you do attain ecl& brity as a writer. Can the plaudits of strangers bring back t your solitary hearth the loved dead, or cheer you in your hou.'8 of gloom? I too am an orphan; I speak of what I can appre- ciate. You are mistaken, Beulah, in thinking you can dispense with sympathy. You are not sufficient for yourself, as you have ?o proudly maintained. God has created us for companionship} 'it- is a necessity of human nature." " Then why are you and I orphaned for all time ?" asked Beulah, coldly. " The sablest clouds of sorrow have silver linings. Perhaps that you and I might turn more continually to the God oi orphans. Beulah, God has not flooded earth with eternal sun- j light. He knew that shadows were needed to chasten the spirits | of his children, and teach them to look to him for the renewal of all blessings. But shadows are fleeting, and every season of gloom has its morning star. Oh, I thank God that his own hand arranged the chiaroscuro of earth 1" She spoke earnestly; the expression of her eyes told that her thoughts had travelled into the dim, weird land of futurity. Beulah offered no com- ment, but the gloom deepened on her brow, and her white fingers crept restlessly over the piano keys. After a moment's silence, Clara continued : " I would not regret our separation so much, if I left you in the possession of Christian faith; armed with a perfect trust in the religion of Jesus Christ. Oh, Beulah, it makes my heart ache when I think of you, struggling so fiercely in the grasp o! infidelity! Many times have I seen the light shining beneath your door, long after midnight, and wept over the conflict 'u which I knew you were engaged ; and only God knows how often I have mingled your name in my prayers, entreating Him to direct you in your search, to guide you safely through the> paths of skepticism, and place your weary feet upon the 'rock of fcges.' Oh, Beulah, do not make my prayers vain by your con tiuued questioning! Come back to Christ, and the Bible * B K U L A H . 357 Ccars glided down her cheeks as she passed her arm rouul he* friend, and dropped her head on her shoulder. Beulah's eyelids trembled an instant, but there was no moisture in the grey depths, as she answered : " Thank you, Clara, for your interest. I am glad you har< tftis faith you would fain lead me to. Not for worlds would { nnsc-ttle it, even if I could. You are comforted in your religion, and it is a priceless blessing to you. But I am sincere, even ir my skepticism. I am honest; and God, if he sees my heart, sees that I am. I may be an infidel, as you call me, but, if so, I am an honest onej and if the Bible is all true, as you believe, God will judge my heart. But I shall not always be skeptical; I shall find the truth yet. I know it is a tedious journey I have set out on, and it may be my life will be spent in the search, but what of that, if at last I attain the goal ? What if I only live to reach it ? What will my life be to me without it ?" " And can you contentedly contemplate your future, passed as this last year has been ?" cried Clara. " Perhaps ' contentedly ' is scarcely the right term. I shall not murmur, no matter how dreary the circumstances of my Ufa may be, provided I succeed at last," replied Beuleh, resolutely " Oh, Beulah, you make my heart achel" " Then try not to think of or care for me." " There is another heart, dear Beulah, a heart sad, but noble ; that you are causing bitter anguish. Are you utterly indifferent to this also ?" " All of the last exists merely in your imagination. We will lay no more about it, if you please." She immediately began a brilliant overture, and Clara retreated tc the window. With night the roar of the tempest increased &he rain fell with a dull, uninterrupted patter, the gale swept furiousiy on, and the heaving, foaming waters of the bay gleamed luridly beneath the sheet-lightning. Clara stood looking out, and before long Beulah joined hei ; then the former said, sud ieuiy; 858 B E U L A H . "Do yon remember, that about six years ago, a storm Hki this tossed the Morning Star far from its destined track, and for many days it was unheard of ? Do you remember, too, that it held one you loved ; and that in an agony of dread, lest he should find a grave among coral beds, you bowed your knee in prayer to Almighty God, imploring him to calm the tempest, hush the gale, and save him who was so dear to you ? Ah, Beulah, you distrusted human pilots then." As Beulah made no reply, she fancied she was pondering her words. But memory had flown back to the hour when she knelt in prayer for Eugene, and she thought she could far better have borne his death then, in the glorious springtime of his youth, than know that he had fallen from his noble height. Then she could have mourned his loss, and cherished his memory ever after; now she could only pity and despise his folly. What was that early shipwreck she so much dreaded, in comparison with the sea of vice, whose every wave tossed him helplessly on to ruin. He had left her, an earnest believer in religion ; he came back scoff- ing at everything sacred. This much she had learned from Cornelia. Was there an intimate connection between the revo- lutions in his nature ? Misled by her silence, Clara said, eagerly: " You were happy in that early faith. Oh, Beulah, you wDl never find another so holy, so comforting 1" Beulah frowned, and looked up impatiently. " Clara, I am not to be persuaded into anything. Leave uia to myself. Yon are kind, but mistaken." " If I have said too much, forgive me ; I was actuated by sin cere affection, and pity for your state of mind." " I am not an object of pity by any means," replied Beulah, very coldly. Clara was unfortunate in her expressions ; she seemed to think 10, and turned away ; but, conscious of having spoken hastily, Benlab caught her hand, and exclaimed frankly : "Do not be hurt with me ; I did not intend to wound you BET7LAH. 359 Forgive me, Clara. Don't go. When are yon tc /ea^ e for your aew home ?" " Day after to-morrow. Mr Arlington seems anxious that 1 should come immediately. He has three children ; a son and two daughters. I hope they are amiable ; I dread lest the} prore unruly and spoiled. If so, woe to their governess." " Does Mr. Arlington reside in the village to which you direct- ed your letter ?" " No ; he resides on his plantation, several miles from the village. The prospect of being in the country is the only redeem- ing feature in the arrangement. I hope my health will be per- manently restored by the change ; but of the success of mf plan. only time can decide." " And when shall we meet again ?" said Beulah, slowly. '' Perhaps, henceforth, our paths diverge widely. We may meet no more on earth ; but, dear Beulah, there is a ' peaceful shore, where billows never beat nor tempests roar,' where assur- edly we shall spend an eternity together if we keep the faith here. Oh, if I thought our parting now was for all time, I should mourn bitterly, very bitterly ; but I will not believe it. The arras of our God support you. T shall always pray that he will guide and save you." She leaned forward, kissed Beulah'i forehead, and left the room, CHAPTER XXVIli. ONK afternoon in October, the indisposition of one of her nasic pupils released Beulah earlier than usual, and she deter- mined to seize this opportunity and visit the Asylum. Of the yalk across the common, she never wearied ; the grass had grown brown, and, save the deep, changeless green of th wccient pines, only the hectic coloring of the dying year met hei 360 BETTLAH. eye. The day was cool and windy, and the common presented a scene of boisterous confusion, which she paused to contemplate. A number of boys had collected to play their favorite games balls flew in every direction, and merry shouts rang cheerily febi ouga the air. She looked on a few moments at their care- tess, happy sports, and resumed her walk, feeling that their joyousness was certainly contagious, she was so much lighter- hearted from having watched their beaming faces, and listened tc their ringing laughter. As she drew near the Asylum gate, memory began to pass its fingers over her heart ; but here, too, sounds of gladness met her. The orphans were assembled on the lawn in front of the building, chatting as cheerfully as though they we,re all members of one family. The little ones trundled hoops, and chased each other Hp aiid'down the gravelled walks; some of the boys tossed their balls, and a few of the larger girls were tying up chrysan- themums to slender stakes. They were dressed alike; all looked contented, neat and happy, and their rosy faces presented a uoble tribute to the efficacy and untold blessings of the institu- tion. To many of them Beulah was well known; she threw off her bonnet and shawl, and assisted the girls in their work among the flowers, while the little ones gathered around her, lisping their childish welcome and coaxing her to join in their innocent games. The stately China trees, where, in years gone by, Lilly and Claudy had watched the chirping robins, were again clad ib their rich, golden livery; and as Beulah looked up at the red brick walls, that had sheltered her head in the early days of orphan age, it seemed but yesterday that she trod these walks and listened to the wintry wind sighing through these same loved trees. The children told her that their matron had been sick snd was not yet quite well, and needing no pilot, Buulah went through the house in search of her. She found her at last in the store-room, giving cut materials for the evening meal, and had an opportunity of observing the change which had taken place in the last few months. She was pale and thin, and het B E U L A H . 361 sharpened features wore a depressed, weary expression ; but, turning round, she perceived Beulah, and a glad smile broke instantly over her countenance as she clasped the girl's hand in both hers. " Dear child, I hare looked for you a long time. I did not &ink you would wait so many weeks. Come in and sit down." " I did not know you had been sick until I came and heard the children speak of it. You should have sent me word. I se JTOU have not entirely recovered." " No, I am quite feeble yet ; but in time, I hope I shall be well again. Ah, Beulah, I have wanted to see you so much I so rnuchl Child, it seems to me I shall never get used to being separated from you." Beulah sat on the sofa near her, and the matron's withered hands were passed caressingly over the glossy bands of hair which lay OL the orphan's white temples. " I love to come here occasionally ; it does me good; but not too often; that would be painful, you know." Beulah spoke in a subdued voice, while memory painted the ev filing when Eugene had sought her in this apartment, and wiped away her tears for Lilly's absence. Her" features twitched, as she thought of the bitter changes that rolling years work, and she sighed unconsciously. The matron's hands were stilJ smoothing her hair, and presently she said, with an anxious,- scrutinizing look,: " Have you been sick since you were here last ?" " No. What makes you imagine such a thing ?'' " Dear child, I do not imagine; I know you look worn and ill. Why, Beulah, hold up your hand ; there, see how transparent it is I Almost like wax 1 Something ails you, child ; that X know well enough." " No, I assure you, I am not ill. Sometimes, of late, I have been troubled with the old headaches you used to cure, when I was a child; but, on the whole, I am well." " Beulah, they tell me Eugene is married," said the kind 16 362 II 1C U L A a . hearted woman, with another look at the quiet face besidi her. " Yes, he was married neorly five months ago." A tremoi passed over her lips as she spoke. " Did you see his wife ?" " Yes ; she is a very pretty woman. I may say a beautiful woman j but she does not suit him. At least, I am afraid she will not," "Ah, 1 knew as much! I thought as much I" cried Mrs. Williams. " Why ?" asked Beulah, wonderingly. . " Oh, money cloaks all faults, child. I knew he did not marry her for love I" Beulah started a little, and said hastily : " You do him injustice great injustice ! Eugene was charmed by her beauty, not her fortune." '' Oh, heiresses are always beautiful and charming in the eyes of the world 1 Beulah, do you know that I watched for Eugene, for days, and weeks, and months, after his return from Europe ? 1 wanted to see him oh, so much 1 I loved you both as though you were my own children. I was so proud of that boy 1 1 had raised him from a crawiing infant, ana ne^er dreamed that he would forget me. But he did- not come. I have not seen him since he left, six years ago, for Germany. Oh, the boy has pained me pained me 1 I loved him sc much 1" Beulah's brow clouded heavily, as she said : " It is better so better that you should not see him. He is not what he was when he quitted us." <: ls it true, then, that he drinks that he is wild and dissi- pated ? I heard it once, but would not believe it. Oh, it can't be that Eugene drinks ?" " Yes, he drinks not to stupid intoxication, but too freelj for his health and character. He does not look like himsel/ oow; B E D L A H . 36? Mrs Williams bowed down her head, and wept bitterly, Bculab continued, sorrowfully : " His adoption was his rain. Had he remained dependent on his individual exertions, he would have grown up an honor to himself and his friends. But Mr. Graham is considered ' crj wealthy, and Eugene weakly desisted from the honest labor Trhich was his duty. His fashionable associates have ruiued him. In Europe he learned to drink, and here his companions dragged him constantly into scenes of dissipation. But I do not despair of him yet. It may be long before he awakens from this iufatua tion, 'but I trust he will yet reform. I cannot bear to thiuk of him as a confirmed drunkard ! Oh, no ! no ! I may be wrong, but I still hope that his nobler nature will conquer." " God help the boy 1 I have prayed for him for years, and I shall pray for him still, though he has forgotten me." She sobbed, and covered her face with her apron. A joyless smile flitted over Beulah's fixed, grave features, as she said, encouragingly : " He will come to see you when he returns from the North He has not forgotten you that is impossible. Like me, he owe* you too much." " I shall leave here, very soon," said Mrs. Williams, wiping ner eyes. " Leave the Asylum ! for what ?" " I am getting old, child, and my health is none of the best. The duties are very heavy here, and I am not willing to occupy the position, unless I could discharge all the duties faithfully. I ha?e sent in my resignation to the managers, and as soon 04 they succeed in getting another matron, I shall leave the Asy- lum I am sorry to be obliged to go ; I have been here so long that I am very much attached to the place and the children. But I am not able to do what I have done, and I know Li u right that I should give up the position." " What are you going to do ?" " I have means enough to live plainly the remainder a 017 364 BE TIL AH. life. I intend to rent or buy a small house, and settle down, and be quiet. I feel now as if I should like to spend uiy days in peace." ' Do you intend to live alone ?" " Yes, child; except a servant, I suppose I shall be quite alone. But you will come to see me often, and perhaps Eugene will ifemember me, some day, when he is in trouble." " No, I shall not come to see you at all ! I mean to come and live with you that is, if I may ?" cried Beulah, springing op, and laying her hand on the matron's. " God bless you, dear child, how glad I shall be !" She wound her arms round the slender form, and laughed through bur tears. Berlah gently put back the grey locks that had fallen from the border of her cap, arid said hopefully : " 1 am sick of boarding sick of town 1 Let us get a nice little house, where I can walk in and out to my school. Have you selected any particular place ?" " No. 1 have looked at two or three, but none suited rue exactly. Now you can help me. I am so thankful you are going to be with me. Will you come as soon as I can be released here ?" Yes, just as soon as you are ready for me ; and I think I know a house for rent which will just suit us. Now, I want it understood that I am to pay the rent." " Oh, no, child 1 I won't hear to it, for I am " " Very well, then ; I will stay where I am." " Oh, Beulah ! you are not in earnest ?" " Yes, I am ; so say no more about it. I will come on no ither condition. I will see the owner of the house, ascertain rhat I can obtain it for, and send you word. Then you cat ,ook at it, and decide." " I am quite willing to trust it to you, child ; only I can't bear the thought of your paying the rent for it. But we ca* arrange that afterward " BEULAH. " No, you must be perfectly satisfied with the bouse. I wit go by this evening and find out about it, so as to let you know at once. Have you any idea when the ' board ' will procure another matron?" " They have advertised, and several persons applied, 1 belicre, but they were not exactly pleased with the applicants. I sup- ocso, however, that in a few days they will find a substitute fo*" me." " "Well, be sure you get a good servant, and now I must go." She put on her bonnet and shawl with unwonted haste, and ran down the steps. In her frequent walks, she had noticed two cottages in course of erection, not very far from the pine grove in front of the Asylum, and now crossing the common, she directed her steps toward them. The lots were small, and) belonged to Dr. Asbury, who said he would build a couple of I cottages for poor families to rent at cheap rates. As Beulah / approached the houses, she saw the doctor's buggy standing near the door, and thinking it a good omen, quickened her steps Each buildiug contained only three rooms and a hall, with a gallery, or rather portico in front. They were genuine cottages orne, built after Downing's plans, and presented a taste- ful, inviting appearance. The windows were arched, and th* wood-work elaborately carved. Beulah pushed open the freshly painted gate, ran up the steps, and into the hall. The carpen ters were still at work in the kitchen, and as she conjectured, bere she found her friend, giving some final directions. She looked round the snug little kitchen, and walking up to Dr, Asbury, who stood with his back to the door, she shook bis hand, with a cheerful salutation. " Halloo, Benlah ! where did you drop from ? glad to sc4 you. Glad to see you. How came you prying into my new bouses ? Answer me that 1 Did you see my spouse as you ram through the hall ?" " No, I will go back and hunt for her " " You need not ; there she comes down the steps of the hciwe 866 BETJLAH. She would insist on seeing about some shelves for this pieciotw kitchen ; thinks I am bound to put pantries, and closets, and shelves, all over the house, for my future tenants. I suppose before the first poor family take possession, I shall be expected to fill the closet with table-linen and cutlery, and the larder with sugar, flour, and wax candles. Look here, Mrs. Aabury how many more shelves is this kitchen to have ?" " It is well she has a conscience, sir, since nature denied you one," answered Beulah, whom Mrs. Asbury received very affec- tionately. " Conscience 1 Bless my soul 1 she has none, as regards my unlucky purse. Positively, she wanted to know, just now, if I would not have that little patch of ground between the house and the palirg, laid off into beds ; and if I would not piant a few rose-bushes and vines, for the first rascally set of children to tear up by the roots, just as soon as their parents moved in There's conscience for you with a vengeance." " And what did you say, sir ?" '' What did I say ? why just what every other meek hus band says to appeals which ' won't cost much, you know.' Of course I had no opinion of my own. Madame, here, is infallible; BO I am put down for maybe a hundred dollars more. You need not have asked the result, you true daughter of Eve ; every- one of you understand wheedling. Those two mischievous imps of mine are almost as great adepts as their mother. Hey, Beulah, no whispering there ! You look as wise as an owl, What am I to do next ? Paper the walls, and fresco the ceil- ings ? Out with it." " I want to ask, sir, how much rent your conscience vflh 11 jw you to demand for this pigeon-box of a house ?" " Well, I had an idea of asking two hundred dollars for it *'heap enough at that. You may have it for two hundred,' laid he, with a good-hnrnored nod toward Beulah. "Very well, I will take it at that, provided Mrs. William? likes it as well as I do. la a daj or two I will determine.'' B E U L A H . 367 " In the name of common sense, Beulah, what freak is this? " said the doctor, looking at her with astonishment. "I am going to live with the matron of the Asylum, whom you know very well. I think this house will suit us exactly, and the rent suits my purse far better than a larger building would. 3 am tired of boarding. I want a little home of my own, where, ' when the labors of school are over, I can feel at ease. The walk, twice a day, will benefit me, I feel assured. You need not look so dismal and pei'plexed, I will make a capital tenant. Your door-facings shan't be pencil-marked ; your windows shan't be broken, nor your gate swung off its hinges. As for those flowers you are so anxious to plant, and that patch of ground you are so much interested in, it shall blossom like the plain of Sharon." He looked at her wistfully; took off his spectacles, wiped them with the end of his coat, and said, dubiously : " What does Hartwell think of this project? " " I have not consulted him." " The plain English of which is, that whether he approves or condemns, you are determined to carry out this new plan. Take care, Beulah; remember the old adage about 'cutting off your nose to spite your face.' " " Rather mal apropos, Dr. Asbury," said she, indifferently. " I am an old man, Beulah, and know something of life and the world." " Nay, George : why dissuade her from this plan ? If she prefers this quiet little home, to the confinement and bustle of a boarding-house, if she thinks she would be happier here with Mrs. Williams than in the heart of the city, why should not she come? Suffer her to judge for herself. I am disposed to applaud her choice," interrupted Mrs. Asbury. " Alice, do you suppose she will be satisfied to buiy herself 1 out here, with an infirm old woman for a companion ? Here she J must have an early breakfast ; trudge through rain .and cold into town ; teach stupid little brats till evening ; then listen to iJ68 BECLAH. others equally stupid, thrum over music lessons, and at last, tired out, drag herself back here about dark, when it is too late to see whether her garden is a cotton patch or a peach orchard ' Will you please to tell me what enjoyment there is for oue of her temperament in such a tread-mill existence ?" " Your picture is all shadow, George; and even if it were not, she is the best judge of what will promote her happiness. Do not discourage her. Ah, humble as the place is, I know how her heart aches for a spot she can call ' home.' These three rooms will be a haven of rest for her when the day is done. My dear Beulah, I trust you may be very happy here, or wherever you decide to live ; you deserve to be." " Thank you, madam, for your friendly sympathy. I am glad you approve my design." " Well, well ; if you soon weary of this freak you can easily give up the house, that is all. Now, Beulah, if you determine to take it, rest assured I will gladly make any additions or alterations you may suggest. I dare say I shall like you for a tenant. But see here, Mrs. Asbury, I have patients to look after. Please to remember that I am a professional character, consequently can call no moment my own. What ! another row ef shelves round that side ? This building houses for rent is a ruinous speculation 1 Come, it is too late now to go over the rooms again ; to-morrow will do as well. Beulah, are you going to play cook, too ?" " No, indeed ! Mrs. Williams will find us a servant. Good bye. I will decide about the house as soon as possible." The following day she dispatched a note to the matron, with information concerning the house ; and at the close of the week, all arrangements were completed, so that they might take pos- gession as soon as a new matron was secured. Thus the last of October glided swiftly away, and one cold, clear day in Noven> ber, Beulah was notified that Mrs. Williams was comfortably settled in the new home. She went to school as usual, and when the recitations were ended, started out with a glad heart B K U L A H . 309 ind springing step. In half an hour she reacned the littlt white gate, and found Mrs. Williams waiting there to wdcoma her. Everything was new and neat ; the tastefully selected car- pets were not tapestry, but cheap ingrain ; the snowy curtains were of plain dimity, with rose-colored borders, and the tea table held, instead of costly Sevres, simple white china, with a baud of gilt. A bright Gre crackled and glowed in the chimney, and as B^ulah stood on the hearth, and glanced round the com- fortable little room, which was to be both parlor and dining- room, she felt her heart thrill with delight, and exclaimed : " This is home ! at last I feel that I have a home of my own I Not the Rothchilds, in their palaces, are so happy as 1 1" For years she had been a wanderer, with no hearthstone, and now for the first time since her father's death she was at home. Not the home of adoption ; nor the cheerless room of a board- iag-house, but the humble home which labor and rigid economy had earned for her. Her heart bounded with joy ; an unwonted glow suffused her cheeks, and her parted lips trembled. The evening passed quickly, and when she retired to her own room she was surprised to find a handsome rosewood book case and desk occupying one corner. She opened the glass doors and saw her books carefully arranged on the shelves. Could hej guardian have sent it ? No, since her refusal of the watch, she felt sure he would not have offered it. A small note lay on the shelf and recognizing the delicate hand-writing, she read the lines, containing these words : " BSCLAH : Accept the accompanying case and desk, as a slight testi- mony of the affection of " Your sincere friend, " ALICE ASBUBY." Tears sprang into her eyes as she opened the desk and dis- severed an elegant pen and pencil, and every convenience connected with writing. Turning away, she saw beside th< Sre, a large, deep easy-chair, cushioned with purple moroccq 16* B70 BEULAH. and knew it was exactly Iik6 one she bad often seen in [)r Asbury's library. On the back was pinned a narrow slip of paper, and she read, in the doctor's scrawling, quaint writing : " Child, don't be too proud to use it." She was not ; throwing herself into the luxurious chair, tht roke the seal of a letter received that day from Pauline Morti. nor Once before, soon after her marriage, a few lines of gay greeting had come, and then many mouths had elapsed. As she unfolded the sheet, she saw, with sorrow, that in several places, it was blotted with tears; and the contents, written in a paroxysm of passion, disclosed a state of wretchedness which Beulah little Buspected. Pauline's impulsive, fitful nature, was clearly indexed in the letter, and after a brief apology for her long sileuce, she wrote as follows : " Oh, Beulah, I am so miserable ; so very, very wretched ! Beulah, Ernest does not love me ! You will scarcely believe me. Oh, I hardly know how to believe it myself 1 Uncle Guy was right ; I do not suit Ernest ; but I loved him so very, very dearly ; and thought him so devoted to me. Fool that I was 1 my eyes are opened at last. Beahih, it nearly drives me wild, to Lhiuk that I am bound to him for life, an unloved wife. Not a year has passed since our marriage, yet already he has tired of my ' pretty face.' Oh, Beulah, if I could only come to you, and put my arms round your neck, and lay my poor weary head down on your shoulder, then I could tell you all " - Here several sentences were illegible from tears, and she could only read what followed. " Since yesterday morning, Ernest has not spoken to me. While 1 write, he is sitting in the next room, reading, as cold, iudiffer ent and calm as if I were not perfectly wretched. He is tyran- nical ; and because I do not humor all his whims, and have some will of my own, he treats me with insulting indifference. He is ingry now, because I resented some of his father's impertinent speeches about my dress. This is not the first, nor the second BETLAH. 371 time that we Lave quarrelled. He has an old inaid sister, who ii forever meddling about my affairs, aud sueering at my dc mcstic arrangements ; and because I finally told her I believed I waa mistress of my own house, Ernest has never forgiven me. Ellen (the sister I loved, and went to school with) has married, and moved to a distant part of the State. The other members of h'ui family are bigoted, proud aud parsimonious, and they have chieflj made the breach between us. Oh, Beulah, if I could onlj undo ' the past, and be Pauline Chilton once more ! Oh, if I could be free and happy again ! But there is no prospect of that. I am his wife, as he told me yesterday, and suppose I must drag out a miserable existence. Yet I will not be trampled on by his .family His sister spends much of her time with us ; reads to Ernest talks to him about things that she glories in telling me I don't understand the first word of. Beulah, I was anxious to study, and make myself a companion for him, but, try as I may, Lucy contrives always to fret and thwart me. Two days ago, she nearly drove me beside myself, with her sneers and allusions to my great mental inferiority to Ernest (as if I were not often enough painfully reminded of the fact, without any of her assist ance !) I know I should not have said it, but I was too angry to think of propriety, and told her that her presence in my home was very disagreable. Oh, if yon could have seen her insulting smile, as she answered, that her ' noble brother needed her, and she felt it a duty to remain with him.' Beulah, I love my hus- band ; I would do anything on earth to make him happy, if we were left to ourselves, but as to submitting to Lucy's arrogance and sneers, I will not ! Ernest requires me to apologize to his \ father and sister, and I told him I would not ! I would die first ! , lie does not love me, or he would shield me from such trials. H ihinks his sister is perfection, and I tell you I do absolutely detest her. Now, Beulah, there is no one else to whom I would men- tion my unhappiuess. Mother does not suspect it, and nevei shall, even when she visits me. Uncle Guy predicted it, and I r-gld not have him know it for the universe. But I can trusrt 872 BEULAH. you ; I feel that you will sympathize with me, and I want you t counsel me. Oh, tell rue what I ought to do to rid myself of this tormenting sister-in-law and father-in-law, and I may say, al Ernest's kin. Sometimes, when I think of the future, I absolutely >midder ; for if matters go on this way much longer, I shall learn to hate my husband too. He knew my disposition before be- married me, and has no right to treat me as he does. If it were only Ernest, I could bring myself to ' obey ' him, for I lov him very devotedly ; but as to being dictated to by all his rela tives, I never will ! Beulah, burn this blurred letter, don't let anybody know how drearily I am situated. I am too proud tc have my misery published. To know that people pitied me, would kill me. I never can be happy again, but perhaps you can help me to be less miserable. Do write to me ! Oh, how I wiah you could come to me 1 I charge you, Beulah, don't let Uncle Guy know that I am not happy. Good bye. Oh, if ever you marry, be sure your husband has no old maid sisters, and no officious kin ! I am crying so, that I can barely see the lines. Good bye, dear Beulah. " PAULINE." Beulah leaned forward, and dropped the letter into the glow- ing mass of coals. It shrivelled, blazed and vanished, and with a heavy sigh, she sat pondering the painful contents. What advice could she possibly give that would remedy the trouble ? She was aware that the young wife must indeed have been "very wretched," before she could consent to disclose her domestic feuds to another. Under happier auspices, she felt that Pauline would have made a devoted, gentle wife, but feared it was now too late to mold her character in conformity with her husband's wishes. " So much for a union of uncongenial naturef ," thought Beulah, as she prepared to answer the unlucky letter. As guard- edly as possible, she alluded to Mr. Mortimor and his family, and urged Pauline to talk to her husband gently, but firmly, and assure him that the continued interference of his family was un- indurable. If her remonstrances proved futile, to do what she B E u L A n . 373 considered due to herself as mistress of hei own establishment and try not to notice the annoyances of others. Beulah felt, and acknowledged her inability to advise the young wife in the diffi cult position in which she was placed, and closed by assuring hei that only her own good sense, guided by sincere love for her husband, could rightly direct her course. She was warmly attached to Pauline, and it was with a troubled heart that she addressed her reply. CHAPTER XXIX. THE Grahams were all at home again, and Eugene and his oride had been for several weeks fairly settled in their elegant new house. Beulah had seen none of the family since their re- turn, for her time was nearly all occupied, and as soon as released from school, she gladly hurried out to her little hoiE One evening, as she left the Academy, Mr. Graham's spirited horses dashed up to the gate, and the coachman handed her a note. It was from Mrs. Graham. " Miss BEXTON : " Cornelia is quite indisposed, and begs that you will call and sec hei this afternoon. A.B it threatens rain, I send the carriage. "S. GRAHAM." Beulah crumpled the note between her fingers, and hesitated. The coachman perceived her irresolution, and hastened to say : " You needn't be afraid of the horses, miss. Miss Nett' ridei 10 much they are tamed down." " I am not at all afraid of the horses. Has Cornelia been auk Snce her return from the North ?" " Why ; miss, she came home worse than ever. She has not been down-stairs since. She is sick all the time now." Bt-ulah hesitated no longer. Mrs. Graham met her at the ioor, and greeted her more cordially than she had done on aoj 374 BEUL A M previous occasion. She looked anxious and wear?, and saki, a ehe led the way to her daughter's apartment ; " We are quite uneasy about Cornelia ; you will find her sadly altered." She ushered Beulah into the room, then imme- diately withdrew. Cornelia was propped up by cushions and pillows in her easy* ^hair ; her head was thrown back, and ner gaze appeared to be riveted on a painting which hung, opposite. Beulah stood beside her a moment, unnoticed, and saw with painful surprise the ravagas which disease had made in the once beautiful fa^G aud queenly form. The black, shining hair was cut short aud clus- tered in thick, wavy locks about the wan brow, now corrugated as by some spasm of pain. The cheeks were hollow and ghastly pale ; the eyes sunken, but unnaturally large and brilliant ; and the coloriess lips compressed as though to bear habitual suffering. Her wasted hands, grasping the arms of the chair, might have served as a model for a statue of death, so thin, pale, almost transparent. Beulah softly touched one of them, and said : " Cornelia, you wished to see me." The invalid looked at her intently, and smiled. "I thought. you would come. Ah, Beulah, do you recognize this wreck as your former friend ?" " I was not prepared to find you so changed ; for until this afternoon I was not aware your trip had been so fruitless. DC you suffer much ?" " Suffer 1 Yes, almost all the time ; but it is not the bodily torture that troubles me so much I could bear that in silence. It is my mind, Beulah ; my mind." She pointed to a chair ; Beulah dr-?:? it near her, aud Cornelia .Continued : " I thought I should die suddenly, but it is to be otherwise The torture is slow, lingering. I shall never leave this house again except to go to my final home. Beulah, I have wanted to iee you very much ; I thought you would hear of my illness and eome. How calm and pale you are. Give me your hand. Ab B E U L A H . 875 eool and pleasant ; mine parched with fever. And yon have a little home of your own, I hear. How have things gone with you since we parted ? Are you happy ?" " My little ho.me is pleasant, and my wants are few," replied Beulah. " Have yon seen Eugene recently ?" ** Not since his marriage." A bitter laugh escaped Cornelia's lips, as she writhed an instant, and then said : " I knew how it would be. I shall not live to see the end, but you will. Hal Beulah, already he has discovered his mis- take. I did not expect it so soon ; I fancied Antoinette had more policy. She has dropped the mask. He sees himself wedded to a woman completely devoid of truth ; he knows hei now as she is : as I tried to show him she was, before it was too late ; and Beulah, as I expected, he has grown reckless despe- rate. Ah, if you could have witnessed a scene at the St. Nicholas, in New York, not long since, you would have wept over him. He found his bride heartless ; saw that she preferred the society \ of other gentlemen to his ; that she lived only for the adulation of the crowd ; and one evening, on coming home to the hotel, found she had gone to the opera with a party she knew he de- tested. Beulah, it sickens me when I think of his fierce railings, and anguish, and scorn. He drank in mad defiance, and when she returned, greeted her with imprecations that would have bowed any other woman, in utter humiliation, into the dust. She laughed derisively, told him he might amuse himself as he chose, he would not heed his wishes as regarded her own movements, Luckily, my parents knew nothing of it ; they little suspected, nor do they now know, why I was taker so alarmingly ill before fiawn. I am glad I am to go so soon I could not endure t witness his misery and disgrace." She closed her eyes and groaned. " What induced her to marry him ?" asked Beulah. "0-lf her own false heart knows. But I have alwajf 876 B E U L A fl . believed she was chiefly influenced by a desire to escape fron the strict discipline to which her father subjected her at home. Her mother was anything but a model of propriety; and hei mother's sister, who was Dr. Hartwell's wife, was net moia exemplary. My uncle endeavored to curb Antoinette's danger- aus fondness for display and dissipation, and she fancied that, as Eugene's wife, she could freely plunge into j;aieties which were sparingly allowed her at home. I know sh does not lovo Eugene ; she never did ; and, assuredly, his future is dark enough. I believe, if she could reform hirr, she would aoc; his excesses sanction, or at least in some degree ppJiate, Lers. Oh, Beulah, I see no hope for him!" " Have you talked to him kindly, Cornelia ? Have you faith- fully exerted your influence to check him in his route to ruin ?" "Talked to him? Aye; entreated, remonstrated, upbraided, used every argument at my command. But I might as well talk to the winds, and hope to hush their fury. I shall not stay to see his end; I shall soon be silent and b;youd all suffering 1 ; death is welcome, very welcome." Her breathing was quick and difficult, and two crimson spota burned on her sallow cheeks. Her whole face told of }ears of bitterness, and a grim defiance of death, which sent a shudder through Beulah, as she listened to the panting breath. Cornelia saturated her handkerchief with some delicate perfume from a cr)stal vase, and passing it over her face, continued : "They tell me it is time I should be confirmed; talk vaguely of seeing preachers, and taking the sacrament, and preparing myself, as if I could be frightened into religion and the church, My mother seems just to have waked up to a knowledge of my piritual condition, as she calls it. Ah, Beulah, it is all dark Before me; black, black as midnight! I am going down to au tternal night; down to annihilation. Yes, Beulah, soon I shall descend into what Schiller's Moor calls the ' nameless yonder Before long I shall have done with mystery; shall be sunk int