Beulah Part 36

He smiled, and said you were too willful to be advised. You talk to me about not looking well! You never have had any color, and lately you have grown very thin and hollow-eyed. I asked the doctor if he did not think you were looking ill, and he said that you had changed very much since the summer. Beulah, for my sake, please don't pore over your books so incessantly." She took Beulah's hand gently in both hers.

"Want of color is as const.i.tutional with me as the shape of my nose.

I have always been pale, and study has no connection with it. Make yourself perfectly easy on my account."

"You are very willful, as your guardian says!" cried Clara impatiently.

"Yes; that is like my sallow complexion--const.i.tutional," answered Beulah, laughing, and opening a volume of Carlyle as she spoke.

"Oh, Beulah, I don't know what will become of you!" Tears sprang into Clara's eyes.

"Do not be at all uneasy, my dear, dove-eyed Clara. I can take care of myself."

CHAPTER XIX.

It was the middle of November, and the absentees who had spent their summer at the North were all at home again. Among these were Mrs.

Asbury and her two daughters; and only a few days after their return they called to see Beulah. She found them polished, cultivated, and agreeable; and when, at parting, the mother kindly pressed her hand and cordially invited her to visit them often and sociably, she felt irresistibly drawn toward her, and promised to do so. Ere long there came a friendly note, requesting her to spend the evening with them; and thus, before she had known them many weeks, Beulah found herself established on the familiar footing of an old friend. Universally esteemed and respected, Dr. Asbury's society was sought by the most refined circle of the city, and his house was a favorite resort for the intellectual men and women of the community. Occupying an enviable position in his profession, he still found leisure to devote much of his attention to strictly literary topics, and the honest frankness and cordiality of his manners, blended with the instructive tone of his conversation, rendered him a general favorite. Mrs. Asbury merited the elevated position which she so ably filled as the wife of such a man. While due attention was given to the education and rearing of her daughters, she admirably discharged the claims of society, and, by a consistent adherence to the principles of the religion she professed, checked by every means within her power the frivolous excesses and dangerous extremes which prevailed throughout the fas.h.i.+onable circles in which she moved.

Zealously, yet unostentatiously, she exerted herself in behalf of the various charitable inst.i.tutions organized to ameliorate the sufferings of the poor in their midst; and while as a Christian she conformed to the outward observances of her church, she faithfully inculcated and practiced at home the pure precepts of a religion whose effects should be the proper regulation of the heart and charity toward the world. Her parlors were not the favorite rendezvous where gossips met to retail slander. Refined, dignified, gentle, and hospitable, she was a woman too rarely, alas! met with, in so-called fas.h.i.+onable circles. Her husband's reputation secured them the acquaintance of all distinguished strangers, and made their house a great center of attraction. Beulah fully enjoyed and appreciated the friends.h.i.+p thus tendered her, and soon looked upon Dr. Asbury and his n.o.ble wife as counselors to whom in any emergency she could unhesitatingly apply. They based their position in society on their own worth, not the extrinsic appendages of wealth and fas.h.i.+on, and readily acknowledged the claims of all who (however humble their abode or avocation) proved themselves worthy of respect and esteem. In their intercourse with the young teacher there was an utter absence of that contemptible supercilious condescension which always characterizes an ignorant and parvenu aristocracy. They treated her as an equal in intrinsic worth, and prized her as a friend. Helen Asbury was older than Beulah and Georgia somewhat younger. They were sweet-tempered, gay girls, lacking their parent's intellectual traits, but sufficiently well-informed and cultivated to const.i.tute them agreeable companions. Of their father's extensive library they expressed themselves rather afraid, and frequently bantered Beulah about the grave books she often selected from it.

Beulah found her school duties far less irksome than she had expected, for she loved children, and soon became interested in the individual members of her cla.s.ses. From eight o'clock until three she was closely occupied; then the labors of the day were over, and she spent her evenings much as she had been wont ere the opening of the session. Thus November glided quickly away, and the first of December greeted her ere she dreamed of its approach. The Grahams had not returned, though daily expected; and, notwithstanding two months had elapsed without Eugene's writing, she looked forward with intense pleasure to his expected arrival. There was one source of constant pain for her in Dr. Hartwell's continued and complete estrangement. Except a cold, formal bow in pa.s.sing there was no intercourse whatever; and she sorrowed bitterly over this seeming indifference in one to whom she owed so much and was so warmly attached. Remotely connected with this cause of disquiet was the painful change in Clara. Like a lily suddenly transplanted to some arid spot, she had seemed to droop since the week of her ride.

Gentle, but hopeless and depressed, she went, day after day, to her duties at Madam St. Cymon's school, and returned at night wearied, silent, and wan. Her step grew more feeble, her face thinner and paler. Often Beulah gave up her music and books, and devoted the evenings to entertaining and interesting her; but there was a constraint and reserve about her which could not be removed.

One evening, on returning from a walk with Helen Asbury, Beulah ran into her friend's room with a cl.u.s.ter of flowers. Clara sat by the fire, with a piece of needlework in her hand; she looked listless and sad. Beulah threw the bright golden and crimson chrysanthemums in her lap, and, stooping down, kissed her warmly, saying:

"How is your troublesome head? Here is a flowery cure for you."

"My head does not ache quite so badly. Where did you find these beautiful chrysanthemums?" answered Clara languidly.

"I stopped to get a piece of music from Georgia, and Helen cut them for me. Oh, what blessed things flowers are! They have been well styled, 'G.o.d's undertones of encouragement to the children of earth.'"

She was standing on the hearth, warming her fingers. Clara looked up at the dark, clear eye and delicate, fixed lips before her, and sighed involuntarily. Beulah knelt on the carpet, and, throwing one arm around her companion, said earnestly:

"My dear Clara, what saddens you to-night? Can't you 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 in the parlor to see her; here is the card."

Beulah still knelt on the floor and held out her hand indifferently.

The card was given, and she sprang up with a cry of joy.

"Oh, it is Eugene!"

At the door of the parlor she paused and pressed her hand tightly to her bounding heart. A tall form stood before the grate, and a glance discovered to her a dark mustache and heavy beard; still it must be Eugene, and, extending her arms unconsciously, she exclaimed:

"Eugene! Eugene! Have you come at last?"

He started, looked up, and hastened toward her. Her arms suddenly dropped to her side, and only their hands met in a firm, 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 wonderingly 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 s.h.i.+vered; the long, black lashes drooped; her white fingers relaxed their clasp of his, and she sat down on the sofa near. Ah! her womanly intuitions, infallible as Ithuriel's spear, told her that he was no longer the Eugene she had loved so devotedly. An iron hand seemed to clutch her heart, and again a shudder crept over her as he seated himself beside her, saying:

"I am very much pained to find you here. I am just from Dr.

Hartwell's, where I expected to see you."

He paused, for something about her face rather disconcerted him, and he took her hand again in his.

"How could you expect to find me there, after reading my last letter?"

"I still hoped that your good sense would prevent your taking such 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."

Her eyes flashed, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 entree 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 fas.h.i.+onable parties I attend, think you?"

"a.s.suredly, 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, with grief, and scorn, and wonder in her deep, searching eyes, as she exclaimed:

"Oh, Eugene! what has changed you so, since the bygone years when in the asylum we talked of the future? of laboring, conquering, and earning homes for ourselves! Oh, has the foul atmosphere of foreign lands extinguished all your selfrespect? Do you come back sordid and sycophantic, and the slave of opinions you would once have utterly detested? Have you narrowed your soul and bowed down before the miserable 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, then 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 bitterly.

"I grapple with realities now, and am forced to admit the expediency of prudent policy. You refuse to see things in their actual 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!"

"Beulah, I have been sadly mistaken in my estimate of your character. I could not have believed there was so much fierce obstinacy, so much stubborn pride, in your nature."