Beulah Part 78

Mrs. Asbury seated herself on an ottoman at her husband's feet, and threw her arm up over his knee; and, opening Butler's "a.n.a.logy,"

Beulah began to read where she left off the previous day, in the chapter on "a future life."

With his hand resting on his wife's head, Dr. Asbury listened attentively. At the conclusion of the chapter, she turned to the dissertation on "personal ident.i.ty," so nearly related to it, and read it slowly and impressively.

"It is remarkably clear and convincing," said the doctor, when she ceased.

"Yes; his argument that death, instead of being an abnormal event, is as much a law of our nature as birth (because necessary to future development), and that, as at maturity, we have perfections of which we never dreamed in infancy, so death may put us in possession of new powers, by releasing us from the chrysalis state, is one which has peculiar significance to my mind. Had Cornelia Graham studied it, she would never have been tortured by the thought of that annihilation which she fancied awaited her. From childhood this question of 'personal ident.i.ty' has puzzled me; but, it seems to me, this brief treatise of Butler is quite satisfactory. It should be a text-book in all educational inst.i.tutions; should be scattered far and wide through the land."

Here the solemn tones of the church bells told that the hour of evening service drew near. The doctor started, and said abruptly:

"Bless me! Alice, are we to have no tea to-night?"

"Yes; the tea bell rang some minutes ago; but Beulah had not quite finished her chapter, and I would not interrupt."

As they walked on to the dining room he said:

"You two are going to church, I suppose?"

"No; I shall remain with you," answered his wife gently.

"You need not, my dear. I will go with you, if you prefer it."

Beulah did not look up, but she knew that true-hearted wife was unspeakably happy; and understood why, during tea, she was so quiet, so unwontedly silent.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

"I wish Hartwell would come home and attend to his business,"

muttered Dr. Asbury, some weeks later; and, as he spoke, he threw his feet impatiently over the fender of the grate, looking discontented enough.

"He will come, sir; he will come," answered Beulah, who sat near him.

"How do you know that so well, child? Why do you suppose he will come?" asked the doctor, knitting his bushy gray eyebrows.

"Perhaps, because I wish it so very much; and hope and faith are nearly allied, you know; and perhaps more than this--because I have prayed so long for his return."

She sat with her hands folded, looking quietly into the glowing grate. The old man watched her a moment, as the firelight glared over her grave, composed face, and tears came suddenly into his eyes.

"When Harry Hartwell died (about eighteen months since) he left his share of the estate to Guy. It is one of the finest plantations in the State, and for the last three years the crops have been remarkably good. The cotton has been sold regularly, and the bulk of the money is still in the hands of the factor. Yesterday I happened to pa.s.s the old house, and rode in to see how things looked; positively, child, you would scarcely recognize the place. You know the Farleys only occupied it a few months; since that time it has been rented. Just now it is vacant, and such a deserted-looking tenement I have not seen for many days. As far as I am concerned--"

Here a servant entered to inform the doctor that he was wanted immediately to see one of his patients. He kicked off his slippers, and got up, grumbling:

"A plague on Guy's peregrinating proclivities! I am getting too old to jump up every three seconds, to keep somebody's baby from jerking itself into a spasm or suffocating with the croup. Hartwell ought to be here to take all this practice off my hands."

He put on his overcoat and went out.

Beulah sat quite still for some minutes after his departure; then, glancing at the clock, she started up suddenly.

"Where are you going, my dear?" said Mrs. Asbury, looking up from a letter she was writing to Helen.

"To walk."

"But Mr. Leonard is coming here this afternoon to see you; he requested me to tell you so."

"I don't want to see him."

"But, my dear, he has already called several times recently without seeing you."

"And if he had any penetration he might perceive that the avoidance was intended. I am tired of his frequent visits and endless harangues, and he might see it if he chose." She looked rather impatient.

Mrs. Asbury had sealed her letter, and, approaching the rug where Beulah stood, she laid her soft hand on her shoulder, and said gently:

"My dear child, do not think me officious, or prompted by mere idle curiosity, if I ask, Do you intend to reject him?"

"Why, ma'am, I have rejected him once, and still he forces his society upon me. As to staying at home to see him, I won't do it."

Mrs. Asbury seemed surprised, and said smilingly:

"Upon my word, Beulah, you seem fastidious, indeed. What possible objection could you find to Hugh Leonard? Why, my dear, he is the best match in the city."

"I would about as soon think of marrying the doctor's armchair, there."

Beulah went to her own room and put on her bonnet and cloak. Charon very rarely attended her in her rambles; he had grown old, and was easily fatigued; but this afternoon she called to him, and they set out. It was a mild, sunny evening for winter, and she took the street leading to her guardian's old residence. A quick walk soon brought her into the suburbs, and ere long she stood before the entrance. The great central gate was chained, but the little side gate was completely broken from its hinges, and lay on the ground.

Alas! this was but the beginning. As she entered she saw, with dismay, that the yard was full of stray cattle. Cows, sheep, goats browsed about undisturbed among the shrubbery which her guardian had tended so carefully. She had not been here since he sold it; but even Charon saw that something was strangely amiss. He bounded off, and soon cleared the inclosure of the herd which had become accustomed to grazing here. Beulah walked slowly up the avenue; the aged cedars whispered hoa.r.s.ely above her as she pa.s.sed, and the towering poplars, whose ceaseless silvery rustle had an indescribable charm for her in summers past, now tossed their bare boughs toward her in mute complaining of the desolation which surrounded them. The reckless indifference of tenants has deservedly grown into a proverb, and here Beulah beheld an exemplification of its truth. Of all the choice shrubbery which it had been the labor of years to collect and foster; not a particle remained. Hoses, creepers, bulbs--all were destroyed, and only the trees and hedges were spared. The very outline of the beds was effaced in many places, and, walking round the paved circle in front of the door, she paused abruptly at the desolation which greeted her. Here was the marble basin of the fountain half filled with rubbish, as though it had been converted into a receptacle for trash, and over the whole front of the house the dark glossy leaves of the creeping ivy clung in thick ma.s.ses. She looked around on all sides, but only ruin and neglect confronted her. She remembered the last time she came here, and recalled the beautiful Sunday morning when she saw her guardian standing by the fountain, feeding his pigeons. Ah, how sadly changed! She burst into tears, and sat down on the steps.

Charon ran about the yard for some time; then came back, looked up at the somber house, howled, and lay down at her feet. Where was the old master? Wandering among Eastern paG.o.das, while his home became a retreat for owls.

"He has forgotten us, Charon! He has forgotten his two best friends- -you and I--who love him so well! Oh, Charon, he has forgotten us!"

cried she, almost despairingly. Charon gave a melancholy groan of a.s.sent, and nestled closer to her. Five years had gone since he left his native land, and, for once, her faith was faint and wavering.

But, after some moments, she looked up at the calm sky arching above her, and, wiping away her tears, added resignedly:

"But he will come! G.o.d will bring him home when he sees fit! I can wait! I can wait!"

Charon's great, gleaming black eyes met hers wistfully; he seemed dubious of his master's return. Beulah rose, and he obeyed the signal.

"Come, Charon, it is getting late; but we will come back some day, and live here."

It was dusk when she entered the library and found Mrs. Asbury discussing the political questions of the day with her husband. She had just finished reading aloud one of Reginald's Congressional speeches, and advocated it warmly, while the doctor reprobated some portion of his course.

"You have had a long walk," said Mrs. Asbury, looking up as the orphan entered.

"And look, for the universe, as if you had been ghost-seeing," cried the doctor, wiping his spectacles.

"I would rather meet an army of ghosts than see what I have seen!"

answered Beulah.

"Good Heavens! In the name of wonder, what have you seen, child? A rattlesnake or a screech-owl?"