Beulah Part 37

She instantly lifted her head, and their eyes met. Other days came back to both; early confidence, mutual love and dependence. For a moment his n.o.bler impulses prevailed, and, with an unsteady lip, he pa.s.sed his arm quickly around her. But she drew 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 to you for guidance and counsel; but to-night you have shaken my trust, and henceforth I must depend upon my own heart to support me in my work. Oh, Eugene!

friend of my childhood! beware lest you sink yourself in your own estimation! Oh, for days, and months, and years I have pictured the hour of your return, little dreaming that it would prove one of the saddest of my life! I have always looked up to you. Oh, Eugene!

Eugene! you are not what you were! Do not! oh, do not make me pity you! That would kill me!" She covered her face with her hands, and shuddered convulsively.

"I am not so changed as you think me," returned Eugene proudly.

"Then, in earlier years I was miserably deceived in your character.

For the sake of wealth, and what the world calls 'position,' you have sold yourself. In lieu of his gold and influence Mr. Graham has your will, your conscience. Ah, Eugene! how can you bear to be a mere tool in his hands?"

"Beulah, your language, your insinuations are unpardonable! By Heaven, no one but yourself might utter them, and not even you 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 such, and as such I feel bound to be guided by him in my choice of a profession. Beulah, I 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 your actions, even had I the power. But, remember, since the hour you stood beside your father's grave, leaning on me, I have been constantly your friend. My expostulations were for what I considered your good. Beulah, I am still, to you, the Eugene of other days. It will be your own fault if the sanct.i.ty of our friends.h.i.+p is not maintained."

"It shall not be my fault, Eugene." She hastily held out her hand.

He clasped it in his, and, as if dismissing the topics which had proved so stormy, drew her to a seat, and said composedly:

"Come, tell me what you have been doing with yourself these long five years, which have changed you so. I have heard already of your heroism in nursing the sick, during the late 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 like herself. Apropos! she intrusted a note to me, for you, which I had quite forgotten. Here it is. Miss Dupres is with her 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 to you."

"How long since?" answered Beulah, with an incredulous smile.

"Since she met you at a concert, I believe. By the way, we are very musical at our house, and promise ourselves some delightful evenings this winter. You must hear Antoinette Dupres sing; she is equal to the best prima-donna of Italy. Do you practice 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 scarcely know where to commence. You are always at home in the evenings, I suppose?"

"Yes: except occasionally when I am with the Asburys."

"Do you see much of them?"

"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 pains me very much that he should treat me as he does, but it is utterly out of my power to rectify the evil."

"He told me that he knew nothing of your movements or 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? It is connected with me, even remotely? My dear Beulah, do not shrink from me."

"Nothing is the matter that you 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-by." They shook hands, and she went back to her own room. Cornelia's note contained an invitation to spend the next evening with them; she would call as soon 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 antic.i.p.ated as an occasion of unmixed delight. She was not weeping; no, the eyes were dry and the lips firmly fixed. She was thinking of the handsome face which a little while before was beside her; thinking, with keen agony, of footprints there which she had never dreamed of seeing; they were very slight, 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 pa.s.sed her hand over her brow, as if to sweep it all away. Poor Beulah! the idol of her girlhood fell from its pedestal and lay in crumbling ruins at her feet. In this hour of reunion 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 n.o.ble 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! 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; need no society to conduce to your happiness; your heart is bound up in your books."

"Where yours had better have been," answered Beulah. She walked across the floor several times, then said impressively, as she threw her arm round Clara's waist:

"Crush it; crush it; if you crush your heart in the effort."

A moan escaped Clara's lips, and she hid her face against her friend's shoulder.

"I have known it since the night of your grandfather's death. If you want to be happy and useful, crush it out of your heart."

"I have tried, and cannot."

"Oh, but you can! I tell you there is nothing a woman cannot do, provided she puts on the armor of duty and unsheathes the sword of a strong, unbending will. Of course, you can do it, if you will."

"Wait till you feel as I do, Beulah, and it will not seem so light a task."

"That will never happen. If I live till the next geological period I never shall love anybody as insanely as you love. Why, Clara, don't you see that you are wrecking your happiness? What strange infatuation has seized you?"

"I know now that it is perfectly hopeless," said Clara calmly.