Beulah Part 38

"You might have known it from the first."

"No; it is but recently that the barrier has risen."

"What barrier?" asked Beulah curiously.

"For Heaven's sake, Beulah, do not mock me! You know too well what separates us."

"Yes; utter uncongeniality."

Clara raised her head, looked into the honest face before her, and answered:

"If that were all, I could yet hope to merit his love; but you know that is not so. You must know that he has no love to bestow."

Beulah's face seemed instantly steeled. A grayish hue crept over it; and, drawing her slender form to its full height, she replied, with haughty coldness:

"What do you mean? I can only conjecture."

"Beulah, you know he loves you!" cried Clara, with a strangely quiet smile.

"Clara Sanders, never say that again as long as you live; for there is not the shadow of truth in it."

"Ah, I would not believe it till it was forced upon me. The heart bars itself a long time to painful truths! I have looked at you, and wondered whether you could be ignorant of what I saw so clearly. I believe you are honest in what you say. I know that you are; but it is nevertheless true. I saw it the evening I went to ride. He loves you, whether you see it or not. And, moreover, the world has begun to join your names. I have heard, more than once, that he educated you with the intention of marrying you; and recently it has been rumored that the marriage would take place very soon. Do not be hurt with me, Beulah! I think it is right that you should know all this."

"It is utterly false from beginning to end! He never had such a thought! never! never!" cried Beulah, striking her clenched hand heavily on the table.

"Why, then, was he so anxious to prevent your teaching?"

"Because he is generous and kind, and fancied it was a life of hards.h.i.+p, which I could escape by accepting his offer to adopt me.

Your supposition is perfectly ridiculous. He is double my age. A stern, taciturn man. What could possibly attract him to one whom he looks upon as a mere child? And, moreover, he is a wors.h.i.+per of beauty! Now, it is an indisputable fact that I am anything but a beauty! Oh, the idea is absurd beyond all degree. Never mention it to me again. I tell you solemnly, Clara, your jealous fancy has run away with your common sense."

A sad, incredulous smile flitted over Clara's face; but she made no reply.

"Clara, rouse yourself from this weak dream. Oh, where is your pride--your womanly pride--your self-respect? Is your life to be aimless and dreary because of an unrequited attachment? Shake it off! Rise above it! Destroy it! Oh, it makes the blood tingle in my veins to think of your wasting your energies and hopes in love for one who is so utterly indifferent to you. Much as I love you, Clara, had I the power to make you his wife to-morrow, I would rather see you borne to your grave. You know nothing of his fitful, moody nature; his tyrannical will. You could not be happy with him; you would see how utterly unsuited you are."

"Are you acquainted with the circ.u.mstances of his early life and ill-fated marriage?" asked Clara, in a low, pa.s.sionless tone.

"No; he never alluded to his marriage in any way. Long as I lived in his house there was no mention of his wife's name, and I should never have known of his marriage but from his sister."

"It was a most unhappy marriage," said Clara musingly.

"So I conjectured from his studious avoidance of all allusion to it."

"His wife was very, very beautiful; I saw her once when I was a child," continued Clara.

"Of course she must have been, for he could not love one who was not."

"She lived but a few months; yet even in that short time they had become utterly estranged, and she died of a broken heart. There is some mystery connected with it; they were separated."

"Separated!" cried Beulah in amazement.

"Yes, separated; she died in New Orleans, I believe."

"And yet you profess to love him! A man who broke his wife's heart,"

said Beulah, with a touch of scorn.

"No; you do his n.o.ble nature injustice. He is incapable of such a course. Even a censorious world acquitted him of unkindness."

"And heaped contumely on the unhappy victim, eh?" rejoined Beulah.

"Her conduct was not irreproachable, it has been whispered."

"Aye, whispered by slanderous tongues! Not openly avowed, to admit of denial and refutation! I wonder the curse of Gomorrah does not descend on this gossiping, libelous community."

"No one seems to know anything definite about the affair; though I have often heard it commented upon and wondered over."

"Clara, let it be buried henceforth. Neither you nor I have any right to discuss and censure what neither of us know anything about.

Dr. Hartwell has been my best and truest friend. I love and honor him; his faults are his own, and only his Maker has the right to balance his actions. Once for all, let the subject drop." Beulah compressed her lips with an expression which her companion very well understood. Soon after the latter withdrew, and, leaning her arms on the table near her, Beulah sank into a reverie which was far from pleasant. Dismissing the unsatisfactory theme of her guardian's idiosyncrasies, her thoughts immediately reverted to Eugene, and the revolution which five years had effected in his character.

In the afternoon of the following day she was engaged with her drawing, when a succession of quick raps at her door forced an impatient "Come in" from her lips. The door opened, and she rose involuntarily as the queenly form of Cornelia Graham stood before her. With a slow, stately tread she approached, and, extending her hand, said unconcernedly:

"I have waived ceremony, you see, and come up to your room."

"How are you?" said Beulah, as they shook hands and seated themselves.

"Just as usual. How did you contrive to escape the plague?"

"By resolving not to have it, I believe."

"You have a wan, sickly look, I think."

"So have you, I am sure. I hoped that you would come home strong and well." Beulah noted, with a feeling of compa.s.sion, the thin, hollow cheeks and sunken, yet burning, eyes before her. Cornelia bit her lip, and asked haughtily:

"Who told you that I was not well?"

"Your countenance would tell me, if I had never heard it from others," replied Beulah, with an instantaneous recollection of her guardian's warning.

"Did you receive my note yesterday?"

"Yes. I am obliged by your invitation, but cannot accept it."

"So I supposed, and therefore came to make sure of you. You are too proud to come until all the family call upon you, eh?"

"No; only people who consider themselves inferior are on the watch for slights, and scrupulously exact the minutest requirements of etiquette. On the plane of equality these barriers melt away."

As Beulah spoke she looked steadily into the searching, black eyes, which seemed striving to read her soul. An expression of pleasure lighted the sallow face, and the haughty lines about the beautiful mouth melted into a half-smile.

"Then you have not forgiven my rudeness during early schooldays?"

"I had nothing to forgive. I had forgotten the affair until you spoke."