Beulah Part 53

"How long will you remain here?"

"Till Uncle Guy thinks Mr. Lockhart is well enough to go to his plantation, I suppose."

"What makes you so restless, Pauline? Why don't you sit still?"

asked Beulah, observing that her visitor twisted about as if uncomfortable.

"Because I want to tell you something, and really do not know how to begin," said she, laughing and blus.h.i.+ng.

"I cannot imagine what should disconcert you, Pauline."

"Thank you. Truly, that is a flattering tribute to my sensibility.

Beulah, can't you guess what I have to tell you?"

"Certainly not. But why should you hesitate to disclose it?"

"Simply because your tremendous gray eyes have such an owlish way of looking people out of countenance. Now, don't look quite through me, and I will pluck up my courage, and confess. Beulah--I am going to be married soon." She hid her crimsoned cheeks behind her hands.

"Married! impossible!" cried Beulah.

"But I tell you I am! Here is my engagement ring. Now, the most astonis.h.i.+ng part of the whole affair is that my intended sovereign is a minister! A preacher, as solemn as Job!"

"You a minister's wife, Pauline! Oh, child, you are jesting!" said Beulah, with an incredulous smile.

"No! 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 opportunity of forming your own opinion of him."

"How long have you known him?"

"About two years. I am rather afraid of him, to tell you 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 to know I am; for I never put on any humility or sanct.i.ty. What do you think, Beulah? Uncle Guy coolly told me, this morning, in Ernest's presence, that he was only charmed by my pretty face, and that if I did not learn some common sense he would very soon repent his choice. Oh, the doleful warnings I have been favored with! But you shall all see that I am worthy of Mr. Mortimer's love."

Her beautiful face was radiant with hope; yet in the violet eyes there lurked unshed tears.

"I am very glad that you are so happy, Pauline; and, if you will, I am very sure you can make yourself all that Mr. Mortimor 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. I have never yet heard him preach, and am rather anxious to know what sort of sermons I am to listen to for the remainder 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 home and spend the day with me. Ma begs that you will not refuse to 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? Do say yes."

"I don't know yet. I will see you at church."

Thus they parted.

CHAPTER XXIV.

On Sabbath morning Beulah sat beside the window, with her folded hands resting on her lap. The day was cloudless and serene; the sky of that intense melting blue which characterizes our clime. From every quarter of the city brazen muezzins called wors.h.i.+pers 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! Blessed be the holy tones which at least once a week call every erring child back to its Infinite Father! 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 a.s.sociations are strangely tenacious, and, as she watched the children trooping to the house of G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sages 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 G.o.d of orphans! Now she felt doubly orphaned. In her intellectual pride, she frequently a.s.serted that she was "the star of her own destiny"; but this morning childish memories prattled of the Star of Bethlehem, before which she once bent the knee of adoration. Had it set forever, amid clouds of superst.i.tion, sin, and infidelity? Glittering spires pointed to the bending heavens, and answered: "It burns on forever, 'brighter and brighter unto the perfect day'!" With a dull weight on her heart, she took down her Bible and opened it indifferently at her 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 revelation, but with a defiant feeling in her heart which she did not attempt or care to a.n.a.lyze. She was not accustomed to attend Dr. Hew's church, but the s.e.xton conducted her to a pew, and as she seated herself the solemn notes of the organ swelled through the vaulted aisles. The choir sang a magnificent anthem from Haydn's "Creation," and then only the deep, thundering peal of the organ fell on the dim, cool air. Beulah could bear no more; as she lowered her veil, bitter tears gushed over her troubled face. Just then she longed to fall on her knees 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 attractive 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 pa.s.sed with casual observers for inertia, indifference; but to the practiced physiognomist it expressed the perfect peace of a mind and heart completely harmonious. The voice was 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 that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow."

"And further, by these, my son, be admonished; of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh. Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter. Fear G.o.d, and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man."

To the discourse which followed Beulah listened with the deepest interest. She followed the speaker over the desert of ancient Oriental systems, which he rapidly a.n.a.lyzed, and held up as empty sh.e.l.ls; 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 systems, 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 it's rise among the fishermen of Galilee to its present summit of power. For eighteen hundred years it had been a.s.saulted by infidelity, yet each century saw it advancing--a conquering colossus. Throughout the sermon the idea was maintained that human reason was utterly inadequate to discover to man his destiny, that human learning was a great cheat, and that only from the pages of Holy Writ could genuine wisdom be acquired. Men were to be as little children in order to be taught the truths of immortality. Certainly the reasoning was clear and forcible, the philosophic allusions seemed very apropos, and the language was elegant and impa.s.sioned. The closing hymn was sung; the organ hushed its wors.h.i.+ping tones; the benediction was p.r.o.nounced; the congregation dispersed.

As Beulah descended the steps she found Pauline and Mrs. Lockhart waiting at the carriage for her. The latter greeted her with quite a show of cordiality; but the orphan shrank back from the offered kiss, and merely touched the extended hand. She had not forgotten the taunts and unkindness of other days; and, though not vindictive, she could not feign oblivion of the past, nor a.s.sume a friendly manner foreign to her. She took her seat in the carriage, and found it rather difficult to withdraw her fascinated eyes from Pauline's lovely face. She knew what was expected of her, however; and said, as they drove rapidly homeward:

"Mr. Mortimor 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; but do not like his sermon at all,"

answered Beulah bluntly.

"I am sure everybody seemed to be delighted with it," said Mrs.

Lockhart.

"Doubtless the majority of his congregation were; and I was very much interested, though I 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 Beulah 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 n.o.ble old cedars, whose venerable heads seemed to bow in welcome, while the drooping branches held out their arms, as if to embrace her. Each tree was familiar; even the bright coral yaupon cl.u.s.ters were like dear friends greeting her after a long absence. She had never realized until now how much she loved this home of her early childhood, and large drops dimmed her eyes as she pa.s.sed along the walks where she had so often wandered.

The carriage approached the house, and she saw her quondam guardian standing before the door. He was bare-headed, and the suns.h.i.+ne fell like a halo upon his brown, cl.u.s.tering hair, threading it with gold.

He held, in one hand, a small basket of grain, from which he fed a flock of hungry pigeons. On every side they gathered about him--blue and white, brown and mottled--some fluttering down from the roof of the house; two or three, quite tame, perched on his arm, eating from the basket; and one, of uncommon beauty, sat on his 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 startled flock wheeled off; and, brus.h.i.+ng the grain from his hands, Dr. Hartwell advanced to a.s.sist his sister. Pauline sprang out first, exclaiming:

"You abominable heathen! Why didn't you come 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 shawl, which caught the b.u.t.ton 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 his hand to a.s.sist her, saying, in his usual grave manner:

"I am glad to see you, Beulah."

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 more than any amount of sternness could have done.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from his, and, missing the carriage step, would have fallen, but he caught and placed her safely on the ground, saying coolly: