"Harriet, bring me a cup of strong coffee."
Dr. Hartwell had returned late in the afternoon of the second day,
and, travel-worn and weary, threw himself down on the sofa in his
study. There was a pale severity in his face which told that his
reflections during his brief absence had been far from pleasant, and
as he swept back the hair from his forehead, and laid his head on
the cushion, the whole countenance bespoke the bitterness of a proud
but miserable man. He remained for some time with closed eyes, and
when the coffee was served drank it without comment. Harriet busied
herself about the room, doing various unnecessary things, and
wondering why her master did not inquire concerning home affairs.
Finally, having exhausted every pretext for lingering, she coughed
very spasmodically once or twice, and, putting her hand on the knob
of the door, said deferentially:
"Do you want anything else, sir? The bathroom is all ready."
"Has my sister been to the asylum?"
"No, sir."
"Go and arrange Beulah's room."
She retired; and, springing up, he paced the floor, striving to
master the emotion which so unwontedly agitated him. His lips
writhed, and the thin nostrils expanded, but he paused before the
melodeon, sat down and played several pieces, and gradually the
swollen veins on his brow lost their corded appearance, and the
mouth resumed its habitual compression. Then, with an exterior as
calm as the repose of death, he took his hat, and went toward the
parlor. Mr. Lockhart was reclining on one of the sofas, Pauline sat
on an ottoman near him, looking over a book of prints, and Mrs.
Chilton, tastefully attired, occupied the piano-stool. Witching
strains of music greeted her brother, as he stopped at the door and
looked in. In the mirror opposite she saw his image reflected, and
for an instant her heart beat rapidly; but the delicate fingers flew
over the keys as skillfully as before, and only the firm setting of
the teeth betokened the coming struggle. He entered, and, walking up
to the invalid, said cordially:
"How are you, Percy? better, I hope." While one hand clasped his
friend's, the other was laid with brotherly freedom on the sick
man's head.
"Of course I am. There was no malady in Eden, was there? Verily,
Guy, in your delightful home, I am growing well again."
"Ah! so much for not possessing Ithuriel's spear. I am glad to find
you free from fever."
"Howd'y-do, uncle! Don't you see me?" said Pauline, reaching up her
hand.
"It is always hard to find you, Pauline; you are such a demure,
silent little body," said he, shaking her hand kindly.
"Welcome, Guy! I expected you yesterday. What detained you so long?"
Mrs. Chilton approached with outstretched hand, and at the same time
offered her lips for a kiss.
He availed himself of neither, but, fixing his eyes intently on
hers, said as sweetly as if he had been soothing a fretful child:
"Necessity, of course; but now that I have come, I shall make
amends, I promise you, for the delay. Percy, has she taken good care
of you?"
"She is an admirable nurse; I can never requite the debt she has
imposed. Is not my convalescence sufficient proof of her superior
skill?" Mr. Lockhart raised himself, and, leaning on his elbow,
suffered his eyes to rest admiringly on the graceful form and
faultless features beside him.
"Are you really so much better?" said Dr. Hartwell, gnawing his lip.
"Indeed I am! Why are you so incredulous? Have you so little
confidence in your own prescriptions?"
"Confidence! I had little enough when given, immeasurably less now.
But we will talk of all this after a little. I have some matters to
arrange, and will be with you at tea. May, I wish to see you."
"Well, Guy, what is it!" Without moving an inch, she looked up at
him.
"Come to my study," answered her brother quietly.
"And leave your patient to amuse himself? Really, Guy, you exercise
the rites of hospitality so rarely that you forget the ordinary
requirements. Apropos, your little protegee has not returned. It
seems she did not fancy living here, and prefers staying at the
asylum. I would not trouble myself about her, if I were you. Some
people cannot appreciate kindness, you know." She uttered this piece
of counsel with perfect sangfroid, and met her brother's eye as
innocently as Pauline would have done.
"I am thoroughly acquainted with her objections to this place, and
determined to remove them so completely that she cannot refused to
return."
A gray pallor crept over his sister's face; but she replied, with
her usual equanimity.
"You have seen her, then? I thought you had hurried back to your
sick friend here, without pausing by the way."
"No! I have not seen her, and, you are aware, her voluntary promise
would seal her lips, even if I had." He smiled contemptuously, as he
saw her puzzled look, and continued: "Percy will excuse you for a
few moments; come with me. Pauline, entertain this gentleman in our
absence."
She took his offered arm, and they proceeded to the study in
silence.
"Sit down." Dr. Hartwell pushed a chair toward her, and stood
looking her fully in the face. She did not shrink, and asked
unconcernedly:
"Well, Guy, to what does all this preamble lead?"
"May, is the doctrine of future punishments laid down as orthodox,
in that elegantly gilded prayer-book you take with you in your
weekly pilgrimages to church?"
"Come, come, Guy; if you have no respect for religion yourself,
don't scoff at its observances in my presence. It is very unkind,
and I will not allow it." She rose, with an air of offended dignity.
"Scoff! You wrong me. Why, verily, your religion is too formidable
to suffer the thought. I tell you, sister mine, your creed is a
terrible one in my eyes." He looked at her with a smile of withering
scorn.
She grew restless under his impaling gaze, and he continued
mockingly:
"From such creeds! such practice! Good Lord deliver us!"
She turned to go, but his hand fell heavily on her shoulder.
"I am acquainted with all that passed between Beulah and yourself
the evening she left my house. I was cognizant of the whole truth
before I left the city."
"Artful wretch! She is as false as contemptible!" muttered the
sister, through set teeth.
"Take care! Do not too hastily apply your own individual standard of
action to others. She does not dream that I am acquainted with the
truth, though doubtless she wonders that, knowing you so well, I
should not suspect it."
"Ah, guided by your favorite Mephistopheles, you wrapped the mantle
of invisibility about you, and heard it all. Eh?"
"No; Mephistopheles is not ubiquitous, and I left him at home here,
it seems, when I took that child to ride. It is difficult for me to
believe you are my sister! very difficult! It is the most
humiliating thought that could possibly be suggested to me. May, I
very nearly decided to send you and Pauline out into the world
without a dime!--without a cent!--just as I found you, and I may do
so yet--"
"You dare not! You dare not! You swore a solemn oath to the dying
that you would always provide for us! I am not afraid of your
breaking your vow!" cried Mrs. Chilton leaning heavily against the
table to support herself.
"You give me credit for too much nicety. I tell you I would break my
oath to-morrow--nay, to-night; for your duplicity cancels it--but
for that orphan you hate so cordially. She would never return if you
and Pauline suffered for the past. For her sake, and hers only, I
will still assist, support you; for have her here I will! if it cost
me life and fortune! I would send you off to the plantation, but
there are no educational advantages there for Pauline; and,
therefore, if Beulah returns, I have resolved to buy and give you a
separate home, wherever you may prefer. Stay here, you cannot and
shall not!"
"And what construction will the world place on your taking a young
girl into your house at the time that I leave it? Guy, with what
marvelous foresight you are endowed!" said she, laughing
sardonically.
"I shall take measures to prevent any improper construction! Mrs.
Watson, the widow of one of my oldest and best friends, has been
left in destitute circumstances, and I shall immediately offer her a
home here, to take charge of my household and look after Beulah when
I am absent. She is an estimable woman, past fifty years of age, and
her character is so irreproachable that her presence here will
obviate the objection you have urged. You will decide to-night where
you wish to fix your future residence, and let me know to-morrow. I
shall not give you longer time for a decision. Meantime, when Beulah
returns you will not allude to the matter. At your peril, May! I
have borne much from you; but, by all that I prize, I swear I will
make you suffer severely if you dare to interfere again. Do not
imagine that I am ignorant of your schemes! I tell you now, I would
gladly see Percy Lockhart lowered into the grave rather than know
that you had succeeded in blinding him! Oh, his noble nature would
loathe you, could he see you as you are. There, go! or I shall
forget that I am talking to a woman--much less a woman claiming to
be my sister! Go! go!" He put up his hands as if unwilling to look
at her, and, leaving the room, descended to the front door. A large
family carriage, drawn by two horses, stood in readiness, and,
seating himself within it, he ordered the coachman to drive to the
asylum. Mrs. Williams met him at the entrance, and, despite her
assumed composure, felt nervous and uncomfortable, for his
scrutinizing look disconcerted her.
"Madam, you are the matron of this institution, I presume. I want to
see Beulah Benton."
"Sir, she saw your carriage, and desired me to say to you that,
though she was very grateful for your kindness, she did not wish to
burden you, and preferred remaining here until she could find some
position which would enable her to support herself. She begs you
will not insist upon seeing her; she does not wish to see you."
"Where is she? I shall not leave the house until I do see her."
She saw from his countenance that it was useless to contend. There
was an unbending look of resolve which said plainly, "Tell me where
to find her, or I shall search for her at once." Secretly pleased at
the prospect of reconciliation, the matron no longer hesitated, and,
pointing to the staircase, said: "She is in the first right-hand
room."
He mounted the steps, opened the door, and entered. Beulah was
standing by the window. She had recognized his step, and knew that
he was in the room, but felt as if she would not meet his eye for
the universe. Yet there was in her heart an intense longing to see
him again. During the two past days she had missed his kind manner
and grave watchfulness, and now, if she had dared to yield to the
impulse that prompted, she would have sprung to meet him and caught
his hand to her lips. He approached, and stood looking at the
drooped face; then his soft, cool touch was on her head, and he said
in his peculiar low, musical tones:
"Proud little spirit, come home and be happy."
She shook her head, saying resolutely:
"I cannot; I have no home. I could not be happy in your house."
"You can be in future. Beulah, I know the whole truth of this
matter. How I discovered it is no concern of yours--you have not
broken your promise. Now, mark me; I make your return to my house
the condition of my sister's pardon. I am not trifling! If you
persist in leaving me, I tell you solemnly I will send her and
Pauline out into the world to work for their daily bread, as you
want to do! If you will come back, I will give them a comfortable
home of their own wherever they may prefer to live, and see that
they are always well cared for. But they shall not remain in my
house whether you come or not. I am in earnest! Look at me; you know
I never say what I do not mean. I want you to come back; I ask you
to come with me now. I am lonely; my home is dark and desolate.
Come, my child; come!" He held her hands in his, and drew her gently
toward him. She looked eagerly into his face, and, as she noted the
stern sadness that marred its noble beauty, the words of his sister
flashed upon her memory: He had been married! Was it the loss of his
wife that had so darkened his elegant home?--that gave such
austerity to the comparatively youthful face? She gazed into the
deep eyes till she grew dizzy, and answered indistinctly:
"I have no claim on you--will not be the means of parting you and
your sister. You have Pauline; make her your child."
"Henceforth my sister and myself are parted, whether you will it or
not, whether you come back or otherwise. Once for all, if you would
serve her, come, for on this condition only will I provide for her.
Pauline does not suit me; you do. I can make you a friend, in some
sort a companion. Beulah, you want to come to me; I see it in your
eyes; but I see too that you want conditions. What are they?"
"Will you always treat Pauline just as kindly as if you had never
taken me to your house?"
"Except having a separate home, she shall never know any difference.
I promise you this. What else?"
"Will you let me go to the public school instead of Madam St.
Cymon's?"
"Why, pray?"
"Because the tuition is free."
"And you are too proud to accept any aid from me?"
"No, sir; I want your counsel and guidance, and I want to be with
you to show you that I do thank you for all your goodness; but I
want to cost you as little as possible."
"You do not expect to depend on me always, then?" said he, smiling
despite himself.
"No, sir; only till I am able to teach. If you are willing to do
this, I shall be glad to go back, very glad; but not unless you
are." She looked as firm as her guardian.
"Better stipulate also that you are to wear nothing more expensive
than bit calico." He seemed much amused.
"Indeed, sir, I am not jesting at all. If you will take care of me
while I am educating myself, I shall be very grateful to you; but I
am not going to be adopted."
"Very well. Then I will try to take care of you. I have signed your
treaty; are you ready to come home?"
"Yes, sir; glad to come." Her fingers closed confidingly over his,
and they joined Mrs. Williams in the hall below. A brief explanation
from Beulah sufficed for the rejoicing matron, and soon she was
borne rapidly from the asylum. Dr. Hartwell was silent until they
reached home, and Beulah was going to her own room, when he asked
suddenly:
"What was it that you wished to ask me about the evening of the
ride?"
"That I might go to the public school."
"What put that into your head?" "As an independent orphan, I am
insulted at Madam St. Cymon's."
"By whom?" His eyes flashed.
"No matter now, sir."
"By whom? I ask you."
"Not by Pauline. She would scorn to be guilty of anything so
ungenerous."
"You do not mean to answer my question, then?"
"No, sir. Do not ask me to do so, for I cannot."
"Very well. Get ready for tea. Mr. Lockhart is here. One word more.
You need fear no further interference from anyone."
He walked on, and, glad to be released, Beulah hastened to her own
room, with a strange feeling of joy on entering it again. Harriet
welcomed her warmly, and, without alluding to her absence, assisted
in braiding the heavy masses of hair, which required arranging. Half
an hour after, Dr. Hartwell knocked at the door, and conducted her
downstairs. Mrs. Chilton rose and extended her hand, with an
amicable expression of countenance for which Beulah was not
prepared. She could not bring herself to accept the hand, but her
salutation was gravely polite.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Chilton."
Mr. Lockhart made room for her on the sofa; and, quietly ensconced
in one corner, she sat for some time so engaged in listening to the
general conversation that the bitter recollection of by-gone trials
was entirely banished. Dr. Hartwell and his friend were talking of
Europe, and the latter, after recounting much of interest in
connection with his former visits, said earnestly:
"Go with me this time, Guy; one tour cannot have satiated you. It
will be double, nay, triple, enjoyment to have you along. It is, and
always has been, a mystery to me why you should persist in
practicing. You do not need the pecuniary aid; your income would
enable you to live just as you pleased. Life is short at best. Why
not glean all of pleasure that travel affords to a nature like
yours? Your sister was just telling me that in a few days she goes
North to place Pauline at some celebrated school, and, without her,
you will be desolate. Come, let's to Europe together. What do you
say?"
Dr. Hartwell received this intimation of his sister's plans without
the slightest token of surprise, and smiled sarcastically as he
replied:
"Percy, I shall answer you in the words of a favorite author of the
day. He says, 'It is for want of self-culture that the superstition
of traveling, whose idols are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its
fascination for all educated Americans. He who travels to be amused,
or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from
himself, and grows old, even in youth, among--old things. In Thebes,
in Palmyra, his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as
they. He carries ruins to ruins. Traveling is a fool's paradise. At
home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with
beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embark, and finally
wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad
self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I affect to be
intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not. My giant goes
with me wherever I go.' Percy, I endeavored to drown my giant in the
Mediterranean; to bury it forever beneath the green waters of Lago
Maggiore; to hurl it from solemn, icy, Alpine heights; to dodge it
in museums of art; but, as Emerson says, it clung to me with
unerring allegiance, and I came home. And now, daily and yearly, I
repeat the hopeless experiment, in my round of professional duties.
Yes, May and Pauline are going away, but I shall have Beulah to look
after, and I fancy time will not drag its wheels through coming
years. How soon do you think of leaving America? I have some
commissions for you when you start."
"I hope I shall be able to go North within a fortnight, and, after a
short visit to Newport or Saratoga, sail for Havre. What do you want
from the great storehouse of art, sculpture, and paintings, cameos
and prints?"
"I will furnish you with a catalogue. Do you go through Germany, or
only flaunt, butterfly-like, under the sunny skies of the Levant?"
"I have, as yet, no settled plans; but probably before I return
shall explore Egypt, Syria, and Arabia. Do you want anything from
the dying world? From Dendera, Carnac, or that city of rock, lonely,
silent, awful Petra?"
"Not I. The flavor of Sodom is too prevalent. But there are a few
localities that I shall ask you to sketch for me."
Subsequently, Mr. Lockhart requested Beulah to sing her forest song
for him again. The blood surged quickly into her face, and, not
without confusion, she begged him to excuse her. He insisted, and
tried to draw her from her seat; but, sinking further back into the
corner, she assured him she could not; she never sang, except when
alone. Dr. Hartwell smiled, and, looking at her curiously, said:
"I never heard her even attempt to sing. Beulah, why will you not
try to oblige him?"
"Oh, sir! my songs are all connected with sorrows. I could not sing
them now; indeed, I could not." And as the memory of Lilly, hushed
by her lullaby, rose vividly before her, she put her hands over her
eyes and wept quietly.
"When you come home from your Oriental jaunt, she will be able to
comply with your request. Meantime, Percy, come into the study; I
want a cigar and game of chess."
Beulah quitted the parlor at the same time, and was mounting the
steps, when she heard Mr. Lockhart ask:
"Guy, what are you going to do with that solemn-looking child?"
"Going to try to show her that the world is not altogether made up
of brutes." She heard no more; but, long after she laid her head
upon the pillow, pondered on the kind fate which gave her so
considerate, so generous a guardian; and, in the depths of her
gratitude, she vowed to show him that she reverenced and honored
him.