Beulah Part 14

"Aren't you glad I am to have my birthday frolic?"

"Yes; I am glad on your account," answered Beulah gravely.

"Can you dance all the fancy dances? I don't like any so well as the mazourka."

"I do not dance at all."

"Don't dance! Why, I have danced ever since I was big enough to crawl! What have you been doing all your life, that you don't know how to dance?"

"My feet have had other work to do," replied her companion; and, as the recollections of her early childhood flitted before her, the brow darkened.

"I suppose that is one reason you look so forlorn all the time. I will ask Uncle Guy to send you to the dancing school for--"

"Pauline, it is school-time, and you don't know one word of that Quackenbos; I would be ashamed to start from home as ignorant of my lessons as you are." Mrs. Chilton's head was projected from the parlor window, and the rebuke was delivered in no very gentle tone.

"Oh, I don't mind it at all; I have got used to it," answered the daughter, tossing up the book as she spoke.

"Get ready for school this minute!"

Pauline scampered into the house for her bonnet and sachel; and, fixing her eyes upon Beulah, Mrs. Chilton asked sternly:

"What are you doing out there? What did you follow my brother to the gate for? Answer me!"

"I merely opened the gate for him," replied the girl, looking steadily up at the searching eyes.

"There was a servant with him to do that. In future don't make yourself so conspicuous. You must keep away from the flower beds too. The doctor wishes no one prowling about them; he gave particular directions that no one should go there in his absence."

They eyed each other an instant; then, drawing up her slender form to its utmost height, Beulah replied proudly:

"Be a.s.sured, madam, I shall not trespa.s.s on forbidden ground!"

"Very well." The lace curtains swept back to their place--the fair face was withdrawn.

"She hates me," thought Beulah, walking on to her own room; "she hates me, and certainly I do not love her. I shall like Pauline very much, but her mother and I never will get on smoothly. What freezing eyes she has, and what a disagreeable look there is about her mouth whenever she sees me! She wishes me to remember all the time that I am poor, and that she is the mistress of this elegant house. Ah, I am not likely to forget it!" The old smile of bitterness crossed her face.

The days pa.s.sed swiftly. Beulah spent most of her time in her own room, for Dr. Hartwell was sometimes absent all day, and she longed to escape his sister's icy espionage. When he was at home, and not engaged in his study, his manner was always kind and considerate; but she fancied he was colder and graver, and often his stern abstraction kept her silent when they were together. Monday was the birthday, and on Monday morning she expected to start to school.

Madam St. Cymon's was the fashionable inst.i.tution of the city, and thither, with Pauline, she was destined. Beulah rose early, dressed herself carefully, and, after reading a chapter in her Bible, and asking G.o.d's special guidance through the day, descended to the breakfast room. Dr. Hartwell sat reading a newspaper; he did not look up, and she quietly seated herself un.o.bserved. Presently Mrs.

Chilton entered and walked up to her brother.

"Good-morning, Guy. Are there no tidings of that vessel yet? I hear the Grahams are terribly anxious about it. Cornelia said her father was unable to sleep."

"No news yet; but, May, be sure you do not let--"

"Was it the 'Morning Star'? Is he lost?"

Beulah stood crouching at his side, with her hands extended pleadingly, and her white face convulsed.

"My child, do not look so wretched; the vessel that Eugene sailed in was disabled in a storm, and has not yet reached the place of destination. But there are numerous ways of accounting for the detention, and you must hope and believe that all is well until you know the contrary." He drew her to his side, and stroked her head compa.s.sionately.

"I knew it would be so," said she, in a strangely subdued, pa.s.sionless tone.

"What do you mean, child?"

"Death and trouble come on everything I love."

"Perhaps at this very moment Eugene may be writing you an account of his voyage. I believe that we shall soon hear of his safe arrival.

You need not dive down into my eyes in that way. I do believe it, for the vessel was seen after the storm, and, though far out of the right track, there is good reason to suppose she has put into some port to be repaired."

Beulah clasped her hands over her eyes, as if to shut out some horrid phantom, and, while her heart seemed dying on the rack, she resolved not to despair till the certainty came.

"Time enough when there is no hope; I will not go out to meet sorrow." With a sudden, inexplicable revulsion of feeling she sank on her knees, and there beside her protector vehemently prayed Almighty G.o.d to guard and guide the tempest-tossed loved one. If her eyes had rested on the face of Deity, and she had felt his presence, her pet.i.tion could not have been more importunately preferred. For a few moments Dr. Hartwell regarded her curiously; then his brow darkened, his lips curled sneeringly, and a mocking smile pa.s.sed over his face. Mrs. Chilton smiled, too, but there was a peculiar gleam in her eyes, and an uplifting of her brows which denoted anything but pleasurable emotions. She moved away, and sat down at the head of the table. Dr. Hartwell put his hand on the shoulder of the kneeling girl, and asked, rather abruptly:

"Beulah, do you believe that the G.o.d you pray to hears you?"

"I do. He has promised to answer prayer."

"Then, get up and be satisfied, and eat your breakfast. You have asked him to save and protect Eugene, and, according to the Bible, He will certainly do it; so no more tears. If you believe in your G.o.d, what are you looking so wretched about?" There was something in all this that startled Beulah, and she looked up at him. His chilly smile pained her, and she rose quickly, while again and again his words rang in her ear. Yet, what was there so strange about this application of faith? True, the Bible declared that "whatsoever ye ask, believing, that ye shall receive," yet she had often prayed for blessings, and often been denied. Was it because she had not had the requisite faith, which should have satisfied her? Yet G.o.d knew that she had trusted him. With innate quickness of perception, she detected the tissued veil of irony which the doctor had wrapped about his attempted consolation, and she looked at him so intently, so piercingly, that he hastily turned away and seated himself at the table. Just then Pauline bounded into the room, exclaiming:

"Fourteen to-day! Only three more years at school, and then I shall step out a brilliant young lady, the--"

"There; be quiet; sit down. I would almost as soon select a small whirlwind for a companion. Can't you learn to enter a room without bl.u.s.tering like a March wind or a Texan norther?" asked her uncle.

"Have you all seen a ghost? You look as solemn as grave-diggers.

What ails you, Beulah? Come along to breakfast. How nice you look in your new clothes!" Her eyes ran over the face and form of the orphan.

"Pauline, hush! and eat your breakfast. You annoy your uncle," said her mother severely.

"Oh, do, for gracious' sake, let me talk! I feel sometimes as if I should suffocate. Everything about this house is so demure, and silent, and solemn, and Quakerish, and hatefully prim. If ever I have a house of my own, I mean to paste in great letters over the doors and windows, 'Laughing and talking freely allowed!' This is my birthday, and I think I might stay at home. Mother, don't forget to have the ends of my sash fringed, and the tops of my gloves trimmed." Draining her small china cup, she sprang up from the table, but paused beside Beulah.

"By the by, what are you going to wear to-night, Beulah?"

"I shall not go into the parlors at all," answered the latter.

"Why not?" said Dr. Hartwell, looking suddenly up. He met the sad, suffering expression of the gray eyes, and bit his lip with vexation. She saw that he understood her feelings, and made no reply.

"I shall not like it, if you don't come to my party," said Pauline slowly; and as she spoke she took one of the orphan's hands.

"You are very kind, Pauline; but I do not wish to see strangers."

"But you never will know anybody if you make such a nun of yourself.

Uncle Guy, tell her she must come down into the parlors to-night."

"Not unless she wishes to do so. But, Pauline, I am very glad that you have shown her you desire her presence." He put his hand on her curly head, and looked with more than usual affection at the bright, honest face.

"Beulah, you must get ready for school. Come down as soon as you can. Pauline will be waiting for you." Mrs. Chilton spoke in the calm, sweet tone peculiar to her and her brother, but to Beulah there was something repulsive in that even voice, and she hurried from the sound of it. Kneeling beside her bed, she again implored the Father to restore Eugene to her, and, crushing her grief and apprehension down into her heart, she resolved to veil it from strangers. As she walked on by Pauline's side, only the excessive paleness of her face and drooping of her eyelashes betokened her suffering.

Entering school is always a disagreeable ordeal, and to a sensitive nature, such as Beulah's, it was torturing. Madam St. Cymon was a good-natured, kind, little body, and received her with a warmth and cordiality which made amends in some degree for the battery of eyes she was forced to encounter.

"Ah, yes! the doctor called to see me about you--wants you to take the Latin course. For the present, my dear, you will sit with Miss Sanders. Clara, take this young lady with you."