"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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sist, 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 dest.i.tute circ.u.mstances, 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 n.o.ble 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 a.s.sumed composure, felt nervous and uncomfortable, for his scrutinizing look disconcerted her.
"Madam, you are the matron of this inst.i.tution, 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 n.o.ble 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."