Part 11 (1/2)
Dr. Hartwell smiled grimly, as though unconsciously she had turned to view some page in the history of his own life.
”Beulah, you must not despond; Eugene will come back an elegant young man before you are fairly out of short dresses. There, do not talk any more, and don't cry. Try to sleep, and remember, child, you are homeless and friendless no longer.” He pressed her hand kindly, and turned toward the door. It opened, and Mrs. Chilton entered.
”Good-morning, Guy; how is your patient?” said she blandly.
”Good-morning, May; my little patient is much better. She has been talking to me, and I am going to send her some breakfast.” He put both hands on his sister's shoulders, and looked down into her beautiful eyes. She did not flinch, but he saw a grayish hue settle around her lips.
”Ah! I thought last night there was little hope of her recovery. You are a wonderful doctor, Guy; almost equal to raising the dead.” Her voice was even, and, like his own, marvelously sweet.
”More wonderful still, May; I can read the living.” His mustached lip curled, as a scornful smile pa.s.sed over his face.
”Read the living? Then you can understand and appreciate my pleasure at this good news. Doubly good, because it secures Pauline's return to-day. Dear child, I long to have her at home again.” An expression of anxious maternal solicitude crossed her features. Her brother kept his hand on her shoulder, and as his eye fell on her glossy auburn curls, he said, half musingly:
”Time touches you daintily, May; there is not one silver footprint on your hair.”
”He has dealt quite as leniently with you. But how could I feel the inroads of time, s.h.i.+elded as I have been by your kindness? Cares and sorrows bleach the locks oftener than acc.u.mulated years; and you, Guy, have most kindly guarded your poor widowed sister.”
”Have I indeed, May?”
”Ah! what would become of my Pauline and me, but for your generosity, your--”
”Enough! Then, once for all, be kind to yonder sick child; if not for her sake, for your own. You and Pauline can aid me in making her happy, if you will. And if not, remember, May, you know my nature.
Do not disturb Beulah now; come down and let her be quiet.” He led her down the steps, and then, throwing open a gla.s.s door, stepped out upon a terrace covered with Bermuda gra.s.s and sparkling like a tiara in the early sunlight. Mrs. Chilton watched him descend the two white marble steps leading down to the flower beds, and, leaning against the wall, she muttered:
”It cannot be possible that that miserable beggar is to come between Pauline and his property! Is he mad, to dream of making that little outcast his heiress? Yet he meant it; I saw it in his eye; the lurking devil that has slumbered since that evening, and that I hoped would never gleam out at me again. Oh! we are a precious family. Set the will of one against another, and all Pandemonium can't crush either! Ten to one, Pauline will lose her wits too, and be as hard to manage as Guy.” Moody and perplexed, she walked on to the dining room. Beulah had fallen into a heavy slumber of exhaustion, and it was late in the day when she again unclosed her eyes. Harriet sat sewing near her, but soon perceived that she was awake, and immediately put aside her work.
”Aha! so you have come to your senses again, have you? How are you, child?”
”I am weak.”
”Which isn't strange, seeing that you haven't eat a teaspoonful in more than a week. Now, look here, little one; I am ordered to nurse and take charge of you till you are strong enough to look out for yourself. So you must not object to anything I tell you to do.”
Without further parley, she washed and wiped Beulah's face and hands, shook up the pillows, and placed her comfortably on them. To the orphan, accustomed all her life to wait upon others, there was something singularly novel in being thus carefully handled; and, nestling her head close to the pillows, she shut her eyes, lest the tears that were gathering should become visible. Harriet quitted the room for a short time, and returned with a salver containing some refreshments.
”I can't eat anything. Thank you; but take it away.” Beulah put her hands over her face, but Harriet resolutely seated herself on the side of the bed, lifted her up, and put a cup of tea to the quivering lips.
”It is no use talking; master said you had to eat, and you might just as well do it at once. Poor thing! you are hiding your eyes to cry. Well, drink this tea and eat a little; you must, for folks can't live forever without eating.” There was no alternative, and Beulah swallowed what was given her. Harriet praised her obedient spirit, and busied herself about the room for some time. Finally, stooping over the bed, she said abruptly:
”Honey, are you crying?”
There was no reply, and, kneeling down, she said cautiously:
”If you knew as much about this family as I do, you would cry, sure enough, for something. My master says he has adopted you, and since he has said it, everything will work for good to you. But, child, there will come times when you need a friend besides master, and be sure you come to me when you do. I won't say any more now; but remember what I tell you when you get into trouble. Miss Pauline has come, and if she happens to take a fancy to you (which I think she won't), she will stand by you till the stars fall; and if she don't, she will hate you worse than Satan himself for--” Harriet did not complete the sentence, for she detected her master's step in the pa.s.sage, and resumed her work.
”How is she?”
”She did not eat much, sir, and seems so downhearted.”
”That will do. I will ring when you are needed.”
Dr. Hartwell seated himself on the edge of the bed, and, lifting the child's head to his bosom, drew away the hands that shaded her face.