Part 14 (2/2)
”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, hus.h.!.+ 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, crus.h.i.+ng 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.”
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