Part 15 (1/2)
The girl addressed looked at least sixteen years of age, and, rising promptly, she come forward and led Beulah to a seat at her desk, which was constructed for two persons. The touch of her fingers sent a thrill through Beulah's frame, and she looked at her very earnestly.
Clara Sanders was not a beauty in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but there was an expression of angelic sweetness and purity in her countenance which fascinated the orphan. She remarked the scrutiny of the young stranger, and, smiling good-humoredly, said, as she leaned over and arranged the desk:
”I am glad to have you with me, and dare say we shall get on very nicely together. You look ill.”
”I have been ill recently and have not yet regained my strength. Can you tell me where I can find some water? I feel rather faint.”
Her companion brought her a gla.s.s of water. She drank it eagerly, and, as Clara resumed her seat, said in a low voice:
”Oh, thank you! You are very kind.”
”Not at all. If you feel worse you must let me know.” She turned to her books and soon forgot the presence of the newcomer.
The latter watched her, and noticed now that she was dressed in deep mourning. Was she too an orphan, and had this circ.u.mstance rendered her so kindly sympathetic? The sweet, gentle face, with its soft, brown eyes, chained her attention, and in the shaping of the mouth there was something very like Lilly's. Soon Clara left her for recitation, and then she turned to the new books which madam had sent to her desk. Thus pa.s.sed the morning, and she started when the recess bell rang its summons through the long room. Bustle, chatter, and confusion ensued. Pauline called to her to come into lunchroom, and touched her little basket as she spoke, but Beulah shook her head and kept her seat. Clara also remained.
”Pauline is calling you,” said she gently.
”Yes, I hear; but I do not want anything.” And Beulah rested her head on her hands.
”Don't you feel better than you did this morning?”
”Oh, I am well enough in body; a little weak, that is all.”
”You look quite tired. Suppose you lean your head against me and take a short nap?”
”You are very good indeed; but I am not at all sleepy.”
Clara was engaged in drawing, and, looking on, Beulah became interested in the progress of the sketch. Suddenly a hand was placed over the paper, and a tall, handsome girl, with black eyes and sallow complexion, exclaimed sharply:
”For Heaven's sake, Clara Sanders, do you expect to swim into the next world on a piece of drawing-paper? Come over to my seat and work out that eighth problem for me. I have puzzled over it all the morning, and can't get it right.”
”I can show you here quite as well.” Taking out her Euclid, she found and explained the obstinate problem.
”Thank you! I cannot endure mathematics, but father is bent upon my being 'thorough,' as he calls it. I think it is all thorough nonsense. Now, with you it is very different; you expect to be a teacher, and of course will have to acquire all these branches; but for my part I see no use in it. I shall be rejoiced when this dull school-work is over.”
”Don't say that, Cornelia; I think our school days are the happiest, and feel sad when I remember that mine are numbered.”
Here the bell announced recess over, and Cornelia moved away to her seat. A trembling hand sought Clara's arm.
”Is that Cornelia Graham?”
”Yes. Is she not very handsome?”
Beulah made no answer; she only remembered that this girl was Eugene's adopted sister, and, looking after the tall, queenly form, she longed to follow her and ask all the particulars of the storm.
Thus ended the first dreaded day at school, and, on reaching home, Beulah threw herself on her bed with a low, wailing cry. The long- pent sorrow must have vent, and she sobbed until weariness sank her into a heavy sleep.
Far out in a billowy sea, strewed with wrecks, and hideous with the ghastly, upturned faces of floating corpses, she and Eugene were drifting--now clinging to each other--now tossed asunder by howling waves. Then came a glimmering sail on the wide waste of waters; a little boat neared them, and Lilly leaned over the side and held out tiny, dimpled hands to lift them in. They were climbing out of their watery graves, and Lilly's long, fair curls already touched their cheeks, when a strong arm s.n.a.t.c.hed Lilly back, and struck them down into the roaring gulf, and above the white faces of the drifting dead stood Mrs. Grayson, sailing away with Lilly struggling in her arms. Eugene was sinking and Beulah could not reach him; he held up his arms imploringly toward her, and called upon her to save him, and then his head with its wealth of silken, brown locks disappeared. She ceased to struggle; she welcomed drowning now that he had gone to rest among coral temples. She sank down--down. The rigid corpses were no longer visible. She was in an emerald palace, and myriads of rosy sh.e.l.ls paved the floors. At last she found Eugene reposing on a coral bank, and playing with pearls; she hastened to join him, and was just taking his hand when a horrible phantom, seizing him in its arms, bore him away, and, looking in its face, she saw that it was Mrs. Chilton. With a wild scream of terror, Beulah awoke. She was lying across the foot of the bed, and both hands were thrown up, grasping the post convulsively. The room was dark, save where the moonlight crept through the curtains and fell slantingly on the picture of Hope and the Pilgrims, and by that dim light she saw a tall form standing near her.
”Were you dreaming, Beulah, that you shrieked so wildly?”