Beulah - Page 124/348

"I hope he will," answered Beulah. She ill brooked Harriet's plain

speech, but remembrances of past affection checked the severe rebuke

which more than once rose to her lips.

"We shall see; we shall see!" And Harriet walked off with anything

but a placid expression of countenance, while Beulah sought Mrs.

Watson to explain her sudden departure and acquaint her with her

plans for the summer. The housekeeper endeavored most earnestly to

dissuade her from taking the contemplated step, assuring her that

the doctor would be grieved and displeased; but her arguments

produced no effect, and, with tears of regret, she bade her

farewell.

The sun was setting when Beulah took possession of her room at Mrs.

Hoyt's house. The furniture was very plain, and the want of several

articles vividly recalled the luxurious home she had abandoned. She

unpacked and arranged her clothes, and piled her books on a small

table, which was the only substitute for her beautiful desk and

elegant rosewood bookcase. She had gathered a superb bouquet of

flowers as she crossed the front yard, and, in lieu of her Sevres

vases, placed them in a dim-looking tumbler which stood on the tall,

narrow mantelpiece. Her room was in the third story, with two

windows, one opening to the south and one to the west. It grew dark

by the time she had arranged the furniture, and, too weary to think

of going down to tea, she unbound her hair and took a seat beside

the window. The prospect was extended; below her were countless

lamps, marking the principal streets; and, in the distance, the dark

cloud of masts told that river and bay might be distinctly seen by

daylight. The quiet stars looked dim through the dusty atmosphere,

and the noise of numerous vehicles rattling by produced a confused

impression, such as she had never before received at this usually

calm twilight season. The events of the day passed in a swift

review, and a mighty barrier seemed to have sprung up (as by some

foul spell) between her guardian and herself. What an immeasurable

gulf now yawned to separate them! Could it be possible that the

friendly relations of years were thus suddenly and irrevocably

annulled? Would he relinquish all interest in one whom he had so

long watched over and directed? Did he intend that they should be

completely estranged henceforth? For the first time since Lilly's

death she felt herself thrown upon the world. Alone and unaided, she

was essaying to carve her own fortune from the huge quarries where

thousands were diligently laboring. An undefinable feeling of

desolation crept into her heart; but she struggled desperately

against it, and asked, in proud defiance of her own nature: "Am I not sufficient unto myself? Leaning only on myself, what more

should I want? Nothing! His sympathy is utterly unnecessary."