It was the middle of November, and the absentees who had spent their
summer at the North were all at home again. Among these were Mrs.
Asbury and her two daughters; and only a few days after their return
they called to see Beulah. She found them polished, cultivated, and
agreeable; and when, at parting, the mother kindly pressed her hand
and cordially invited her to visit them often and sociably, she felt
irresistibly drawn toward her, and promised to do so. Ere long there
came a friendly note, requesting her to spend the evening with them;
and thus, before she had known them many weeks, Beulah found herself
established on the familiar footing of an old friend. Universally
esteemed and respected, Dr. Asbury's society was sought by the most
refined circle of the city, and his house was a favorite resort for
the intellectual men and women of the community. Occupying an
enviable position in his profession, he still found leisure to
devote much of his attention to strictly literary topics, and the
honest frankness and cordiality of his manners, blended with the
instructive tone of his conversation, rendered him a general
favorite. Mrs. Asbury merited the elevated position which she so
ably filled as the wife of such a man. While due attention was given
to the education and rearing of her daughters, she admirably
discharged the claims of society, and, by a consistent adherence to
the principles of the religion she professed, checked by every means
within her power the frivolous excesses and dangerous extremes which
prevailed throughout the fashionable circles in which she moved.
Zealously, yet unostentatiously, she exerted herself in behalf of
the various charitable institutions organized to ameliorate the
sufferings of the poor in their midst; and while as a Christian she
conformed to the outward observances of her church, she faithfully
inculcated and practiced at home the pure precepts of a religion
whose effects should be the proper regulation of the heart and
charity toward the world. Her parlors were not the favorite
rendezvous where gossips met to retail slander. Refined, dignified,
gentle, and hospitable, she was a woman too rarely, alas! met with,
in so-called fashionable circles. Her husband's reputation secured
them the acquaintance of all distinguished strangers, and made their
house a great center of attraction. Beulah fully enjoyed and
appreciated the friendship thus tendered her, and soon looked upon
Dr. Asbury and his noble wife as counselors to whom in any emergency
she could unhesitatingly apply. They based their position in society
on their own worth, not the extrinsic appendages of wealth and
fashion, and readily acknowledged the claims of all who (however
humble their abode or avocation) proved themselves worthy of respect
and esteem. In their intercourse with the young teacher there was an
utter absence of that contemptible supercilious condescension which
always characterizes an ignorant and parvenu aristocracy. They
treated her as an equal in intrinsic worth, and prized her as a
friend. Helen Asbury was older than Beulah and Georgia somewhat
younger. They were sweet-tempered, gay girls, lacking their parent's
intellectual traits, but sufficiently well-informed and cultivated
to constitute them agreeable companions. Of their father's extensive
library they expressed themselves rather afraid, and frequently
bantered Beulah about the grave books she often selected from it.
Beulah found her school duties far less irksome than she had
expected, for she loved children, and soon became interested in the
individual members of her classes. From eight o'clock until three
she was closely occupied; then the labors of the day were over, and
she spent her evenings much as she had been wont ere the opening of
the session. Thus November glided quickly away, and the first of
December greeted her ere she dreamed of its approach. The Grahams
had not returned, though daily expected; and, notwithstanding two
months had elapsed without Eugene's writing, she looked forward with
intense pleasure to his expected arrival. There was one source of
constant pain for her in Dr. Hartwell's continued and complete
estrangement. Except a cold, formal bow in passing there was no
intercourse whatever; and she sorrowed bitterly over this seeming
indifference in one to whom she owed so much and was so warmly
attached. Remotely connected with this cause of disquiet was the
painful change in Clara. Like a lily suddenly transplanted to some
arid spot, she had seemed to droop since the week of her ride.
Gentle, but hopeless and depressed, she went, day after day, to her
duties at Madam St. Cymon's school, and returned at night wearied,
silent, and wan. Her step grew more feeble, her face thinner and
paler. Often Beulah gave up her music and books, and devoted the
evenings to entertaining and interesting her; but there was a
constraint and reserve about her which could not be removed.