"We will be some day. I must wait patiently," said she, with a sigh.
"Beulah, I don't like that troubled look about your mouth. What is
the matter? Can I in any way remove it? It is connected with me,
even remotely? My dear Beulah, do not shrink from me."
"Nothing is the matter that you can rectify," said she gravely.
"Something is the matter, then, which I may not know?"
"Yes."
"And you will not trust me?"
"It is not a question of trust, Eugene."
"You think I cannot help you?"
"You cannot help me, I am sure." "Well, I will see you again to-
morrow; till then, good-by." They shook hands, and she went back to
her own room. Cornelia's note contained an invitation to spend the
next evening with them; she would call as soon as possible. She put
it aside, and, throwing her arms on the mantelpiece, bowed her head
upon them. This, then, was the hour which, for five years, she had
anticipated as an occasion of unmixed delight. She was not weeping;
no, the eyes were dry and the lips firmly fixed. She was thinking of
the handsome face which a little while before was beside her;
thinking, with keen agony, of footprints there which she had never
dreamed of seeing; they were very slight, yet unmistakable--the fell
signet of dissipation. Above all, she read it in the eyes, which
once looked so fearlessly into hers. She knew he did not imagine for
an instant that she suspected it; and of all the bitter cups which
eighteen years had proffered, this was by far the blackest. It was
like a hideous dream, and she groaned, and passed her hand over her
brow, as if to sweep it all away. Poor Beulah! the idol of her
girlhood fell from its pedestal and lay in crumbling ruins at her
feet. In this hour of reunion she saw clearly into her own heart;
she did not love him, save as a friend, as a brother. She was forced
to perceive her own superiority; could she love a man whom she did
not revere? Verily, she felt now that she did not love Eugene. There
was a feeling of contempt for his weakness, yet she could not bear
to see him other than she had hoped. How utterly he had disappointed
her? Could it be possible that he had fallen so low as to dissipate
habitually? This she would not believe; he was still too noble for
such a disgraceful course. She felt a soft touch on her shoulder,
and raised her sad, tearless face. Clara, with her ethereal,
spiritual countenance, stood on the hearth. "Do I disturb you?" said
she timidly.