Beulah - Page 204/348

He said no more, for at this moment the door opened, and Mrs. Asbury

entered. She welcomed Beulah with a cordial sincerity, singularly

soothing to the orphan's heart, and, keeping her hand in a tight

clasp, asked several questions, which her husband cut short by

drawing her to his side.

"Where have you been straying to, madam?"

"Where you must stray to, sir, just as soon as you start out this

evening on your round of visits."

She softly smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. She was a

noble-looking woman, with a tranquil countenance that betokened a

serene, cloudless soul; and as she stood beside her husband, his

eyes rested on her face with an expression bordering on adoration.

Beulah could not avoid wondering why such women were so very rare,

and the thought presented itself with painful force, "If Cornelia

Graham and I had had such mothers, we might both have been happier

and better." Probably something of what crossed her mind crept into

her countenance, for the doctor asked laughingly: "In the name of Venus! what are you screwing up your lips and

looking so ugly about?"

"I suppose one reason is that I must go home." She rose, with a

suppressed sigh.

"I am disposed to think it much more probable that you were envying

me my wife. Come, confess."

"I was wishing that I had such a mother."

With some sudden impulse she threw her arms round Mrs. Asbury's

neck, and hid her face on her shoulder.

"Then let me be your mother, my dear child," said she, pressing the

girl affectionately to her heart and kissing her pale cheek.

"Are you troubled about anything, my dear?" continued Mrs. Asbury,

surprised at this manifestation of feeling in one usually so cold

and reserved.

"An orphan heart mourns its dead idols," answered Beulah, raising

her hand and withdrawing from the kind arm that encircled her. Mrs.

Asbury interpreted a quick glance from her husband, and did not

press the matter further; but, at parting, she accompanied Beulah to

the front door, and earnestly assured her that if she could in any

way advise or assist her she would consider it both a privilege and

a pleasure to do so. Returning to the library, she laid her soft

hand on her husband's arm, and said anxiously: "George, what is the matter with her?"

"She is distressed, or, rather, perplexed, about her religious

doubts, I inferred from what she said just before you came in. She

has drifted out into a troubled sea of philosophy, I am inclined to

think, and, not satisfied with what she has found, is now irresolute

as to the proper course. Poor child, she is terribly in earnest

about the matter." He sighed heavily.