This "Inner Life," which she had written for the last number of the
magazine, was an allegory, in which she boldly attempted to disprove
the truth of the fact Tennyson has so inimitably embodied in "The
Palace of Art," namely, that love of beauty and intellectual culture
cannot satisfy the God-given aspirations of the soul. Her guardian
fully comprehended the dawning, and as yet unacknowledged dread
which prompted this article, and hastily laying his hand on her
shoulder, he said: "Ah, proud girl! you are struggling desperately with your heart.
You, too, have reared a 'palace' on dreary, almost inaccessible
crags; and, because already you begin to weary of your isolation,
you would fain hurl invectives at Tennyson, who explores your
mansion, 'so royal, rich, and wide,' and discovers the grim specters
that dwell with you! You were very miserable when you wrote that
sketch; you are not equal to what you have undertaken. Child, this
year of trial and loneliness has left its impress on your face. Are
you not yet willing to give up the struggle?"
The moon had risen, and, as its light shone on her countenance, he
saw a fierce blaze in her eyes he had never noticed there before.
She shook off his light touch, and answered: "No! I will never give up!"
He smiled, and left her.
She remained with her sick friend until sunrise the next morning,
and ere she left the house was rewarded by the assurance that she
was better. In a few days Kate was decidedly convalescent. Beulah
did not take typhus fever.