"She is proud, and will not receive it willingly; but you must
arrange it so that she will be benefited by it. Father, can you do
this for me?"
"Yes, without difficulty, I think."
"Let it be kept secret, will you?"
"Rest assured it shall have no unnecessary publicity."
"See that it is conveyed to her so securely that no quibbles of law
can wrest it from her at any future day, for none of us knows what
may happen."
"I promise you she shall have it if I live twelve hours longer."
"Then I want five thousand more given to the orphan asylum. Give it
in your own name. You only have the right to give. Don't have my
name mentioned in the matter. Will you promise me this also?"
"Yes; it shall all be done. Is there anything else?"
"Thank you, that is all, as regards money matters. Raise my pillow a
little; there, that will do. Father, can't you do something to save
Eugene? You must see now how reckless he is growing."
"Recently I have expostulated with him, and he seemed disposed to
reform his habits. Acknowledged that his associations had been
injurious, and regretted the excesses into which he had been led. He
has been rather wild since he came from college; but I think, now he
is married, he will sober down. That is one reason why I encouraged
his marrying so early. Intemperance is his only fault, and I trust
his good sense will soon lead him to correct it." A smothered sigh
concluded the sentence.
"Father, Antoinette is not the woman to reform him. Don't trust to
her influence; if you do, Eugene will be ruined. Watch over him
closely yourself; try to win him away from the haunts of
dissipation; I tell you now his wife will never do it. She has duped
you and my mother as to her character, but you will find that she is
as utterly heartless as her own mother was. I always opposed the
match, because I probed her mask of dissimulation, and knew Eugene
could not be happy with her. But the mistake is irretrievable, and
it only remains for you to watch him the more carefully. Lift me,
father; I can't breathe easily. There is the doctor on the steps; I am
too tired to talk any more to-day."
One week later, as Beulah was spending her Sabbath evening in her
own apartment, she was summoned to see her friend for the last time.
It was twilight when she reached Mr. Graham's house and glided
noiselessly up the thickly carpeted stairway. The bells were all
muffled, and a solemn stillness reigned over the mansion. She left
her bonnet and shawl in the hall, and softly entered the chamber
unannounced. Unable to breathe in a horizontal position, Cornelia
was bolstered up in her easychair. Her mother sat near her, with her
face hid on her husband's bosom. Dr. Hartwell leaned against the
mantel, and Eugene stood on the hearth opposite him, with his head
bowed down on his hands. Cornelia drew her breath in quick gasps,
and cold drops glistened on her pallid face. Her sunken eyes
wandered over the group, and when Beulah drew near she extended her
hands eagerly, while a shadowy smile passed swiftly over her
sharpened features.