"'Look not mournfully on the past--it comes not back;
Enjoy the present--it is thine.
Go forth to meet the shadowy future
With a manly heart, and without fear.'"
"You know little of what oppresses me. It is the knowledge of my--of
Antoinette's indifference which makes the future so joyless, so
desolate. Beulah, this has caused my ruin. When I stood by
Cornelia's coffin, and recalled her last frantic appeal; when I
looked down at her cold face, and remembered her devoted love for
her unworthy brother, I vowed never to touch wine again; to absent
myself from the associates who had led me to dissipation. Beulah, I
was honest, and intended to reform from that hour. But Antoinette's
avowed coldness, or, to call it by its proper name, heartless
selfishness and fondness for admiration, first disgusted and then
maddened me. I would have gladly spent my evenings quietly, in our
elegant home; but she contrived to have it crowded with visitors as
soulless and frivolous as herself. I remonstrated; she was sneering,
defiant, and unyielding, and assured me she would 'amuse' herself as
she thought proper; I followed her example, and went back to the
reckless companions who continually beset my path. I was miserably
deceived in Antoinette's character. She was very beautiful, and I
was blind to her mental, nay, I may as well say it at once, her
moral, defects. I believed she was warmly attached to me, and I
loved her most devotedly. But no sooner were we married than I
discovered my blind rashness. Cornelia warned me; but what man,
fascinated by a beautiful girl, ever listened to counsels that
opposed his heart? Antoinette is too intensely selfish to love
anything or anybody but herself; she does not even love her child.
Strange as it may seem, she is too entirely engrossed by her weak
fondness for display and admiration even to caress her babe. Except
at breakfast and dinner we rarely meet, and then, unless company is
present (which is generally the case), our intercourse is studiedly
cold. Do you wonder that I am hopeless in view of a life passed with
such a companion? Oh, that I could blot out the last two years of my
existence!"
He groaned, and shaded his face with his hands.
"But, Eugene, probably your reformation and altered course will win
you your wife's love and reverence," suggested Beulah, anxious to
offer some incentive to exertion.
"I know her nature too well to hope that. A woman who prefers to
dance and ride with gentlemen rather than remain in her luxurious
home with her babe and her duties, cannot be won from her moth-like
life. No, no! I despair of happiness from her society and affection,
and, if at all, must derive it from other sources. My child is the
one living blossom amidst all my withered hopes. She is the only
treasure I have, except your friendship. She shall never blush for
her father's degradation. Henceforth, though an unhappy man, I shall
prove myself a temperate one. I cannot trust my child's education to
Antoinette; she is unworthy the sacred charge; I must fit myself to
form her character. Oh, Beulah, if I could make her such a woman as
you are, then I could indeed bear my lot patiently! I named her
Cornelia, but henceforth she shall be called Beulah also, in token
of her father's gratitude to his truest friend."