Beulah - Page 52/348

"Attend to your own affairs, and do not interfere with mine."

"It is high time somebody interfered. Poor Charon! If Hal doesn't

take better care of him, I will make his mother box his ears; see if

I don't."

She bounded down the steps, leaving her uncle to smooth his brow at

leisure. Turning to Beulah, he took her hand, and said very kindly: "This large room does not suit you. Come, and I will show you your

own little room--one I have had arranged for you." She silently

complied, and, leading her through several passages, he opened the

door of the apartment assigned her. The walls were covered with blue

and silver paper; the window curtains of white, faced with blue,

matched it well, and every article of furniture bespoke lavish and

tasteful expenditure. There was a small writing-desk near a handsome

case of books, and a little work-table with a rocking-chair drawn up

to it. He seated Beulah, and stood watching her, as her eyes

wandered curiously and admiringly around the room. They rested on a

painting suspended over the desk, and, wrapt in contemplating the

design, she forgot for a moment all her sorrows. It represented an

angelic figure winging its way over a valley beclouded and dismal,

and pointing, with a radiant countenance, to the gilded summit of a

distant steep. Below, bands of pilgrims, weary and worn, toiled on;

some fainting by the wayside, some seated in sullen despair, some in

the attitude of prayer, some pressing forward with strained gaze and

pale, haggard faces.

"Do you like it?" said Dr. Hartwell.

Perhaps she did not hear him; certainly she did not heed the

question; and, taking a seat near one of the windows, he regarded

her earnestly. Her eyes were fastened on the picture, and, raising

her hands toward it, she said in broken, indistinct tones: "I am dying down in the dark valley; oh, come, help me to toil on to

the resting-place."

Her head sank upon her bosom, and bitter waves lashed her heart once

more.

Gradually evening shadows crept on, and at length a soft hand lifted

her face, and a musical voice said: "Beulah, I want you to come down to my study and make my tea. Do you

feel strong enough?"

"Yes, sir." She rose at once and followed him, resolved to seem

cheerful.

The study was an oblong room, and on one side book-shelves rose

almost to the ceiling. The opposite wall, between the windows, was

covered with paintings, and several statues stood in the recesses

near the chimney. Over the low marble mantelpiece hung a full-length

portrait, shrouded with black crape, and underneath was an

exquisitely chased silver case, containing a small Swiss clock. A

beautiful terra-cotta vase, of antique shape, stood on the hearth,

filled with choice and fragrant flowers, and near the window sat an

elegant rosewood melodeon. A circular table occupied the middle of

the room, and here the evening meal was already arranged. Beulah

glanced timidly around as her conductor seated her beside the urn,

and, seeing only cups for two persons, asked hesitatingly: "Shall I make your tea now?"