Beulah - Page 95/348

They found Clara kneeling beside her insensible grandfather, while

two or three middle-aged ladies sat near the hearth, talking in

undertones. Beulah put her arms tenderly around her friend ere she

was aware of her presence, and the cry of blended woe and gladness

with which Clara threw herself on Beulah's bosom told her how well-

timed that presence was. Three years of teaching and care had worn

the slight young form, and given a troubled, strained, weary look to

the fair face. Thin, pale, and tearful, she clung to Beulah, and

asked, in broken accents, what would become of her when the aged

sleeper was no more.

"Our good God remains to you, Clara. I was a shorn lamb, and he

tempered the winds for me. I was very miserable, but he did not

forsake me."

Clara looked at the tall form of the physician, and, while her eyes

rested upon him with a species of fascination, she murmured: "Yes, you have been blessed indeed! You have him. He guards and

cares for your happiness; but I, oh, I am alone!"

"You told me he had promised to be your friend. Best assured he will

prove himself such," answered Beulah, watching Clara's countenance

as she spoke.

"Yes, I know; but--" She paused, and averted her head, for just then

he drew near and said gravely: "Beulah, take Miss Clara to her own room, and persuade her to rest.

I shall remain probably all night; at least until some change takes

place."

"Don't send me away," pleaded Clara mournfully.

"Go, Beulah; it is for her own good." She saw that he was

unrelenting, and complied without opposition. In the seclusion of

her room she indulged in a passionate burst of grief, and, thinking

it was best thus vented, Beulah paced up and down the floor,

listening now to the convulsive sobs, and now to the rain which

pelted the window-panes. She was two years younger than her

companion, yet felt that she was immeasurably stronger. Often during

their acquaintance a painful suspicion had crossed her mind; as

often she had banished it, but now it haunted her with a pertinacity

which she could not subdue. While her feet trod the chamber floor,

memory trod the chambers of the past, and gathered up every link

which could strengthen the chain of evidence. Gradually dim

conjecture became sad conviction, and she was conscious of a degree

of pain and sorrow for which she could not readily account. If Clara

loved Dr. Hartwell, why should it grieve her? Her step grew

nervously rapid, and the eyes settled upon the carpet with a

fixedness of which she was unconscious. Suppose he was double her

age, if Clara loved him notwithstanding, what business was it of

hers? Besides, no one would dream of the actual disparity in years,

for he was a very handsome man, and certainly did not look more than

ten years older. True, Clara was not very intellectual, and he was

particularly fond of literary pursuits; but had not she heard him

say that it was a singular fact in anthropology that men selected

their opposites for wives? She did not believe her guardian ever

thought of Clara save when in her presence. But how did she know

anything about his thoughts and fancies, his likes and dislikes? He

had never even spoken of his marriage--was it probable that the

subject of a second love would have escaped him? All this passed

rapidly in her mind, and when Clara called her to sit down on the

couch beside her, she started as from a painful dream. While her

friend talked sadly of the future, Beulah analyzed her features, and

came to the conclusion that it would be a very easy matter to love

her; the face was so sweet and gentle, the manner so graceful, the

tone so musical and winning. Absorbed in thought, neither noted the

lapse of time. Midnight passed; two o'clock came; and then at three

a knock startled the watchers. Clara sprang to the door; Dr.

Hartwell pointed to the sickroom, and said gently: "He has ceased to suffer. He is at rest."