Beulah - Page 97/348

"Did he say so?" asked the mourner, shading her face with her hand.

"He told me I must bring you home with me," answered Beulah.

"Oh, how good, how noble he is! Beulah, you are lucky, lucky

indeed." She dropped her head on her arms.

"Clara, I believe there is less difference in our positions than you

seem to imagine. We are both orphans, and in about a year I too

shall be a teacher. Dr. Hartwell is my guardian and protector, but

he will be a kind friend to you also."

"Beulah, you are mad to dream of leaving him and turning teacher! I

am older than you, and have traveled over the very track that you

are so eager to set out upon. Oh, take my advice; stay where you

are! Would you leave summer sunshine for the icebergs of Arctic

night? Silly girl, appreciate your good fortune."

"Can it be possible, Clara, that you are fainting so soon? Where are

all your firm resolves? If it is your duty, what matter the

difficulties?" She looked down pityingly on her companion, as in

olden time one of the athletae might have done upon a drooping

comrade.

"Necessity knows no conditions, Beulah. I have no alternative but to

labor in that horrible treadmill round, day after day. You are more

fortunate; can have a home of elegance, luxury, and--"

"And dependence! Would you be willing to change places with me, and

indolently wait for others to maintain you?" interrupted Beulah,

looking keenly at the wan, yet lovely, face before her.

"Ah, gladly, if I had been selected as you were. Once I too felt

hopeful and joyous; but now life is dreary, almost a burden. Be

warned, Beulah; don't suffer your haughty spirit to make you reject

the offered home that may be yours."

There was a strong approach to contempt in the expression with which

Beulah regarded her, as the last words were uttered, and she

answered coldly: "You are less a woman than I thought you, if you would be willing to

live on the bounty of others when a little activity would enable you

to support yourself."

"Ah, Beulah! it is not only the bread you eat, or the clothes that

you wear; it is sympathy and kindness, love and watchfulness. It is

this that a woman wants. Oh, was her heart made, think you, to be

filled with grammars and geographies and copy-books? Can the feeling

that you are independent and doing your duty satisfy the longing for

other idols? Oh, Duty is an icy shadow! It will freeze you. It

cannot fill the heart's sanctuary. Woman was intended as a pet

plant, to be guarded and cherished; isolated and uncared for, she

droops, languishes, and dies." Ah! the dew-sparkle had exhaled and

the morning glory had vanished; the noontide heat of the conflict

was creeping on, and she was sinking down, impotent to continue the

struggle.