He said no more, for at this moment the door opened, and Mrs. Asbury
entered. She welcomed Beulah with a cordial sincerity, singularly
soothing to the orphan's heart, and, keeping her hand in a tight
clasp, asked several questions, which her husband cut short by
drawing her to his side.
"Where have you been straying to, madam?"
"Where you must stray to, sir, just as soon as you start out this
evening on your round of visits."
She softly smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. She was a
noble-looking woman, with a tranquil countenance that betokened a
serene, cloudless soul; and as she stood beside her husband, his
eyes rested on her face with an expression bordering on adoration.
Beulah could not avoid wondering why such women were so very rare,
and the thought presented itself with painful force, "If Cornelia
Graham and I had had such mothers, we might both have been happier
and better." Probably something of what crossed her mind crept into
her countenance, for the doctor asked laughingly: "In the name of Venus! what are you screwing up your lips and
looking so ugly about?"
"I suppose one reason is that I must go home." She rose, with a
suppressed sigh.
"I am disposed to think it much more probable that you were envying
me my wife. Come, confess."
"I was wishing that I had such a mother."
With some sudden impulse she threw her arms round Mrs. Asbury's
neck, and hid her face on her shoulder.
"Then let me be your mother, my dear child," said she, pressing the
girl affectionately to her heart and kissing her pale cheek.
"Are you troubled about anything, my dear?" continued Mrs. Asbury,
surprised at this manifestation of feeling in one usually so cold
and reserved.
"An orphan heart mourns its dead idols," answered Beulah, raising
her hand and withdrawing from the kind arm that encircled her. Mrs.
Asbury interpreted a quick glance from her husband, and did not
press the matter further; but, at parting, she accompanied Beulah to
the front door, and earnestly assured her that if she could in any
way advise or assist her she would consider it both a privilege and
a pleasure to do so. Returning to the library, she laid her soft
hand on her husband's arm, and said anxiously: "George, what is the matter with her?"
"She is distressed, or, rather, perplexed, about her religious
doubts, I inferred from what she said just before you came in. She
has drifted out into a troubled sea of philosophy, I am inclined to
think, and, not satisfied with what she has found, is now irresolute
as to the proper course. Poor child, she is terribly in earnest
about the matter." He sighed heavily.