It was eleven o'clock, but Beulah was writing in her own room; and
through the open window heard the thundering tramp, the rattle among
the bricks, Proctor's furious curses, and surmised that some
accident had happened. She sprang to the window, saw the buggy just
as it was wheeled on, and hoped nothing was hurt. But Charon, who
slept on the portico, leaped over the paling, ran around the bricks,
and barked alarmingly. She unlocked the door, saw that no one was
passing, and, opening the little gate, looked out. Charon stood
watching a prostrate form, and she fearlessly crossed the street and
bent over the body. One arm was crushed beneath him; the other
thrown up over the face. She recognized the watch chain, which was
of a curious pattern; and, for an instant, all objects swam before
her. She felt faint; her heart seemed to grow icy and numb; but,
with a great effort, she moved the arm, and looked on the face
gleaming in the moonlight. Trembling like a weed in a wintry blast,
she knelt beside him. He was insensible, but not dead; though it was
evident there must have been some severe contusion about the head.
She saw that no time should be lost, and, running into one of the
neighboring houses, knocked violently. The noise of the horse and
buggy had already aroused the inmates, and very soon the motionless
form was borne into Beulah's little cottage and placed on a couch,
while a messenger was dispatched for Dr. Asbury. Eugene remained
just as they placed him; and, kneeling beside him, Beulah held his
cold hands in hers, and watched, in almost breathless anxiety, for
some return of animation. She knew that he was intoxicated; that
this, and this only, caused the accident; and tears of shame and
commiseration trickled down her cheeks. Since their parting
interview, previous to his marriage, they had met but once, and then
in silence, beside Cornelia in her dying hour. It was little more
than a year since she had risked his displeasure, and remonstrated
with him on his ruinous course; and that comparatively short period
had wrought painful changes in his once noble, handsome face. She
had hoped that Cornelia's dying prayer would save him; but now,
alas, it was too apparent that the appeal had been futile. She knew
not that his wife was absent, and determined to send for her as soon
as possible. The long hour of waiting seemed an eternity; but at
last Dr. Asbury came, and carefully examined the bruised limbs.
Beulah grasped his arm.
"Oh! will he die?"