"If he lives, this accident may be his salvation."
"God grant it may--God grant it may!"
Falling on her knees, the aged woman put up a prayer of passionate
entreaty, that Almighty God would spare his life and save him from a
drunkard's fate.
"If I, too, could pray for him, it might ease my aching heart,"
thought Beulah, as she listened to the imploring words of the
matron.
And why not? Ah! the murky vapors of unbelief shrouded the All-
Father from her wandering soul. Dawn looked in upon two sorrowing
watchers beside that stupid slumberer, and showed that the
physician's fears were realized; a raging fever had set in, and this
night was but the commencement of long and weary vigils. About noon
Beulah was crossing the hall with a bowl of ice in her hand, when
someone at the door pronounced her name, and Proctor approached her,
accompanied by Cowdon. She had once met the former at Mr. Graham's,
and, having heard Cornelia regret the miserable influence he exerted
over her brother, was prepared to receive him coldly.
"We have come to see Graham, madam," said he, shrinking from her
sad, searching eyes, yet assuming an air of haughty indifference.
"You cannot see him, sir."
"But I tell you I must! I shall remove him to his own house, where
he can be properly attended to. Where is he?"
"The physician particularly urged the necessity of keeping
everything quiet. He shall not be disturbed; but, as he is
unconscious, perhaps it will afford you some gratification to behold
the ruin you have wrought. Gentlemen, here is your victim."
She opened the door and suffered them to stand on the threshold and
look at the prostrate form, with the head enveloped in icy cloths
and the face bloated and purplish from bruises and fever. Neither
Proctor nor his companion could endure the smile of withering
contempt which curled her lips as she pointed to the victim of their
temptations and influence, and, with a half-suppressed imprecation,
Proctor turned on his heel and left the house. Apparently this brief
visit quite satisfied them, for it was not repeated. Days and nights
of unremitted watching ensued; Eugene was wildly delirious, now
singing snatches of drinking songs, and waving his hand, as if to
his guests; and now bitterly upbraiding his wife for her
heartlessness and folly. The confinement of his fractured arm
frenzied him; often he struggled violently to free himself, fancying
that he was incarcerated in some horrid dungeon. On the morning of
the fourth day after the accident a carriage stopped at the cottage
gate, and, springing out, Mr. Graham hurried into the house. As he
entered the sickroom and caught sight of the tossing sufferer, a
groan escaped him, and he covered his eyes an instant, as if to shut
out the vision. Eugene imagined he saw one of the Heidelberg
professors, and, laughing immoderately, began a rapid conversation
in German. Mr. Graham could not conceal his emotion, and, fearing
its effect on the excitable patient, Beulah beckoned him aside and
warned him of the possible consequences. He grasped her hand, and
asked the particulars of the occurrence, which had been mentioned to
him vaguely. She told him the account given by Eugene's servants of
the night's revel, and then the denouement in front of her door. In
conclusion she said earnestly: "Where is his wife? Why is she not here?"