"But why did you not at least answer his letter?"
"Because his acceptance was made the condition of an answer; a
negative one was not expected, and I had no other to give."
"Pardon me, Beulah; but why do you not love him?"
"A strange question truly. My heart is not the tool of my will."
"Beulah, do you intend to spend your life solitary and joyless, cut
off, as you are here, from society, and dependent on books and music
for sympathy? Why will you not marry Reginald and make his home
happy?"
"Eugene, I have told you before that I could not accept him, and
told you why. Let the subject drop; it is an unpleasant one to me. I
am happier here than I could possibly be anywhere else. Think you I
would marry merely for an elegant home and an intellectual
companion? Never! I will live and die here in this little cottage
rather than quit it with such motives. You are mistaken in supposing
that Mr. Lindsay is still attached to me. It has been nearly two
years since he wrote that letter, and from Georgia I hear that the
world believes he is soon to marry a lady residing somewhere near
him. I think it more than probable the report is true, and hope most
sincerely it may be so. Now, Eugene, don't mention the subject
again, will you?"
"It is generally believed that he will be elected to Congress; next
month will decide it. The chances are all in his favor," persisted
Eugene.
"Yes; so I judged from the papers," said she coolly, and then added:
"And one day I hope to see you, or rather hear of you, in Washington
by his side. I believe I shall be gratified; and oh, Eugene, what a
proud moment it will be to me! How I shall rejoice in your merited
eminence."
Her face kindled as she spoke; but the shadows deepened in his
countenance, as he answered moodily: "Perhaps I may; but fame and position cannot lighten a loaded heart
or kindle the sacred flame of love in a dreary home. When a man
blindly wrecks his happiness on the threshold of life by a fatal
marriage, no after exertion can atone or rectify the one mistake."
"Hush! she will hear you," said Beulah, pointing to the little girl,
who was slowly approaching them.
A bitter smile parted his lips.
"She is my all; yet precious as she is to my sad heart, I would
gladly lay her in her grave to-morrow sooner than see her live to
marry an uncongenial spirit, or know that her radiant face was
clouded with sorrow, like mine. God grant that her father's wretched
lot may warn her of the quicksands which nearly ingulfed him." He
took the child in his arms, as if to shield her from some impending
danger, and said hurriedly: "Are you ready to go home?"