"Attend to your own affairs, and do not interfere with mine."
"It is high time somebody interfered. Poor Charon! If Hal doesn't
take better care of him, I will make his mother box his ears; see if
I don't."
She bounded down the steps, leaving her uncle to smooth his brow at
leisure. Turning to Beulah, he took her hand, and said very kindly: "This large room does not suit you. Come, and I will show you your
own little room--one I have had arranged for you." She silently
complied, and, leading her through several passages, he opened the
door of the apartment assigned her. The walls were covered with blue
and silver paper; the window curtains of white, faced with blue,
matched it well, and every article of furniture bespoke lavish and
tasteful expenditure. There was a small writing-desk near a handsome
case of books, and a little work-table with a rocking-chair drawn up
to it. He seated Beulah, and stood watching her, as her eyes
wandered curiously and admiringly around the room. They rested on a
painting suspended over the desk, and, wrapt in contemplating the
design, she forgot for a moment all her sorrows. It represented an
angelic figure winging its way over a valley beclouded and dismal,
and pointing, with a radiant countenance, to the gilded summit of a
distant steep. Below, bands of pilgrims, weary and worn, toiled on;
some fainting by the wayside, some seated in sullen despair, some in
the attitude of prayer, some pressing forward with strained gaze and
pale, haggard faces.
"Do you like it?" said Dr. Hartwell.
Perhaps she did not hear him; certainly she did not heed the
question; and, taking a seat near one of the windows, he regarded
her earnestly. Her eyes were fastened on the picture, and, raising
her hands toward it, she said in broken, indistinct tones: "I am dying down in the dark valley; oh, come, help me to toil on to
the resting-place."
Her head sank upon her bosom, and bitter waves lashed her heart once
more.
Gradually evening shadows crept on, and at length a soft hand lifted
her face, and a musical voice said: "Beulah, I want you to come down to my study and make my tea. Do you
feel strong enough?"
"Yes, sir." She rose at once and followed him, resolved to seem
cheerful.
The study was an oblong room, and on one side book-shelves rose
almost to the ceiling. The opposite wall, between the windows, was
covered with paintings, and several statues stood in the recesses
near the chimney. Over the low marble mantelpiece hung a full-length
portrait, shrouded with black crape, and underneath was an
exquisitely chased silver case, containing a small Swiss clock. A
beautiful terra-cotta vase, of antique shape, stood on the hearth,
filled with choice and fragrant flowers, and near the window sat an
elegant rosewood melodeon. A circular table occupied the middle of
the room, and here the evening meal was already arranged. Beulah
glanced timidly around as her conductor seated her beside the urn,
and, seeing only cups for two persons, asked hesitatingly: "Shall I make your tea now?"