"Yes, I do love you, Claudy--more than ever; but you must come to
see me. I cannot go to that house again. I can't see your mamma
Grayson. Come and see me, darling!"
She drew her bonnet over her face and hurried out.
"Where do you live? I will come and see you!" cried Claudia, running
after the retreating form.
"She lives at Dr. Hartwell's--that large, brick house, out on the
edge of town; everybody knows the place."
Pauline turned back to give this piece of information, and then
hastened on to join Beulah. She longed to inquire into all the
particulars of the orphan's early life; but the pale, fixed face
gave no encouragement to question, and they walked on in perfect
silence until they reached the gate at the end of the avenue. Then
Pauline asked energetically: "Is that little one any kin to you?"
"No; I have no kin in this world," answered Beulah drearily.
Pauline shrugged her shoulders, and made no further attempt to
elicit confidence. On entering the house, they encountered the
doctor, who was crossing the hall. He stopped, and said: "I have glad tidings for you, Beulah. The 'Morning Star' arrived
safely at Amsterdam, and by this time Eugene is at Heidelberg."
Beulah stood very near him, and answered tremblingly: "Yes, sir; I heard it at school."
He perceived that something was amiss, and, untying her bonnet,
looked searchingly at the sorrow-stained face. She shut her eyes,
and leaned her head against him.
"What is the matter, my child? I thought you would be very happy in
hearing of Eugene's safety."
She was unable to reply just then; and Pauline, who stood swinging
her sachel to and fro, volunteered an explanation.
"Uncle Guy, she is curious, that is all. As we were leaving school,
she met a little girl on the steps, and they flew at each other, and
cried, and kissed, and--you never saw anything like it! I thought
the child must be a very dear relation; but she says she has no kin.
I don't see the use of crying her eyes out, particularly when the
little one is nothing to her."
Her uncle's countenance resumed its habitual severity, and, taking
Beulah's hand, he led her into that quietest of all quiet places,
his study. Seating himself, and drawing her to his side, he said: "Was it meeting Claudia that distressed you so much? That child is
very warmly attached to you. She raved about you constantly during
her illness. So did Lilly. I did not understand the relationship
then, or I should have interfered, and carried you to her. I called
to see Mr. and Mrs. Grayson last week, to remove the difficulties in
the way of your intercourse with Claudia, but they were not at home.
I will arrange matters so that you may be with Claudia as often as
possible. You have been wronged, child, I know; but try to bury it;
it is all past now." He softly smoothed back her hair as he spoke.