"Miss Beulah, do you know how long master expects to be gone? I
thought maybe you could tell when you came home, for Mrs. Watson
does not seem to know any more than I do."
"Gone! What do you mean?"
"Don't you know he has gone up the river to the plantation? Why, I
packed his valise at daylight yesterday, and he left in the early
morning boat. He has not been to the plantation since just before
you came here. Hal says he heard him tell Dr. Asbury to take charge
of his patients, that his overseer had to be looked after. He told
me he was going to the plantation, and I would have asked him when
he was coming back, but he was in one of his unsatisfactory ways--
looked just like his mouth had been dipped in hot sealing-wax, so I
held my tongue."
Beulah bit her lips with annoyance, but sat down before the
melodeon, and said as unconcernedly as possible: "I did not know he had left the city, and, of course, have no idea
when he will be back. Harriet, please make me a fire here, or call
Hal to do it."
"There is a good fire in the dining room; better go in there and sit
with Mrs. Watson. She is busy seeding raisins for mincemeat and
fruit-cake."
"No; I would rather stay here."
"Then I will kindle you a fire right away."
Harriet moved about the room with cheerful alacrity. She had always
seemed to consider herself Beulah's special guardian and friend, and
gave continual proof of the strength of her affection. Evidently she
desired to talk about her master, but Beulah's face gave her no
encouragement to proceed. She made several efforts to renew the
conversation, but they were not seconded, and she withdrew,
muttering to herself: "She is learning all his ways. He does hate to talk any more than he
can help, and she is patterning after him just as fast as she can.
They don't seem to know what the Lord gave them tongues for."
Beulah practiced perseveringly for some time, and then, drawing a
chair near the fire, sat down and leaned her head on her hand. She
missed her guardian--wanted to see him--felt surprised at his sudden
departure and mortified that he had not thought her of sufficient
consequence to bid adieu to and be apprised of his intended trip. He
treated her precisely as he did when she first entered the house;
seemed to consider her a mere child, whereas she knew she was no
longer such. He never alluded to her plan of teaching, and when she
chanced to mention it he offered no comment, looked indifferent or
abstracted. Though invariably kind, and sometimes humorous, there
was an impenetrable reserve respecting himself, his past and future,
which was never laid aside. When not engaged with his flowers or
music, he was deep in some favorite volume, and, outside of these
sources of enjoyment, seemed to derive no real pleasure.
Occasionally he had visitors, but these were generally strangers,
often persons residing at a distance, and Beulah knew nothing of
them. Several times he had attended concerts and lectures, but she
had never accompanied him; and frequently, when sitting by his side,
felt as if a glacier lay between them. After Mrs. Chilton's
departure for New York, where she and Pauline were boarding, no
ladies ever came to the house, except a few of middle age, who
called now and then to see Mrs. Watson, and, utterly isolated from
society, Beulah was conscious of entire ignorance of all that passed
in polite circles. Twice Claudia had called, but, unable to forget
the past sufficiently to enter Mrs. Grayson's house, their
intercourse had ended with Claudia's visits. Mrs. Watson was a kind-
hearted and most excellent woman, who made an admirable housekeeper,
but possessed few of the qualifications requisite to render her an
agreeable companion. With an ambitious nature, and an eager thirst
for knowledge, Beulah had improved her advantages as only those do
who have felt the need of them. While she acquired, with unusual
ease and rapidity, the branches of learning taught at school, she
had availed herself of the extensive and select library, to which
she had free access, and history, biography, travels, essays, and
novels had been perused with singular avidity. Dr. Hartwell, without
restricting her reading, suggested the propriety of incorporating
more of the poetic element in her course. The hint was timely, and
induced an acquaintance with the great bards of England and Germany,
although her taste led her to select works of another character. Her
secluded life favored habits of study, and, at an age when girls are
generally just beginning to traverse the fields of literature, she
had progressed so far as to explore some of the footpaths which
entice contemplative minds from the beaten track. With earlier
cultivation and superiority of years, Eugene had essayed to direct
her reading; but now, in point of advancement, she felt that she was
in the van. Dr. Hartwell had told her, whenever she was puzzled, to
come to him for explanation, and his clear analysis taught her how
immeasurably superior he was, even to those instructors whose
profession it was to elucidate mysteries. Accustomed to seek
companionship in books, she did not, upon the present occasion, long
reflect on her guardian's sudden departure, but took from the
shelves a volume of Poe which contained her mark. The parting rays
of the winter sun grew fainter; the dull, somber light of vanishing
day made the room dim, and it was only by means of the red glare
from the glowing grate that she deciphered the print. Finally the
lamp was brought in, and shed a mellow radiance over the dusky
apartment. The volume was finished and dropped upon her lap. The
spell of this incomparable sorcerer was upon her imagination; the
sluggish, lurid tarn of Usher; the pale, gigantic water lilies,
nodding their ghastly, everlasting heads over the dreary Zaire; the
shrouding shadow of Helusion; the ashen skies, and sere, crisped
leaves in the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir, hard by the dim lake
of Auber--all lay with grim distinctness before her; and from the
red bars of the grate the wild, lustrous, appalling eyes of Ligeia
looked out at her, while the unearthly tones of Morella whispered
from every corner of the room. She rose and replaced the book on the
shelf, striving to shake off the dismal hold which all this
phantasmagoria had taken on her fancy. Her eyes chanced to fall upon
a bust of Athene which surmounted her guardian's desk, and
immediately the mournful refrain of the Raven, solemn and dirge-
like, floated through the air, enhancing the spectral element which
enveloped her. She retreated to the parlor, and, running her fingers
over the keys of the piano, endeavored by playing some of her
favorite airs to divest her mind of the dreary, unearthly images
which haunted it. The attempt was futile, and there in the dark,
cold parlor she leaned her head against the piano, and gave herself
up to the guidance of one who, like the "Ancient Mariner," holds his
listener fascinated and breathless. Once her guardian had warned her
not to study Poe too closely, but the book was often in his own
hand, and, yielding to the matchless ease and rapidity of his
diction, she found herself wandering in a wilderness of baffling
suggestions. Under the drapery of "William Wilson," of "Morella,"
and "Ligeia," she caught tantalizing glimpses of recondite
psychological truths and processes, which dimly hovered over her own
consciousness, but ever eluded the grasp of analysis. While his
unique imagery filled her mind with wondering delight, she shrank
appalled from the mutilated fragments which he presented to her as
truths, on the point of his glittering scalpel of logic. With the
eagerness of a child clutching at its own shadow in a glassy lake,
and thereby destroying it, she had read that anomalous prose poem
"Eureka." The quaint humor of that "bottled letter" first arrested
her attention, and, once launched on the sea of Cosmogonies, she was
amazed at the seemingly infallible reasoning which, at the
conclusion, coolly informed her that she was her own God. Mystified,
shocked, and yet admiring, she had gone to Dr. Hartwell for a
solution of the difficulty. False she felt the whole icy tissue to
be, yet could not detect the adroitly disguised sophisms. Instead of
assisting her, as usual, he took the book from her, smiled, and put
it away, saying indifferently: "You must not play with such sharp tools just yet. Go and practice
your music lesson."