She sat looking at the wild flowers in her hand; a sad, dreamy light

filled the clear gray eyes, and now and then her brow was plowed by

some troubled thought. The countenance told of a mind perplexed and

questioning. The "cloud no bigger than a man's hand" had crept up

from the horizon of faith, and now darkened her sky; but she would

not see the gathering gloom; shut her eyes resolutely to the coming

storm. As the cool October wind stirred the leaves at her feet, and

the scarlet and gold cloud-flakes faded in the west, she rose and

walked slowly homeward. She was too deeply pondering her speculative

doubts to notice Dr. Hartwell's buggy whirling along the street; did

not see his head extended, and his cold, searching glance; and of

course he believed the blindness intentional and credited it to

pique or anger. On reaching home she endeavored by singing a

favorite hymn to divert the current of her thoughts, but the shadows

were growing tenacious and would not be banished so easily. "If a

man die shall he live again?" seemed echoing on the autumn wind. She

took up her Bible and read several chapters, which she fancied would

uncloud her mind; but in vain. Restlessly she began to pace the

floor; the lamplight gleamed on a pale, troubled face. After a time

the door opened and Clara came in. She took a seat without speaking,

for she had learned to read Beulah's countenance, and saw at a

glance that she was abstracted and in no mood for conversation. When

the tea bell rang Beulah stopped suddenly in the middle of the room.

"What is the matter?" asked Clara.

"I feel as if I needed a cup of coffee, that is all. Will you join

me?"

"No; and if you take it you will not be able to close your eyes."

"Did you have a pleasant ride?" said Beulah, laying her hand on her

companion's shoulder and looking gravely down into the sweet face,

which wore an expression she had never seen there before.

"Oh, I shall never forget it! never!" murmured Clara.

"I am glad you enjoyed it; very glad. I wish the color would come

back to your cheeks. Riding is better for you now than walking." She

stooped down and pressed her lips to the wan cheek as she spoke.

"Did you walk this evening, after I left you?"

"Yes."

"What makes you look so grave?"

"A great many causes--you among the number."




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