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."