One evening, on returning from a walk with Helen Asbury, Beulah ran

into her friend's room with a cluster of flowers. Clara sat by the

fire, with a piece of needlework in her hand; she looked listless

and sad. Beulah threw the bright golden and crimson chrysanthemums

in her lap, and, stooping down, kissed her warmly, saying: "How is your troublesome head? Here is a flowery cure for you."

"My head does not ache quite so badly. Where did you find these

beautiful chrysanthemums?" answered Clara languidly.

"I stopped to get a piece of music from Georgia, and Helen cut them

for me. Oh, what blessed things flowers are! They have been well

styled, 'God's undertones of encouragement to the children of

earth.'"

She was standing on the hearth, warming her fingers. Clara looked up

at the dark, clear eye and delicate, fixed lips before her, and

sighed involuntarily. Beulah knelt on the carpet, and, throwing one

arm around her companion, said earnestly: "My dear Clara, what saddens you to-night? Can't you tell me?"

A hasty knock at the door gave no time for an answer. A servant

looked in.

"Is Miss Beulah Benton here? There is a gentleman in the parlor to

see her; here is the card."

Beulah still knelt on the floor and held out her hand indifferently.

The card was given, and she sprang up with a cry of joy.

"Oh, it is Eugene!"

At the door of the parlor she paused and pressed her hand tightly to

her bounding heart. A tall form stood before the grate, and a glance

discovered to her a dark mustache and heavy beard; still it must be

Eugene, and, extending her arms unconsciously, she exclaimed: "Eugene! Eugene! Have you come at last?"

He started, looked up, and hastened toward her. Her arms suddenly

dropped to her side, and only their hands met in a firm, tight

clasp. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, each noting

the changes which time had wrought. Then he said slowly: "I should not have known you, Beulah. You have altered

surprisingly." His eyes wandered wonderingly over her features. She

was pale and breathless; her lips trembled violently, and there was

a strange gleam in her large, eager eyes. She did not reply, but

stood looking up intently into his handsome face. Then she shivered;

the long, black lashes drooped; her white fingers relaxed their

clasp of his, and she sat down on the sofa near. Ah! her womanly

intuitions, infallible as Ithuriel's spear, told her that he was no

longer the Eugene she had loved so devotedly. An iron hand seemed to

clutch her heart, and again a shudder crept over her as he seated

himself beside her, saying: "I am very much pained to find you here. I am just from Dr.

Hartwell's, where I expected to see you."




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