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."