Beulah is a Webnovel created by Augusta J. Evans.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“No positive engagement ever existed. While we were children we often spoke of our future as one, but of late neither of us has alluded to the subject. We are only friends, linked by memories of early years. Nay, since his return, we have almost become strangers.”
“Then I have been miserably deceived. Not two months since, he told me that he looked upon you as his future wife. What has alienated you? Beulah Benton, do you not love him?”
“Love him! No!”
“You loved him once–hush! don’t deny it! I know that you did. You loved him during his absence, and you must love him still. Beulah, you do love him!”
“I have a true sisterly affection for him; but as for the love which you allude to, I tell you, Cornelia, I have not one particle!”
“Then he is lost!” Sinking back in her chair, Cornelia groaned aloud.
“Why Eugene should have made such an impression on your mind, I cannot conjecture. He has grown perfectly indifferent to me; and even if he had not, we could never be more than friends. Boyish fancies have all pa.s.sed away. He is a man now–still my friend, I believe; but no longer what he once was to me. Cornelia, I, too, see his growing tendency to dissipation, with a degree of painful apprehension which I do not hesitate to avow. Though cordial enough when we meet, I know and feel that he carefully avoids me.
Consequently, I have no opportunity to exert what little influence I may possess. I looked at his flushed face just now, and my thoughts flew back to the golden days of his boyhood, when he was all that a n.o.ble, pure, generous nature could make him. I would ten thousand times rather know that he was sleeping by my little sister’s side in the graveyard than see him disgrace himself!” Her voice faltered, and she drooped her head to conceal the anguish which convulsed her features.
“Beulah, if he loves you still, you will not reject him?” cried Cornelia eagerly.
“He does not love me.”
“Why will you evade me? Suppose that he does?”
“Then I tell you solemnly, not all Christendom could induce me to marry him!”
“But to save him, Beulah! to save him!” replied Cornelia, clasping her hands entreatingly.
“If a man’s innate self-respect will not save him from habitual, disgusting intoxication, all the female influence in the universe would not avail. Man’s will, like woman’s, is stronger than his affection, and, once subjugated by vice, all external influences will be futile. If Eugene once sinks so low, neither you, nor I, nor his wife–had he one–could reclaim him.”
“He has deceived me! Fool that I was not to probe the mask!”
Cornelia started up and paced the floor with uncontrollable agitation.
“Take care how you accuse him rashly! I am not prepared to believe that he could act dishonorably toward anyone. I will not believe it.” “Oh, you, too, will get your eyes open in due time! Ha! it is all as clear as daylight! And I, with my boasted penetration!–it maddens me!” Her eyes glittered like polished steel.
“Explain yourself; Eugene is above suspicion!” cried Beulah, with pale, fluttering lips.
“Explain myself! Then understand that my honorable brother professed to love you, and pretended that he expected to marry you, simply and solely to blind me, in order to conceal the truth. I taxed him with a preference for Antoinette Dupres, which I fancied his manner evinced. He denied it most earnestly, protesting that he felt bound to you. Now do you understand?” Her lips were white, and writhed with scorn.
“Still you may misjudge him,” returned Beulah haughtily.
“No, no! My mother has seen it all along. But, fool that I was, I believed his words! Now, Beulah, if he marries Antoinette, you will be amply revenged, or my name is not Cornelia Graham!” She laughed bitterly, and, dropping some medicine from a vial, swallowed the potion and resumed her walk up and down the floor.
“Revenged! What is it to me, that he should marry your cousin? If he loves her, it is no business of mine, and certainly you have no right to object. You are miserably deceived if you imagine that his marriage would cause me an instant’s regret. Think you I could love a man whom I knew to be my inferior? Indeed, you know little of my nature.” She spoke with curling lips and a proud smile.
“You place an exalted estimate upon yourself,” returned Cornelia.
They looked at each other half-defiantly for a moment; then the heiress bowed her head, and said, in low, broken tones:
“Oh, Beulah, Beulah! child of poverty! would I could change places with you!”
“You are weak, Cornelia,” answered Beulah gravely.
“In some respects, perhaps, I am; but you are bold to tell me so.”
“Genuine friendship ignores all hesitancy in speaking the truth. You sought me. I am very candid–perhaps blunt. If my honesty does not suit you it is an easy matter to discontinue our intercourse. The whole matter rests with you.”
“You wish me to understand that you do not need my society–my patronage?”
“Patronage implies dependence, which, in this instance, does not exist. An earnest, self-reliant woman cannot be patronized, in the sense in which you employ the term.” She could not forbear smiling.
The thought of being under patronage was, to her, supremely ridiculous.
“You do not want my friendship, then?”
“I doubt whether you have any to bestow. You seem to have no love for anything,” replied Beulah coldly.
“Oh, you wrong me!” cried Cornelia pa.s.sionately.
“If I do, it is your own fault. I only judge you from what you have shown of your nature.”
“Remember, I have been an invalid all my life.”
“I am not likely to forget it in your presence. But, Cornelia, your whole being seems embittered.”
“Yes; and you will be just like me when you have lived as long as I have. Wait till you have seen something of the world.”
“Sit down, Cornelia; you tremble from head to foot.” She drew a chair close to the hearth, and the sufferer sank into it, as if completely exhausted. For some time neither spoke. Beulah stood with her hands on the back of the chair, wishing herself back in her quiet little room. After a while Cornelia said slowly:
“If you only knew Antoinette as well as I do you could ill brook the thought of her ever being Eugene’s wife.”
“He is the best judge of what will promote his happiness.”
“No; he is blinded, infatuated. Her pretty face veils her miserable, contemptible defects of character. She is utterly unworthy of him.”
“If she loves him sincerely, she will–“
“Don’t talk of what you do not understand. She is too selfish to love anything or anybody but herself. Mark me, whether I live to see it or not, if he marries her, he will despise her in less than six months, and curse himself for his blind folly. Oh, what a precious farce it will prove!” She laughed sneeringly.
“Cornelia, you are not able to bear this excitement. For the present, let Eugene and his future rest and try to compose yourself.
You are so nervous you can scarcely sit still.”
The colorless face, with its gleaming eyes, was suddenly lifted; and, throwing her arms round Beulah’s neck, Cornelia rested her proud head on the orphan’s shoulder.
“Be my friend while I live. Oh, give me some of your calm contentment, some of your strength!”
“I am your friend, Cornelia; I will always be such; but every soul must be sufficient for itself. Do not look to me; lean upon your own nature; it will suffice for all its needs.”
With the young teacher, pity was almost synonymous with contempt; and, as she looked at the joyless face of her companion, she could not avoid thinking her miserably weak.
CHAPTER XXII.