"Very well. On hearing your voice from the parlor he left a small parcel, which he requested me to give you. He laid it on the table, I believe; yes, there it is. Now read 'Egmont' to me, if you please."
Cornelia crossed the room, threw herself on a couch, and settled her pillow comfortably. Beulah took the parcel, which was carefully sealed, and wondered what it contained. It was heavy and felt hard. They had parted in anger; what could it possibly be? Cornelia's black eyes were on her countenance. She put the package in her pocket, seated herself by the couch, and commenced "Egmont." It was with a feeling of indescribable relief that the orphan awoke, at dawn the following morning, and dressed by the gray twilight. She had fallen asleep the night before amid the hum of voices, of laughter, and of dancing feet. Sounds of gayety, from the merry party below, had found their way to the chamber of the heiress, and when Beulah left her at midnight she was still wakeful and restless. The young teacher could not wait for the late breakfast of the luxurious Grahams, and, just as the first level ray of sunshine flashed up from the east, she tied on her bonnet and noiselessly entered Cornelia's room. The heavy curtains kept it close and dark, and on the hearth a taper burned with pale, sickly light. Cornelia slept soundly; but her breathing was heavy and irregular, and the face wore a scowl, as if some severe pain had distorted it. The ivory-like arms were thrown up over the head, and large drops glistened on the wan brow. Beulah stood beside the bed a few minutes; the apartment was furnished with almost Oriental splendor; but how all this satin, and rosewood, and silver, and marble mocked the restless, suffering sleeper! Beulah felt tears of compassion weighing down her lashes, as she watched the haggard countenance of this petted child of fortune; but, unwilling to rouse her, she silently stole down the steps. The hall was dark; the smell of gas almost stifling. Of course, the servants followed the example of their owners, and, as no one appeared, she unlocked the street door, and walked homeward with a sensation of pleasurable relief which impressed itself very legibly on her face. The sky was cloudless; the early risen run looked over the earth in dazzling radiance; and the cold, pure, wintry air made the blood tingle in Beulah's veins. A great, unspeakable joy filled her soul; the uplifted eyes beamed with gladness; her brave, hopeful spirit looked into the future with unquestioning trust; and, as the image of her unhappy friend flitted across her mind, she exclaimed:
"This world is lull of beauty, like other worlds above, And if we did our duty, it might be full of loe."
She ran up to her room, threw open the blinds, looped back the curtains, and drew that mysterious package from her pocket. She was very curious to see the contents, and broke the seal with trembling fingers. The outer wrappings fell off, and disclosed an oblong, papier-mache case. It opened with a spring, and revealed to her a beautiful watch and chain, bearing her name in delicate tracery. A folded slip of paper lay on the crimson velvet lining of the box, and, recognizing the characters, she hastily read this brief sentence:
"Wear it constantly, Beulah, to remind you that, in adversity, you still have
"A GUARDIAN."
Tears gushed unrestrained, as she looked at the beautiful gift. Not for an instant did she dream, of accepting it, and she shrank shudderingly from widening the breach which already existed by a refusal. Locking up the slip of paper in her workbox, she returned the watch to its case and carefully retied the parcel. Long before she had wrapped the purse in paper and prevailed on Clara to give it to the doctor. He had received it without comment; but she could not return the watch in the same way, for Clara was now able to attend regularly to her school duties, and it was very uncertain when she would see him. Yet she felt comforted, for this gift assured her that, however coldly he chose to treat her when they met, he had not thrown her off entirely. With all her independence, she could not bear the thought of his utter alienation; and the consciousness of his remaining interest thrilled her heart with gladness.
CHAPTER XXIII.
One Saturday morning, some days subsequent to her visit to the Grahams, Beulah set off for the business part of the city. She was closely veiled, and carried under her shawl a thick roll of neatly written paper. A publishing house was the place of her destination; and, as she was ushered into a small back room, to await the leisure of the gentleman she wished to see, she could not forbear smiling at the novelty of her position and the audacity of the attempt she was about to make. There she sat in the editor's sanctum, trying to quiet the tumultuous beating of her heart. Presently a tall, spare man, with thin, cadaverous visage, entered, bowed, took a chair, and eyed her with a "what-do-you-want" sort of expression. His grizzled hair was cut short, and stood up like bristles, and his keen blue eyes were by no means promising, in their cold glitter. Beulah threw off her veil and said, with rather an unsteady voice:
"You are the editor of the magazine published here, I believe?"