"There is Ernest coming up the walk!"
He came in, and greeted her with gentle gravity. He was a dignified, fine-looking man, with polished manners and perfect self-possession. There was no trace of austerity in his countenance, and nothing in his conversation betokening a desire to impress strangers with his ministerial dignity. He was highly cultivated in all his tastes, agreeable, and, in fine, a Christian gentleman. Pauline seemed to consider his remarks oracular, and Beulah could not forbear contrasting her quietness in his presence with the wild, frolicsome recklessness which characterized her manner on other occasions. She wondered what singular freak induced this staid, learned clergyman to select a companion so absolutely antagonistic in every element of character. But a glance at Pauline's perfectly beautiful face explained the mystery. How could anyone help loving her, she was so radiant and so winning in her unaffected artlessness?
Beulah conjectured that they might, perhaps, entertain each other without her assistance, and soon left them for the greenhouse, which was connected with the parlors by a glass door. Followed by Charon, who had remained beside her all day, she walked slowly between the rows of plants, many of which were laden with flowers. Brilliant clusters of scarlet geranium, pale, fragrant heliotropes, and camellias of every hue surrounded her. Two or three canary birds, in richly ornate cages, chirped and twittered continually, and for a moment she forgot the changes that had taken place since the days when she sought this favorite greenhouse to study her text-books. Near her stood an antique China vase containing a rare creeper, now full of beautiful, star-shaped lilac flowers. Many months before, her guardian had given her this root, and she had planted it in this same vase; now the long, graceful wreaths were looped carefully back, and tied to a slender stake. She bent over the fragrant blossoms, with a heart brimful of memories, and tears dropped thick and fast on the delicate petals. Charon gave a short bark of satisfaction, and, raising her head, she saw Dr. Hartwell at the opposite end of the greenhouse. He was clipping the withered flowers from a luxuriant white japonica, the same that once furnished ornaments for her hair. Evidently, he was rather surprised to see her there, but continued clipping the faded blossoms, and whistled to his dog. Charon acknowledged the invitation by another bark, but nestled his great head against Beulah, and stood quite still, while she passed her hand caressingly over him. She fancied a smile crossed her guardian's lips; but when he turned toward her there was no trace of it, and he merely said:
"Where is Pauline?"
"In the parlor, with Mr. Mortimer."
"Here are the scissors; cut as many flowers as you like."
He held out the scissors; but she shook her head, and answered hastily:
"Thank you; I do not want any."
He looked at her searchingly, and, observing unshed tears in her eyes, said, in a kinder tone than he had yet employed:
"Beulah, what do you want?"