Mrs. Asbury finished packing the trunk, locked it, and, turning toward the door, said:
"I am going upstairs to see about the furniture in that room which
Georgia calls the 'Pitti Gallery.' Come with me, my dear."
She led the way, and Beulah followed, until they reached a large apartment in the third story, the door of which Mrs. Asbury unlocked. As they entered Beulah started on seeing the statuary and paintings with which she was so familiar in former years; and in one corner of the room stood the melodeon, carefully covered. A quantity of tissue paper lay on the floor, and Mrs. Asbury began to cover the paintings by pinning the sheets together. Beulah took off her gloves and assisted; there was silence for some time; but, on lifting a piece of drapery, Mrs. Asbury exposed the face of a portrait which Beulah recognized, from the peculiarity of the frame, as the one that had hung over the mantel in her guardian's study. Paper and pins fell from her fingers, and, drawing a deep breath, she gazed upon the face she had so long desired to see. She traced a slight resemblance to Antoinette in the faultless features; the countenance was surpassingly beautiful. It was a young, girlish face, sparkling with joyousness, bewitching in its wonderful loveliness. The eloquent eyes were strangely, almost wildly, brilliant, the full crimson lips possessed that rare outline one sees in old pictures, and the cheek, tinted like a sea-shell, rested on one delicate, dimpled hand. Beulah looked, and grew dizzy. This was his wife; this the portrait he had kept shrouded so long and so carefully. How he must have worshiped that radiant young bride!
Mrs. Asbury noticed her emotion, and asked, with some surprise:
"Did you never see this before?"
"No; it was always covered, and hung too high for me to lift the crape." Beulah's eyes were riveted on the canvas. Mrs. Asbury watched her a moment, and said:
"It is an undetermined question in my mind whether beauty, such as this, is not a curse. In this instance assuredly it proved so, for it wrecked the happiness of both husband and wife. My dear child, do you know your guardian's history?"
"I know nothing of him, save that he is my best friend."
"When I first saw Guy Hartwell he was one of the noblest men I ever met, commanding universal admiration and esteem. It was before his marriage. He was remarkably handsome, as you can readily imagine he must have been, and his manners possessed a singular fascination for all who came within the circle of his acquaintance. Even now, after the lapse of ten years, I remember his musical, ringing laugh; a laugh I have never heard since. His family were aristocratic and wealthy, and Guy was his mother's idol. She was a haughty, imperious woman, and her 'boy,' as she fondly termed him, was her pride. His only sister (Mrs. Chilton, or, rather, Mrs. Lockhart) was his senior, and he had a younger brother, Harry, who was extremely wild; ran away from home and spent most of his time at sea. Guy was naturally of a happy, genial temperament; fond of study; fond of art, flowers, poetry, everything that was noble and beautiful, that could minister to highly cultivated tastes. Mr. Chilton was unfortunate in his speculations; lost his fortune, and died soon after Pauline's birth, leaving his wife and child dependent on her mother and brother. May and the old lady often disagreed, and only Guy could harmonize their discords. During a visit to New Orleans he accidentally met the original of this portrait; her family were almost destitute, but he aided them very liberally. She was very beautiful, and, in an unlucky hour, he determined to marry her. She was a mere child, and he placed her for a while at a school, where she enjoyed every educational advantage. He was completely fascinated; seemed to think only of Creola, and hastened the marriage. His mother and sister bitterly opposed the match, ridiculed his humble and portionless bride; but he persisted, and brought her here, a beautiful, heedless girl. Guy built that house, and his mother and sister occupied one near him, which was burnt before you knew anything about them. Of course his wife went constantly into society, and, before six months elapsed, poor Guy discovered that he had made a fatal mistake. She did not love him; had married him merely for the sake of an elegant home, and money to lavish as her childish whims dictated. Ah, Beulah! it makes my heart ache to think of the change this discovery wrought in Guy's nature. He was a proud man, naturally; but now he became repulsive, cold, and austere. The revolution in his deportment and appearance was almost incredible. His wife was recklessly imprudent, and launched into the wildest excesses which society sanctioned. When he endeavored to restrain her, she rebelled, and, without his knowledge, carried on a flirtation with one whom she had known previous to her marriage. I believe she was innocent in her folly, and merely thoughtlessly fed her vanity with the adulation excited by her beauty. Poor child! she might have learned discretion, but, unfortunately, Mrs. Chilton had always detested her, and now, watching her movements, she discovered Creola's clandestine meetings with the gentleman whom her husband had forbidden her to recognize as an acquaintance. Instead of exerting herself to rectify the difficulties in her brother's home, she apparently exulted in the possession of facts which allowed her to taunt him with his wife's imprudence and indifference. He denied the truth of her assertions; she dared him to watch her conduct, and obtained a note which enabled him to return home one day at an unusually early hour and meet the man he had denounced in his own parlor. Guy ordered him out of the house, and, without addressing his wife, rode back to see his patients; but that night he learned from her that before he ever met her an engagement existed between herself and the man he so detested. He was poor, and her mother had persuaded her to marry Guy for his fortune. She seemed to grow frantic, cursed the hour of her marriage, professed sincere attachment to the other, and, I firmly believe, became insane from that moment. Then and there they parted. Creola returned to her mother, but died suddenly a few weeks after leaving her husband. They had been married but a year. I have always thought her mind diseased, and it was rumored that her mother died insane. Doubtless Guy's terrible rage drove her to desperation; though he certainly had cause to upbraid. I have often feared that he would meet the object of his hatred, and once, and only once afterward, that man came to the city. Why, I never knew; but my husband told me that he saw him at a concert here some years ago. Poor Guy! how he suffered; yet how silently he bore it; how completely he sheathed his heart of fire in icy vestments. He never alluded to the affair in the remotest manner; never saw her after that night. He was sitting in our library, waiting to see my husband, when he happened to open the letter announcing her death. I was the only person present, and noticed that a change passed over his countenance; I spoke to him, but he did not reply; I touched him, but he took no notice whatever, and sat for at least an hour without moving a muscle or uttering a word. Finally George came and spoke to him appealingly. He looked up and smiled. Oh, what a smile! May I never see such another; it will haunt me while I live! Without a word he folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and left us. Soon after his mother died, and he went immediately to Europe. He was absent two years, and came back so stern, so cynical, so unlike his former self, I scarcely knew him. Mrs. Chilton took charge of his house from the hour of his separation from Creola; but they were not congenial. He was vastly her superior, save in intellect, which none of the Hartwell family ever lacked. My husband is very much attached to Guy; thinks he has not an equal, yet mourns over the blight which fell upon him in the very morn of his glorious manhood. About a year after his return from Europe he took you to his house as an adopted child. I wondered at it, for I knew how imbittered his whole soul had become. But the heart must have an idol; he was desolate and miserable, and took you home to have something to love and interest him. You never knew him in the prime of his being, for, though comparatively young in years, he had grown prematurely old in feeling before you saw him. Poor Guy! may a merciful and loving God preserve him wherever he may be, and bring him to a knowledge of that religion which alone can comfort a nature like his—so noble, so gifted, yet so injured, so imbittered."
She brushed away the tears that stood on her cheeks, and looked sorrowfully at the portrait of the unfortunate young wife.