Love stories; Orphans -- Fiction; Southern States -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
"My terms are thirty dollars a month; but you are poor, I judge, and
being Miss Clara's friend I will only charge you twenty-five."
"I do not wish you to make any deduction in my favor. I will take
the room at thirty dollars," answered Beulah rather haughtily.
"Very well. When will you want it?"
"Immediately. Be kind enough to have it in readiness for me. I shall
come this afternoon. Could you give me some window curtains? I
should like it better, if you could do so without much
inconvenience."
"Oh, certainly! they were taken down yesterday to be washed.
Everything shall be in order for you."
It was too warm to walk home again, and Beulah called a carriage.
The driver had not proceeded far when a press of vehicles forced him
to pause a few minutes. They happened to stand near the post office,
and, as Beulah glanced at the eager crowd collected in front, she
started violently on perceiving her guardian. He stood on the
corner, talking to a gentleman of venerable aspect, and she saw that
he looked harassed. She was powerfully impelled to beckon him to
her, and at least obtain a friendly adieu; but again pride
prevailed. He had deliberately left her, without saying good-by, and
she would not force herself on his notice. Even as she dropped her
veil to avoid observation the carriage rolled on, and she was soon
at Dr. Hartwell's door. Unwilling to reflect on the steps she had
taken, she busied herself in packing her clothes and books. On every
side were tokens of her guardian's constant interest and
remembrance--pictures, vases, and all the elegant appendages of a
writing-desk. At length the last book was stowed avay and nothing
else remained to engage her. The beautiful little Nuremberg clock on
the mantel struck two, and, looking up, she saw the solemn face of
Harriet, who was standing in the door. Her steady, wondering gaze
disconcerted Beulah, despite her assumed indifference.
"What is the meaning of all this commotion? Hal says you ordered the
carriage to be ready at five o'clock to take you away from here. Oh,
child! what are things coming to? What will master say? What won't
he say? What are you quitting this house for, where you have been
treated as well as if it belonged to you? What ails you?"
"Nothing. I have always intended to leave here as soon as I was able
to support myself. I can do so now, very easily, and am going to
board. Your master knows I intend to teach."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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