Love stories; Orphans -- Fiction; Southern States -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
Beulah took her charge home, and when dusk came on rocked him to
sleep, and snugly folded the covering of his crib over the little
throbbing heart, whose hours of trial were yet veiled by the
impenetrable curtain of futurity. Mrs. Martin and her elder children
had gone to a concert, and, of course, the nurse was to remain with
Johnny until his mother's return. Standing beside the crib, and
gazing down at the rosy cheeks and curling locks, nestled against
the pillow, Beulah's thoughts winged along the tear-stained past, to
the hour when Lilly had been placed in her arms, by emaciated hands
stiffening in death. For six years she had held, and hushed, and
caressed her dying father's last charge, and now strange, ruthless
fingers had torn the clinging heart-strings from the idol. There
were no sobs, nor groans, to voice the anguish of the desolate
orphan. The glittering eyes were tearless, but the brow was darkly
furrowed, the ashy lips writhed, and the folded hands were purple
from compression. Turning from the crib, she threw up the sash, and
seated herself on the window-sill. Below lay the city, with its
countless lamps gleaming in every direction, and stretching away on
the principal streets, like long processions; in the distance the
dark waters of the river, over which steamboat lights flashed now
and then like ignesfatui; and above her arched the dome of sky, with
its fiery fretwork. Never before had she looked up at the starry
groups without an emotion of exulting joy, of awful adoration. To
her worshiping gaze they had seemed glimpses of the spirit's home;
nay, loving eyes shining down upon her thorny pathway. But now, the
twinkling rays fell unheeded, impotent to pierce the sable clouds of
grief. She sat looking out into the night, with strained eyes that
seemed fastened upon a corpse. An hour passed thus, and, as the
clang of the town clock died away the shrill voice of the watchman
rang through the air:
"Nine o'clock; and all's well!"
Beulah lifted her head, and listened. "All's well!" The mockery
maddened her, and she muttered audibly:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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