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?"

He bowed again, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his hands at the back of his head.

"I came to offer you an article for the magazine." She threw down the roll of paper on a chair.

"Ah!—hem!—will you favor me with your name?"

"Beulah Benton, sir. One altogether unknown to fame."

He contracted his eyes, coughed, and said constrainedly:

"Are you a subscriber?"

"I am."

"What is the character of your manuscript?" He took it up as he spoke, and glanced over the pages.

"You can determine that from a perusal. If the sketch suits you, I should like to become a regular contributor."

A gleam of sunshine strayed over the countenance, and the editor answered, very benignly:

"If the article meets with our approbation, we shall be very happy to afford you a medium of publication in our journal. Can we depend on your punctuality?"

"I think so. What are your terms?"

"Terms, madam? I supposed that your contribution was gratuitous," said he very loftily.

"Then you are most egregiously mistaken! What do you imagine induces me to write?"

"Why, desire for fame, I suppose."

"Fame is rather unsatisfactory fare. I am poor, sir, and write to aid me in maintaining myself."

"Are you dependent solely on your own exertions, madam?"

"Yes."

"I am sorry I cannot aid you; but nowadays there are plenty of authors who write merely as a pastime, and we have as many contributions as we can well look over."

"I am to understand, then, that the magazine is supported altogether by gratuitous contributions?" said Beulah, unable to repress a smile.

"Why, you see, authorship has become a sort of luxury," was the hesitating reply.

"I think the last number of your magazine contained, among other articles in the 'Editor's Drawer,' an earnest appeal to Southern authors to come to the rescue of Southern periodicals?"

"True, madam. Southern intellect seems steeped in a lethargy from which we are most faithfully endeavoring to arouse it."

"The article to which I allude also animadverted severely upon the practice of Southern authors patronizing Northern publishing establishments?"

"Most certainly it treated the subject stringently." He moved uneasily.

"I believe the subscription is the same as that of the Northern periodicals?"

A very cold bow was the only answer.

"I happen to know that Northern magazines are not composed of gratuitous contributions; and it is no mystery why Southern authors are driven to Northern publishers. Southern periodicals are mediums only for those of elegant leisure, who can afford to write without remuneration. With the same subscription price, you cannot pay for your articles. It is no marvel that, under such circumstances, we have no Southern literature. Unluckily, I belong to the numerous class who have to look away from home for remuneration. Sir, I will not trouble you with my manuscript." Rising, she held out her hand for it; but the keen eyes had fallen upon a paragraph which seemed to interest the editor, and, knitting his brows, he said reluctantly:

"We have not been in the habit of paying for our articles; but I will look over this, and perhaps you can make it worth our while to pay you. The fact is, madam, we have more trash sent us than we can find room for; but if you can contribute anything of weight, why, it will make a difference, of course. I did not recognize you at first, but I now remember that I heard your valedictory to the graduating class of the public schools. If we should conclude to pay you for regular contributions, we wish nothing said about it."

"Very well. If you like the manuscript, and decide to pay me, you can address me a note through the post office. Should I write for the magazine I particularly desire not to be known." She lowered her veil, and most politely he bowed her out.

She was accustomed to spend a portion of each Saturday in practicing duets with Georgia Asbury, and thither she now directed her steps. Unluckily, the parlor was full of visitors, and, without seeing any of the family, she walked back into the music room. Here she felt perfectly at home, and, closing the door, forgot everything but her music. Taking no heed of the lapse of time, she played piece after piece, until startled by the clear tones of the doctor's voice. She looked up, and saw him standing in the door which opened into the library, taking off his greatcoat.

"Why Beulah, that room is as cold as a Texas norther! What on earth are you doing there without a fire? Come in here, child, and warm your frozen digits. Where are those two harum-scarum specimens of mine?"

"I believe they are still entertaining company, sir. The parlor was full when I came, and they know nothing of my being here." She sat down by the bright fire, and held her stiff fingers toward the glowing coals.

"Yes, confound their dear rattlepates; that is about the sum-total of their cogitations." He drew up his chair, put his feet on the fender of the grate, and, lighting his cigar, added:

"Is my spouse also in the parlor?"

"I suppose so, sir."

"Time was, Beulah, when Saturday was the great day of preparation for all housekeepers. Bless my soul! My mother would just about as soon have thought of anticipating the discovery of the open Polar Sea, by a trip thither, as going out to visit on Saturday. Why, from my boyhood, Saturday has been synonymous with scouring, window washing, pastry baking, stocking darning, and numerous other venerable customs, which this age is rapidly dispensing with. My wife had a lingering reverence for the duties of the day, and tried to excuse herself, but I suppose those pretty wax dolls of mine have coaxed her into 'receiving,' as they call it. Beulah, my wife is an exception; but the mass of married women nowadays, instead of being thorough housewives (as nature intended they should), are delicate, do-nothing, know-nothing, fine ladies. They have no duties. 'O tempora, O mores!'" He paused to relight his cigar, and, just then, Georgia came in, dressed very richly. He tossed the taper into the grate, and exclaimed, as she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him:

"You pretty imp; what is to pay now? Here Beulah has been sitting, nobody knows how long, in that frigid zone you call your music room. What are you rigged out in all that finery for?"

"We are going to dine out to-day, father. Beulah will excuse me, I know."

"Indeed! Dine where?"

"Mrs. Delmont came round this morning to invite us to dine with some of her young friends from New Orleans."

"Well, I shan't go, that is all."

"Oh, you are not expected, sir," laughed Georgia, brushing the gray locks from his ample forehead.

"Not expected, eh? Does your lady mother contemplate leaving me to discuss my dinner in doleful solitude?"

"No, mother has gone with Mrs. Rallston to see about some poor, starving family in the suburbs. She will be back soon, I dare say. Mrs. Delmont has sent her carriage, and Helen is waiting for me; so I must go. Beulah, I am very sorry, we have been cut out of our practicing. Don't go home; stay with mother to-day, and when I come back we will have a glorious time. Can't you now? There's a darling."

"Oh, you wheedling, hypocritical madcap, take yourself off! Of course Beulah will try to endure the stupid talk of a poor old man, whose daughters are too fashionable to look after him, and whose wife is so extremely charitable that she forgets it 'begins at home.' Clear out, you trial of paternal patience!" He kissed her rosy lips, and she hurried away, protesting that she would much prefer remaining at home.

"Beulah, I gave Hartwell that parcel you intrusted to me. He looked just as if I had plunged him into a snow-bank, but said nothing."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, don't thank me for playing go-between. I don't relish any such work. It is very evident that you two have quarreled. I would about as soon consult that poker as ask Hartwell what is to pay. Now, child, what is the matter?"

"Nothing new, sir. He has never forgiven me for turning teacher."

"Forgiven! Bless me, he is as spiteful as a Pequod!"

"Begging your pardon, Dr. Asbury, he is no such thing!" cried Beulah impetuously.

"Just what I might have expected. I am to understand, then, that you can abuse my partner sufficiently without any vituperative assistance from me?" He brushed the ashes from his cigar, and looked at her quizzically.

"Sir, it pains me to hear him spoken of so lightly."

"Lightly! Upon my word, I thought Indianic malice was rather a heavy charge. However, I can succeed better if you will allow—"

"Don't jest, sir. Please say no more about him."

His face became instantly grave, and he answered earnestly:

"Beulah, as a sincere friend, I would advise you not to alienate Hartwell. There are very few such men; I do not know his equal. He is interested in your welfare and happiness, and is the best friend you ever had or ever will have."

"I know it, and prize his friendship above all others."

"Then why did you return that watch? If he wished you to wear it, why should you refuse? Mark me, he said nothing about it to me; but I saw the watch, with your name engraved on the case, at the jewelry store where I bought one just like it for Georgia. I surmised it was that same watch, when you intrusted the package to me."

"I was already greatly indebted to him, and did not wish to increase the obligation."

"My child, under the circumstances, you were too fastidious. He was very much annoyed; though, as I told you before, he made no allusion to the subject."

"Yes; I knew he would be, and I am very sorry, but could not think of accepting it."

"Oh, you are well matched, upon my word!"

"What do you mean?"

"That you are both as proud as Lucifer and as savage as heathens.
Child, I don't see what is to become of you."

"Every soul is the star of its own destiny," answered Beulah.

"Well, very sorry destinies the majority make, I can tell you. Have you seen Mrs. Lockhart and Pauline?"

"No. I was not aware that they were in the city."

"Lockhart's health is miserable. They are all at Hartwell's for a few weeks, I believe. Pauline has grown up a perfect Di Vernon beauty."

"I should like very much to see her. She is a generous, noble-souled girl."

"Yes; I rather think she is. Hartwell said the other day that Pauline was anxious to see you; and, since I think of it, I believe he asked me to tell you of her arrival. Now, I will wager my head that you intend to wait until she calls formally, which it is your place to do."

"Then, sir, expect immediate decapitation, for I shall go out to see her this very afternoon," replied Beulah.

"That is right, my dear child."

"Dr. Asbury, if you will not think me troublesome, I should like to tell you of some things that perplex me very much," said she hesitatingly.

"I shall be glad to hear whatever you have to say, and if I can possibly help you, rest assured I will. What perplexes you?"

"A great many things, sir. Of late, I have read several works that have unsettled my former faith, and, indeed, confused and darkened my mind most miserably, and I thought you might aid me in my search after truth."

He threw his cigar into the fire, and, while an expression of sorrow clouded his face, said, very gravely:

"Beulah, I am afraid I am one of the last persons to whom you should apply for assistance. Do the perplexities to which you allude involve religious questions?"

"Yes, sir; almost entirely."

"I am too unsettled myself to presume to direct others."

Beulah looked up in unfeigned astonishment.

"You certainly are not what is termed skeptical?"

"Most sincerely do I wish that I was not."

There was a short silence, broken by Beulah's saying, slowly and sorrowfully:

"You cannot aid me, then!"

"I am afraid not. When a young man I was thoroughly skeptical in my religious views (if I may be said to have had any). At the time of my marriage I was an infidel, and such the world still calls me. If I am not now, it is because my wife's unpretending consistent piety has taught me to revere the precepts of a revelation which I long ago rejected. Her pure religion makes me respect Christianity, which once I sneered at. I am forced to acknowledge the happy results of her faith, and I may yet be brought to yield up old prejudices and confess its divine origin. I am no atheist, thank God! never have been. But I tell you candidly, my doubts concerning the Bible make me an unsafe guide for a mind like yours. For some time I have marked the course of your reading, by the books I missed from my shelves, and have feared just what has happened. On one point my experience may be of value to you. What is comprised under the head of philosophical research will never aid or satisfy you. I am an old man, Beulah, and have studied philosophic works for many years; but, take my word for it, the mass of them are sheer humbug. From the beginning of the world philosophers have been investigating the countless mysteries which present themselves to every earnest mind; but the arcana are as inscrutable now as ever. I do not wish to discourage you, Beulah; nor do I desire to underrate human capabilities; but, in all candor, this kind of study does not pay. It has not repaid me—it has not satisfied Hartwell, who went deeper into metaphysics than anyone I know, and who now has less belief of any sort than anyone I ever wish to know. I would not advise you to prosecute this branch of study. I am content to acknowledge that of many things I know nothing, and never can be any wiser; but Guy Hartwell is too proud to admit his incapacity to grapple with some of these mysteries. Beulah, my wife is one of the happiest spirits I ever knew; she is a consistent Christian. When we were married, I watched her very closely. I tell you, child, I hoped very much that I should find some glaring incongruity in her conduct which would have sanctioned my skepticism. I was continually on the lookout for defects of character that might cast contempt on the religion she professed. I did not expect her to prove so pure-hearted, unselfish, humble, and genuinely pious as I found her. I do most sincerely revere such religion as hers. Ah! if it were not so rare I should never have been so skeptical. She has taught me that the precepts of the Bible do regulate the heart and purify the life; and to you, child, I will say, candidly, 'Almost she has persuaded me to be a Christian.' Whatever of—"

He said no more, for at this moment the door opened, and Mrs. Asbury entered. She welcomed Beulah with a cordial sincerity, singularly soothing to the orphan's heart, and, keeping her hand in a tight clasp, asked several questions, which her husband cut short by drawing her to his side.

"Where have you been straying to, madam?"

"Where you must stray to, sir, just as soon as you start out this evening on your round of visits."

She softly smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. She was a noble-looking woman, with a tranquil countenance that betokened a serene, cloudless soul; and as she stood beside her husband, his eyes rested on her face with an expression bordering on adoration. Beulah could not avoid wondering why such women were so very rare, and the thought presented itself with painful force, "If Cornelia Graham and I had had such mothers, we might both have been happier and better." Probably something of what crossed her mind crept into her countenance, for the doctor asked laughingly:

"In the name of Venus! what are you screwing up your lips and looking so ugly about?"

"I suppose one reason is that I must go home." She rose, with a suppressed sigh.

"I am disposed to think it much more probable that you were envying me my wife. Come, confess."

"I was wishing that I had such a mother."

With some sudden impulse she threw her arms round Mrs. Asbury's neck, and hid her face on her shoulder.

"Then let me be your mother, my dear child," said she, pressing the girl affectionately to her heart and kissing her pale cheek.

"Are you troubled about anything, my dear?" continued Mrs. Asbury, surprised at this manifestation of feeling in one usually so cold and reserved.

"An orphan heart mourns its dead idols," answered Beulah, raising her hand and withdrawing from the kind arm that encircled her. Mrs. Asbury interpreted a quick glance from her husband, and did not press the matter further; but, at parting, she accompanied Beulah to the front door, and earnestly assured her that if she could in any way advise or assist her she would consider it both a privilege and a pleasure to do so. Returning to the library, she laid her soft hand on her husband's arm, and said anxiously:

"George, what is the matter with her?"

"She is distressed, or, rather, perplexed, about her religious doubts, I inferred from what she said just before you came in. She has drifted out into a troubled sea of philosophy, I am inclined to think, and, not satisfied with what she has found, is now irresolute as to the proper course. Poor child, she is terribly in earnest about the matter." He sighed heavily.

His wife watched him eagerly.

"What did you tell her?"

"Not to come to me; that it would be a perfect exemplification of 'the blind leading the blind'; and when she learned my own state of uncertainty, she seemed to think so herself."

An expression of acute pain passed over her features; but, banishing it as speedily as possible, she answered very gently:

"Take care, my husband, lest by recapitulating your doubts you strengthen hers."

"Alice, I told her the whole truth. She is not a nature to be put off with halfway statements. Hartwell is an avowed infidel, and she knows it; yet I do not believe his views have weighed with her against received systems of faith. My dear Alice, this spirit of skepticism is scattered far and wide over the land; I meet with it often where I least expect it. It broods like a hideous nightmare over this age, and Beulah must pass through the same ordeal which is testing the intellectual portion of every community. But—there is that eternal door-bell. Let us have dinner, Alice; I must go out early this afternoon."

He took down a pair of scales and began to weigh some medicine. His wife wisely forbore to renew the discussion, and, ringing the bell for dinner, interested him with an account of her visit to a poor family who required his immediate attention.

With a heart unwontedly heavy Beulah prepared to call upon Pauline, later in the afternoon of the same day. It was not companionship she needed, for this was supplied by books, and the sensation of loneliness was one with which she had not yet been made acquainted; but she wanted a strong, healthy, cultivated intellect, to dash away the mists that were wreathing about her own mind. Already the lofty, imposing structure of self-reliance began to rock to its very foundations. She was nearly ready for her walk, when Mrs. Hoyt came in.

"Miss Beulah, there is a lady in the parlor waiting to see you."

"Is it Miss Graham?"

"No. She is a stranger, and gave no name."

Beulah descended to the parlor in rather an ungracious mood. As she entered a lady sprang to meet her, with both hands extended. She was superbly beautiful, with a complexion of dazzling whiteness, and clear, radiant, violet eyes, over which arched delicately penciled brows. The Grecian mouth and chin were faultlessly chiseled; the whole face was one of rare loveliness.

"You don't know me! For shame, Beulah, to forget old friends!"

"Oh, Pauline, is it you? I am very glad to see you."

"Don't say that for politeness' sake! Here I have been for ten days and you have not stirred a foot to see me."

"I didn't know you were in town till this morning, and just as you came I was putting on my bonnet to go and see you."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes; positively I am."

"Well, I am glad you felt disposed to see me. After my uncle, you and Charon are all I cared anything about meeting here. Bless your dear, solemn, gray eyes! how often I have wanted to see you!"

The impulsive girl threw her arms round Beulah's neck, and kissed her repeatedly.

"Be quiet, and let me look at you. Oh, Pauline, how beautiful you have grown!" cried Beulah, who could not forbear expressing the admiration she felt.

"Yes; the artists in Florence raved considerably about ray beauty. I can't tell you the number of times I sat for my portrait. It is very pleasant to be pretty; I enjoy it amazingly," said she, with all the candor which had characterized her in childhood; and, with a vigorous squeeze of Beulah's hand, she continued:

"I was astonished when I came, and found that you had left Uncle
Guy, and were teaching little ragged, dirty children their A B C's.
What possessed you to do such a silly thing?"

"Duty, my dear Pauline."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't begin about duty. Ernest—" She paused, a rich glow swept over her face, and, shaking back her curls, she added:

"You must quit all this. I say you must!"

"I see you are quite as reckless and scatter-brained as ever," answered Beulah, smiling at her authoritative tone.

"No; I positively am not the fool Uncle Guy used to think me. I have more sense than people give me credit for, though I dare say I shall find you very skeptical on the subject. Beulah, I know very well why you took it into your wise head to be a teacher. You were unwilling to usurp what you considered my place in Uncle Guy's home and heart. You need not straighten yourself in that ungraceful way. I know perfectly well it is the truth; but I am no poor, suffering, needy innocent, that you should look after. I am well provided for, and don't intend to take one cent of Uncle Guy's money, so you might just as well have the benefit of it. I know, too, that you and ma did not exactly adore each other. I understand all about that old skirmishing. But things have changed very much, Beulah; so you must quit this horrid nonsense about working and being independent."

"How you do rattle on about things you don't comprehend!" laughed
Beulah.

"Come, don't set me down for a simpleton! I tell you I am in earnest! You must come back to Uncle Guy!"

"Pauline, it is worse than useless to talk of this matter. I decided long ago as to what I ought to do, and certainly shall not change my opinion now. Tell me what you saw in Europe."

"Why, has not Eugene told you all you wish to know? Apropos! I saw him at a party last night, playing the devoted to that little beauty, Netta Dupres. We were all in Paris at the same time. I don't fancy her; she is too insufferably vain and affected. It is my opinion that she is flirting with Eugene, which must be quite agreeable to you. Oh, I tell you, Beulah, I could easily put her mind, heart, and soul in my thimble!"

"I did not ask your estimate of Miss Dupres. I want to know something of your European tour. I see Eugene very rarely."

"Oh, of course we went to see all the sights, and very stupid it was. Mr. Lockhart scolded continually about my want of taste and appreciation, because I did not utter all the interjections of delight and astonishment over old, tumbledown ruins, and genuine 'masterpieces' of art, as he called them. Upon my word, I have been tired almost to death, when he and ma descanted by the hour on the 'inimitable, and transcendent, and entrancing' beauties and glories of old pictures, that were actually so black with age that they looked like daubs of tar, and I could not tell whether the figures were men or women, archangels or cow drivers. Some things I did enjoy; such as the Alps, and the Mediterranean, and St. Peter's, and Westminster Abbey, and some of the German cathedrals. But as to keeping my finger on the guide-book and committing all the ecstasy to memory, to spout out just at the exact moment when I saw nothing to deserve it, why, that is all fudge. I tell you there is nothing in all Europe equal to our Niagara! I was heartily glad to come home, though I enjoyed some things amazingly."

"How is Mr. Lockhart's health?"

"Very poor, I am sorry to say. He looks so thin and pale I often tell him he would make quite as good a pictured saint as any we saw abroad."

"How long will you remain here?"

"Till Uncle Guy thinks Mr. Lockhart is well enough to go to his plantation, I suppose."

"What makes you so restless, Pauline? Why don't you sit still?" asked Beulah, observing that her visitor twisted about as if uncomfortable.

"Because I want to tell you something, and really do not know how to begin," said she, laughing and blushing.

"I cannot imagine what should disconcert you, Pauline."

"Thank you. Truly, that is a flattering tribute to my sensibility.
Beulah, can't you guess what I have to tell you?"

"Certainly not. But why should you hesitate to disclose it?"

"Simply because your tremendous gray eyes have such an owlish way of looking people out of countenance. Now, don't look quite through me, and I will pluck up my courage, and confess. Beulah—I am going to be married soon." She hid her crimsoned cheeks behind her hands.

"Married! impossible!" cried Beulah.

"But I tell you I am! Here is my engagement ring. Now, the most astonishing part of the whole affair is that my intended sovereign is a minister! A preacher, as solemn as Job!"

"You a minister's wife, Pauline! Oh, child, you are jesting!" said
Beulah, with an incredulous smile.

"No! absurd as it may seem, it is nevertheless true. I am to be married in March. Ma says I am a fool; Mr. Lockhart encourages and supports me; and Uncle Guy laughs heartily every time the affair is alluded to. At first, before we went to Europe, there was violent opposition from my mother, but she found I was in earnest, and now it is all settled for March. Uncle Guy knows Ernest Mortimor, and esteems him very highly, but thinks that I am the last woman in the United States who ought to be a minister's wife. I believe he told Ernest as much; but of course he did not believe him."

"Where does Mr. Mortimor reside?"

"In Georgia; has charge of a church there. He had a sister at the same school I attended in New York; and, during a visit to her, he says he met his evil-angel in me. He is about five years my senior; but he is here now, and you will have an opportunity of forming your own opinion of him."

"How long have you known him?"

"About two years. I am rather afraid of him, to tell you the honest truth. He is so grave, and has such rigid notions, that I wonder very much what ever induced his holiness to fancy such a heedless piece of womanhood as he is obliged to know I am; for I never put on any humility or sanctity. What do you think, Beulah? Uncle Guy coolly told me, this morning, in Ernest's presence, that he was only charmed by my pretty face, and that if I did not learn some common sense he would very soon repent his choice. Oh, the doleful warnings I have been favored with! But you shall all see that I am worthy of Mr. Mortimer's love."

Her beautiful face was radiant with hope; yet in the violet eyes there lurked unshed tears.

"I am very glad that you are so happy, Pauline; and, if you will, I am very sure you can make yourself all that Mr. Mortimor could desire."

"I am resolved I will. Yesterday he talked to me very seriously about the duties which he said would devolve on me. I tried to laugh him out of his sober mood, but he would talk about 'pastoral relations,' and what would be expected of a pastor's wife, until I was ready to cry with vexation. Ernest is not dependent on his salary; his father is considered wealthy, I believe, which fact reconciles ma in some degree. To-morrow he will preach in Dr. Hew's church, and you must go to hear him. I have never yet heard him preach, and am rather anxious to know what sort of sermons I am to listen to for the remainder of my life." She looked at her watch, and rose.

"I shall certainly go to hear him," answered Beulah.

"Of course you will, and after service you must go home and spend the day with me. Ma begs that you will not refuse to dine with her; and, as you are engaged all the week, Uncle Guy expects you also; that is, he told me to insist on your coming, but thought you would probably decline. Will you come? Do say yes."

"I don't know yet. I will see you at church."

Thus they parted.