“This fierce recrimination and unmerited tirade is not exactly the welcome I was prepared to expect,” returned Eugene haughtily; and, rising, he took his hat from the table.  She rose also, but made no effort to detain him, and leaned her head against the mantelpiece.  He watched her a moment, then approached and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Beulah, as a man I see the world and its relations in a far different light from that in which I viewed it while a boy.”

“It is utterly superfluous to tell me so!” replied Beulah bitterly.

“I grapple with realities now, and am forced to admit the expediency of prudent policy.  You refuse to see things in their actual existence and prefer toying with romantic dreams.  Beulah, I have awakened from these since we parted.”

She put up her hand deprecatingly, and answered: 

“Then let me dream on! let me dream on!”

“Beulah, I have been sadly mistaken in my estimate of your character.  I could not have believed there was so much fierce obstinacy, so much stubborn pride, in your nature.”

She instantly lifted her head, and their eyes met.  Other days came back to both; early confidence, mutual love and dependence.  For a moment his nobler impulses prevailed, and, with an unsteady lip, he passed his arm quickly around her.  But she drew coldly back, and said: 

“It seems we are mutually disappointed in each other.  I regret that the discharge of my duty should so far conflict with your opinions and standard of propriety as to alienate us so completely as it seems likely to do.  All my life I have looked to you for guidance and counsel; but to-night you have shaken my trust, and henceforth I must depend upon my own heart to support me in my work.  Oh, Eugene! friend of my childhood! beware lest you sink yourself in your own estimation!  Oh, for days, and months, and years I have pictured the hour of your return, little dreaming that it would prove one of the saddest of my life!  I have always looked up to you.  Oh, Eugene!  Eugene! you are not what you were!  Do not! oh, do not make me pity you!  That would kill me!” She covered her face with her hands, and shuddered convulsively.

“I am not so changed as you think me,” returned Eugene proudly.

“Then, in earlier years I was miserably deceived in your character.  For the sake of wealth, and what the world calls ‘position,’ you have sold yourself.  In lieu of his gold and influence Mr. Graham has your will, your conscience.  Ah, Eugene! how can you bear to be a mere tool in his hands?”

“Beulah, your language, your insinuations are unpardonable!  By Heaven, no one but yourself might utter them, and not even you can do so with impunity!  If you choose to suffer your foolish pride and childish whims to debar you from the enviable position in society which Dr. Hartwell would gladly confer on you—­why, you have only yourself to censure.  But my situation in Mr. Graham’s