“Fold that coat for me, my dear; there, give it to me; I believe there is room in this trunk for it.”

Mrs. Asbury took one of her husband’s coats from Beulah’s hand and carefully packed it away.

“How long will you be absent, do you suppose?”

“Probably not longer than a month.  The doctor thinks a few days at Saratoga will invigorate him.  If you had consented to go, we had intended spending a week at Niagara.  I am sorry you will not go, Beulah; you would enjoy the trip, and, moreover, the change would benefit you.  Why do you so pertinaciously reject that legacy of Cornelia’s?  The money has been in my husband’s hands for some years untouched, and Mr. Graham said, not long since, that you might just as well accept it, for he would never receive a cent of it in return.  The original sum has been considerably augmented by judicious investments, and would place you above the necessity of labor, if you would accept it.  Your refusal wounds Mr. Graham; he told me so last week.  It was Cornelia’s particular request that you should have that amount, and he is anxious to see you in possession of it.  I told him of your suggestion that he should add this legacy to the sum already given to the asylum; but he vowed solemnly he would have nothing to do with it.  If you chose to give it to the asylum, you could do so, of course; the money was yours.  He never would touch a cent of it.  Beulah, if you will not think me officious, I will say, candidly, that I think you ought to accept it.  That is, use it, for the legacy has been left, whether you employ it or not.”

Beulah looked grave and troubled, but made no reply.

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!