She saw his brow darken and his cheek flush; but he said no more, and led her down to the parlor, where the members of the family were assembled.  Claudia and Eugene were also present.  The minister met them in the center of the room; and there, in the solemn hush, a few questions were answered, a plain band of gold encircled her finger, and the deep tones of the clergyman pronounced her Guy Hartwell’s wife.  Eugene took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, whispering: 

“God bless you, dear sister and friend!  I sincerely hope that your married life will prove happier than mine.”

Their congratulations wearied her, and she was glad when the carriage came to bear her away.  Bidding adieu to her friends, she was handed into the carriage, and Dr. Hartwell took the seat beside her.  The ride was short; neither spoke, and when the door was opened, and she entered the well-remembered house, she would gladly have retreated to the greenhouse and sought solitude to collect her thoughts; but a hand caught hers, and she soon found herself seated on a sofa in the study.  She felt that a pair of eyes were riveted on her face, and suddenly the blood surged into her white cheeks.  Her hand lay clasped in his, and her head drooped lower, to avoid his searching gaze.

“Oh, Beulah! my wife! why are you afraid of me?”

The low, musical tones caused her heart to thrill strangely; she made a great effort, and lifted her head.  She saw the expression of sorrow that clouded his face; saw his white brow wrinkle; and, as her eyes fell on the silver threads scattered through his brown hair, there came an instant revolution of feeling.  Fear vanished; love reigned supreme.  She threw her arms up about his neck, and exclaimed: 

“I am not afraid of you now.  May God bless my guardian! my husband!”

Reader, marriage is not the end of life; it is but the beginning of a new course of duties; but I cannot now follow Beulah.  Henceforth her history is bound up with another’s.  To save her husband from his unbelief is the labor of future years.  She had learned to suffer and to bear patiently; and though her path looks sunny, and her heart throbs with happy hopes, this one shadow lurks over her home and dims her joys.  Weeks and months glided swiftly on.  Dr. Hartwell’s face lost its stern rigidity, and his smile became constantly genial.  His wife was his idol; day by day his love for her seemed more completely to revolutionize his nature.  His cynicism melted insensibly away; his lips forgot their iron compression; now and then, his long-forgotten laugh rang through the house.  Beulah was conscious of the power she wielded, and trembled lest she failed to employ it properly.  One Sabbath afternoon she sat in her room, with her cheek on her hand, absorbed in earnest thought.  Her little Bible lay on her lap, and she was pondering the text she had heard that morning.  Charon came and nestled his huge head against her.  Presently she heard the quick tramp of hoofs and whir of wheels; and soon after her husband entered and sat down beside her.