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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16343-8.txt b/16343-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f81f13 --- /dev/null +++ b/16343-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3847 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beth Woodburn, by Maud Petitt + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Beth Woodburn + +Author: Maud Petitt + +Release Date: July 22, 2005 [EBook #16343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETH WOODBURN *** + + + + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, +Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +BETH WOODBURN. + +BY + +MAUD PETITT. + +TORONTO: +WILLIAM BRIGGS, +29-33 RICHMOND STREET WEST. +MONTREAL: C.W. COATES. HALIFAX: S.F. HUESTIS. +1897. + + + + +ENTERED according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one +thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the +Department of Agriculture. + + + + +To my mother + + +THIS MY FIRST BOOK + +IS LOVINGLY + +DEDICATED. + + + + + + CONTENTS. + + CHAPTER I. PAGE + Beth at Eighteen 9 + + CHAPTER II. + A Dream of Life 21 + + CHAPTER III. + Whither, Beth? 30 + + CHAPTER IV. + Marie 42 + + CHAPTER V. + "For I Love You, Beth" 47 + + CHAPTER VI. + 'Varsity 55 + + CHAPTER VII. + Ended 64 + + CHAPTER VIII. + The Heavenly Canaan 78 + + CHAPTER IX. + 'Varsity Again 95 + + CHAPTER X. + Death 113 + + CHAPTER XI. + Love 124 + + CHAPTER XII. + Farewell 137 + + + + +BETH WOODBURN. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +_BETH AT EIGHTEEN._ + + +In the good old county of Norfolk, close to the shore of Lake Erie, lies +the pretty village of Briarsfield. A village I call it, though in truth +it has now advanced almost to the size and dignity of a town. Here, on +the brow of the hill to the north of the village (rather a retired spot, +one would say, for so busy a man), at the time of which my story treats, +stood the residence of Dr. Woodburn. + +It was a long, old-fashioned rough-cast house facing the east, with +great wide windows on each side of the door and a veranda all the way +across the front. The big lawn was quite uneven, and broken here and +there by birch trees, spruces, and crazy clumps of rose-bushes, all in +bloom. Altogether it was a sweet, home-like old place. The view to the +south showed, over the village roofs on the hill-side, the blue of Lake +Erie outlined against the sky, while to the north stretched the open, +undulating country, so often seen in Western Ontario. + +One warm June afternoon Beth, the doctor's only daughter, was lounging +in an attitude more careless than graceful under a birch tree. She, her +father and Mrs. Margin, the housekeeper--familiarly known as Aunt +Prudence--formed the whole household. Beth was a little above the +average height, a girlish figure, with a trifle of that awkwardness one +sometimes meets in an immature girl of eighteen; a face, not what most +people would call pretty, but still having a fair share of beauty. Her +features were, perhaps, a little too strongly outlined, but the brow was +fair as a lily, and from it the great mass of dark hair was drawn back +in a pleasing way. But her eyes--those earnest, grey eyes--were the most +impressive of all in her unusually impressive face. They were such +searching eyes, as though she had stood on the brink scanning the very +Infinite, and yet with a certain baffled look in them as of one who had +gazed far out, but failed to pierce the gloom--a beaten, longing look. +But a careless observer might have dwelt longer on the affectionate +expression about her lips--a half-childish, half-womanly tenderness. + +Beth was in one of her dreamy moods that afternoon. She was gazing away +towards the north, her favorite view. She sometimes said it was prettier +than the lake view. The hill on which their house stood sloped abruptly +down, and a meadow, pink with clover, stretched far away to rise again +in a smaller hill skirted with a bluish line of pines. There was a +single cottage on the opposite side of the meadow, with white blinds and +a row of sun-flowers along the wall; but Beth was not absorbed in the +view, and gave no heed to the book beside her. She was dreaming. She had +just been reading the life of George Eliot, her favorite author, and the +book lay open at her picture. She had begun to love George Eliot like a +personal friend; she was her ideal, her model, for Beth had some repute +as a literary character in Briarsfield. Not a teacher in the village +school but had marked her strong literary powers, and she was not at all +slow to believe all the hopeful compliments paid her. From a child her +stories had filled columns in the Briarsfield _Echo_, and now she was +eighteen she told herself she was ready to reach out into the great +literary world--a nestling longing to soar. Yes, she would be +famous--Beth Woodburn, of Briarsfield. She was sure of it. She would +write novels; oh, such grand novels! She would drink from the very +depths of nature and human life. The stars, the daisies, sunsets, +rippling waters, love and sorrow, and all the infinite chords that +vibrate in the human soul--she would weave them all with warp of gold. +Oh, the world would see what was in her soul! She would be the bright +particular star of Canadian literature; and then wealth would flow in, +too, and she would fix up the old home. Dear old "daddy" should retire +and have everything he wanted: and Aunt Prudence, on sweeping days, +wouldn't mind moving "the trash," as she called her manuscripts. Daddy +wouldn't make her go to bed at ten o'clock then; she would write all +night if she choose; she would have a little room on purpose, and +visitors at Briarsfield would pass by the old rough-cast house and point +it out as Beth Woodburn's home, and--well, this is enough for a sample +of Beth's daydreams. They were very exaggerated, perhaps, and a little +selfish, too; but she was not a fully-developed woman yet, and the years +were to bring sweeter fruit. She had, undoubtedly, the soul of genius, +but genius takes years to unfold itself. + +Then a soft expression crossed the face of the dreamer. She leaned +back, her eyes closed and a light smile played about her lips. She was +thinking of one who had encouraged her so earnestly--a tall, slender +youth, with light curly hair, blue eyes and a fair, almost girlish, +face--too fair and delicate for the ideal of most girls: but Beth +admired its paleness and delicate features, and Clarence Mayfair had +come to be often in her thoughts. She remembered quite well when the +Mayfairs had moved into the neighborhood and taken possession of the +fine old manor beside the lake, and she had become friends with the only +daughter, Edith, at school, and then with Clarence. Clarence wrote such +pretty little poems, too. This had been the foundation of their +friendship, and, since their tastes and ambitions were so much alike, +what if-- + +Her eyes grew brighter, and she almost fancied he was looking down into +her face. Oh, those eyes--hush, maiden heart, be still. She smiled at +the white cloud drifting westward--a little boat-shaped cloud, with two +white figures in it, sailing in the summer blue. The breeze ruffled her +dark hair. There fell a long shadow on the grass beside her. + +"Clarence--Mr. Mayfair! I didn't see you coming. When did you get home?" + +"Last night. I stayed in Toronto till the report of our 'exams' came +out." + +"I see you have been successful," she replied. "Allow me to congratulate +you." + +"Thank you. I hear you are coming to 'Varsity this fall, Miss Woodburn. +Don't you think it quite an undertaking? I'm sure I wish you joy of the +hard work." + +"Why, I hope you are not wearying of your course in the middle of it, +Mr. Mayfair. It is only two years till you will have your B.A." + +"Two years' hard work, though; and, to tell the truth, a B.A. has lost +its charms for me. I long to devote my life more fully to literature. +That is my first ambition, you know, and I seem to be wasting so much +time." + +"You can hardly call time spent that way wasted," she answered. "You +will write all the better for it by and by." + +Then they plunged into one of their old-time literary talks of authors +and books and ambitions. Beth loved these talks. There was no one else +in Briarsfield she could discuss these matters with like Clarence. She +was noticing meanwhile how much paler he looked than when she saw him +last, but she admired him all the more. There are some women who love a +man all the more for being delicate. It gives them better opportunities +to display their womanly tenderness. Beth was one of these. + +"By the way, I mustn't forget my errand," Clarence exclaimed after a +long chat. + +He handed her a dainty little note, an invitation to tea from his sister +Edith. Beth accepted with pleasure. She blushed as he pressed her hand +in farewell, and their eyes met. That look and touch of his went very +deep--deeper than they should have gone, perhaps; but the years will +tell their tale. She watched him going down the hill-side in the +afternoon sunshine, then fell to dreaming again. What if, after all, she +should not always stay alone with daddy? If someone else should +come--And she began to picture another study where she should not have +to write alone, but there should be two desks by the broad windows +looking out on the lake, and somebody should-- + +"Beth! Beth! come and set the tea-table. My hands is full with them +cherries." + +Beth's dream was a little rudely broken by Mrs. Martin's voice, but she +complacently rose and went into the house. + +Mrs. Martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim, +good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of +Canadian life. She had been Dr. Woodburn's housekeeper ever since Beth +could remember, and they had always called her "Aunt Prudence." + +"What did that gander-shanks of a Mayfair want?" asked the old lady with +a funny smile, as Beth was bustling about. + +"Oh, just come to bring an invitation to tea from Edith." + +Dr. Woodburn entered as soon as tea was ready. He was the ideal father +one meets in books, and if there was one thing on earth Beth was proud +of it was "dear daddy." He was a fine, broad-browed man, strikingly like +Beth, but with hair silvery long before its time. His eyes were like +hers, too, though Beth's face had a little shadow of gloom that did not +belong to the doctor's genial countenance. + +It was a pleasant little tea-table to which they sat down. Mrs Martin +always took tea with them, and as she talked over Briarsfield gossip to +the doctor, Beth, as was her custom, looked silently out of the window +upon the green sloping lawn. + +"Well, Beth, dear," said Dr. Woodburn, "has Mrs. Martin told you that +young Arthur Grafton is coming to spend his holidays with us?" + +"Arthur Grafton! Why, no!" said Beth with pleased surprise. + +"He is coming. He may drop in any day. He graduated this spring, you +know. He's a fine young man, I'm told." + +"Oh! Beth ain't got time to think about anything but that slim young +Mayfair, now-a-days," put in Mrs. Martin. "He's been out there with her +most of the afternoon, and me with all them cherries to tend to." + +Beth saw a faint shadow cross her father's face, but put it aside as +fancy only and began to think of Arthur. He was an old play-fellow of +hers. An orphan at an early age, he had spent his childhood on his +uncle's farm, just beyond the pine wood to the north of her home. Her +father had always taken a deep interest in him, and when the death of +his uncle and aunt left him alone in the world, Dr. Woodburn had taken +him into his home for a couple of years until he had gone away to +school. Arthur had written once or twice, but Beth was staying with her +Aunt Margaret, near Welland, that summer, and she had seen fit, for +unexplained reasons, to stop the correspondence: so the friendship had +ended there. It was five years now since she had seen her old +play-fellow, and she found herself wondering if he would be greatly +changed. + +After tea Beth took out her books, as usual, for an hour or two; then, +about eight o'clock, with her tin-pail on her arm, started up the road +for the milk. This was one of her childhood's tasks that she still took +pleasure in performing. She sauntered along in the sweet June twilight +past the fragrant clover meadow and through the pine wood, with the +fire-flies darting beneath the boughs. Some girls would have been +frightened, but Beth was not timid. She loved the still sweet solitude +of her evening walk. The old picket gate clicked behind her at the Birch +Farm, and she went up the path with its borders of four-o'clocks. It was +Arthur's old home, where he had passed his childhood at his uncle's--a +great cheery old farm-house, with morning-glory vines clinging to the +windows, and sun-flowers thrusting their great yellow faces over the +kitchen wall. + +The door was open, but the kitchen empty, and she surmised that Mrs. +Birch had not finished milking; so Beth sat down on the rough bench +beneath the crab-apple tree and began to dream of the olden days. There +was the old chain swing where Arthur used to swing her, and the +cherry-trees where he filled her apron. She was seven and he was +ten--but such a man in her eyes, that sun-browned, dark-eyed boy. And +what a hero he was to her when she fell over the bridge, and he rescued +her! He used to get angry though sometimes. Dear, how he thrashed +Sammie Jones for calling her a "little snip." Arthur was good, though, +very good. He used to sit in that very bench where she was sitting, and +explain the Sunday-school lesson to her, and say such good things. Her +father had told her two or three years ago of Arthur's decision to be a +missionary. He was going away off to Palestine. "I wonder how he can do +it," she thought. "He has his B.A. now, too, and he was always so +clever. He must be a hero. I'm not good like that; I--I don't think I +want to be so good. Clarence isn't as good as that. But Clarence must be +good. His poetry shows it. I wonder if Arthur will like Clarence?" + +Mrs. Birch, with a pail of fresh milk on each arm, interrupted her +reverie. + +Beth enjoyed her walk home that night. The moon had just risen, and the +pale stars peeped through the patches of white cloud that to her fancy +looked like the foot-prints of angels here and there on the path of the +infinite. As she neared home a sound of music thrilled her. It was only +an old familiar tune, but she stopped as if in a trance. The touch +seemed to fill her very soul. It was so brave and yet so tender. The +music ceased; some sheep were bleating in the distance, the stars were +growing brighter, and she went on toward home. + +She was surprised as she crossed the yard to see a tall dark-haired +stranger talking to her father in the parlor. She was just passing the +parlor door when he came toward her. + +"Well, Beth, my old play-mate!" + +"Arthur!" + +They would have made a subject for an artist as they stood with clasped +hands, the handsome dark-eyed man, the girl, in her white dress, her +milk-pail on her arm, and her wondering grey eyes upturned to his. + +"Why, Beth, you look at me as if I were a spectre." + +"But, Arthur, you're so changed! Why, you're a man, now!" at which he +laughed a merry laugh that echoed clear to the kitchen. + +Beth joined her father and Arthur in the parlor, and they talked the old +days over again before they retired to rest. Beth took out her pale blue +dress again before she went to sleep. Yes, she would wear that to the +Mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room +window that would just match. So thinking she laid it carefully away and +slept her girl's sleep that night. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_A DREAM OF LIFE._ + + +It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror +fastening the moss roses in her belt. Arthur had gone away with her +father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the +evening. Aunt Prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying +late and Beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. It was a +delightful day. The homes all looked so cheery, and the children were +playing at the gates as she went down the street. There was one her eye +dwelt on more than the rest. The pigeons were strutting on the sloping +roof, the cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls +were swinging under the cherry-tree. Yes, marriage and home must be +sweet after all. Beth had always said she never would marry. She wanted +to write stories and not have other cares. But school girls change +their views sometimes. + +It was only a few minutes' walk to the Mayfair residence beside the +lake. Beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great +old lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain +yonder, the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue Erie +stretching far away. + +Edith Mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired, winsome +creature, several years older than Beth. But she looked even younger. +Hers was such a child-like face! It was pretty to see the way she twined +her arm about Beth. They had loved each other ever since the Mayfairs +had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair were +sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs. Mayfair; she was such +a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. Mr. +Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To Beth's literary mind there +was something about the Mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. They +were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in +Briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment. + +It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into--a pleasing +confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying +on the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's +attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High +School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had +become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their +names. Beth looked up and saw Edith watching her with a smiling, +blushing face. The next minute she threw both arms about Beth. + +"Can't you guess what I was going to tell you, Beth, dear?" + +"Why, Edith, are you and Mr. Ashley--" + +"Yes, dear. I thought you would guess." + +Beth only hugged her by way of congratulation, and Edith laughed a +little hysterically. Beth was used to these emotional fits of Edith's. +Then she began to question-- + +"When is it to be?" + +"September. And you will be my bridesmaid, won't you, dear?" + +Beth promised. + +"Oh, Beth, I think marriage is the grandest institution God ever made." + +Beth had a strange dream-like look in her eyes, and the tea-bell broke +their reverie. + +Mr. Ashley had dropped in for tea, and Clarence sat beside Beth, with +Edith and her betrothed opposite. It was so pleasant and home-like, +with the pink cluster of roses smiling in at the window. + +After tea, Edith and Mr. Ashley seemed prepared for a _tête-à-tête_, in +which Mrs. Mayfair was also interested; and Clarence took Beth around to +the conservatory to see a night-blooming cirius. It was not out yet, and +so they went for a promenade through the long grounds toward the lake. +Beth never forgot that walk in all her life to come. Somehow she did not +seem herself. All her ambition and struggle seemed at rest. She was a +child, a careless child, and the flowers bloomed around her, and +Clarence was at her side. The lake was very calm when they reached it; +the stars were shining faintly, and they could see Long Point Island +like a long dark line in the distant water. + +"Arthur is going to take me over to the island this week," said Beth. + +They had just reached a little cliff jutting out over the water. It was, +perhaps, one of the most picturesque scenes on the shores of Lake Erie. + +"Wouldn't it be grand to be on this cliff and watch a thunderstorm +coming up over the lake?" said Beth. + +"You are very daring Beth--Miss Woodburn. Edith would rather hide her +head under the blankets." + +"Do you know, I really love thunderstorms," continued Beth. "It is such +a nice safe feeling to lie quiet and sheltered in bed and hear the +thunder crash and the storm beat outside. Somehow, I always feel more +deeply that God is great and powerful, and that the world has a live +ruler." She stopped rather suddenly. Clarence never touched on religious +subjects in conversation-- + +"Dear, what a ducking Arthur and I got in a thunderstorm one time. We +were out hazel-nutting and--" + +"Do you always call Mr. Grafton Arthur?" interrupted Clarence, a little +impatiently. + +"Oh, yes! Why, how funny it would seem to call Arthur Mr. Grafton!" + +"Beth"--he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,--"Beth, do you love +Arthur Grafton?" + +"Love Arthur! Why, dear, no! I never thought of it. He's just like my +brother. Besides," she continued after a pause, "Arthur is going away +off somewhere to be a missionary, and I don't think I could be happy if +I married a man who wasn't a writer." + +That was very naive of Beth. She forgot Clarence's literary +pretensions. + +"Then can you love me, Beth? Don't you see that I love you?" + +There was a moment's silence. Their eyes met in a long, earnest look. An +impulse of tenderness came over her, and she threw both arms about his +neck as he clasped her to his breast. The stars were shining above and +the water breaking at their feet. They understood each other without +words. + +"Oh, Clarence, I am so happy, so very happy!" + +The night air wafted the fragrance of roses about them like incense. +They walked on along the shore, happy lovers, weaving their life-dreams +under the soft sky of that summer night. + +"I wonder if anyone else is as happy as we are, Beth!" + +"Oh, Clarence, how good we ought to be! I mean to always be kinder and +to try and make other people happy, too." + +"You are good, Beth. May God bless our lives." + +She had never seen Clarence so earnest and manly before. Yes, she was +very much in love, she told herself. + +They talked much on the way back to the house. He told her that his +father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be +several years before he himself could marry. But Beth's brow was not +clouded. She wanted her college course, and somehow Clarence seemed so +much more manly with a few difficulties to face. + +A faint sound of music greeted them as they reached the house. Edith was +playing her guitar. Mrs. Mayfair met them on the veranda. + +"Why, Clarence, how late you've kept the child out," said Mrs. Mayfair +with a motherly air. "I'm afraid you will catch cold, Miss Woodburn; +there is such a heavy dew!" + +Clarence went up to his mother and said something in a low tone. A +pleased look lighted her face. + +"I am so glad, dear Beth, my daughter. I shall have another daughter in +place of the one I am giving away." + +She drew the girl to her breast with tender affection. Beth had been +motherless all her life, and the caress was sweet and soothing to her. +Edith fastened her cape and kissed her fondly when she was going home. +Clarence went with her, and somehow everything was so dream-like and +unreal that even the old rough-cast home looked strange and shadowy in +the moon-light. It was perhaps a relief that her father had not yet +returned. + +She was smiling and happy, but even her own little room seemed strangely +unnatural that night. She stopped just inside the door and looked at it, +the moonlight streaming through the open window upon her bed. Was she +really the same Beth Woodburn that had rested there last night and +thought about the roses. She took them out of her belt now. A sweetly +solemn feeling stole over her, and she crossed over and knelt at the +window, the withered roses in her hand, her face upturned to heaven. +Sacred thoughts filled her mind. She had longed for love, someone to +love, someone who loved her; but was she worthy, she asked herself, pure +enough, good enough? She felt to-night that she was kneeling at an +unseen shrine, a bride, to be decked by the holy angels in robes whiter +than mortal ever saw. + +Waves of sweet music aroused her. She started up as from a dream, +recognizing at once the touch of the same hand that she had heard in the +distance the night before, and it was coming from their own parlor +window, right beneath hers! She held her breath almost as she stole out +and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the parlor. Why, it was +Arthur! Was it possible he could play like that? She made a striking +picture as she stood there on the stairs, her great grey eyes drinking +in the music: but she was relieved somehow when it ceased. It was +bright, quick, inspiring; but it seemed to make her forget her new-born +joy while it lasted. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +_WHITHER, BETH?_ + + +Beth was lying in the hammock, watching the white clouds chase each +other over the sky. Her face was quite unclouded, though the morning had +not passed just as she had hoped. It was the next afternoon after she +had taken tea at the Mayfair's, and Clarence had come to see her father +that morning. They had had a long talk in the study, and Beth had sat in +her room anxiously pulling to pieces the roses that grew at her window. +After a little while she was called down. Clarence was gone, and she +thought her father did not look quite satisfied, though he smiled as she +sat down beside him. + +"Beth, I am sorry you are engaged so young," he said gently. "Are you +sure you love him, Beth?" + +"Oh, yes, papa, dear. You don't understand," and she put both arms +about his neck. "I am in love, truly. Believe me, I shall be happy." + +"Clarence is delicate, too," said her father with a grave look. + +They were both silent for a few minutes. + +"But, after all, he cannot marry for three or four years to come, and +you must take your college course, Beth." + +They were silent again for a moment. + +"Well, God bless you, Beth, my darling child." There were tears in his +eyes, and his voice was very gentle. He kissed her and went out to his +office. + +What a dear old father he was! Only Beth wished he had looked more +hopeful and enthusiastic over the change in her life. Aunt Prudence had +been told before dinner, and she had taken it in a provokingly quiet +fashion that perplexed Beth. What was the matter with them all? Did they +think Clarence the pale-faced boy that he looked? They were quite +mistaken. Clarence was a man. + +So Miss Beth reasoned, and the cloud passed off her brow, for, after +all, matters were about as they were before. The morning had been rather +pleasant, too. Arthur had played some of his sweet old pieces, and then +asked as a return favor to see some of her writing. She had given him +several copies of the Briarsfield _Echo_, and he was still reading. In +spite of her thoughts of Clarence, she wondered now and again what +Arthur would think of her. Would he be proud of his old play-mate? He +came across the lawn at last and drew one of the chairs up beside the +hammock. + +"I have read them all, Beth, and I suppose I should be proud of you. You +are talented--indeed, you are more than talented: you are a genius, I +believe. But do you know, Beth, I do not like your writings?" + +He looked at her as if it pained him to utter these words. + +"They are too gloomy. There is a sentimental gloom about everything you +write. I don't know what the years since we parted have brought you, +Beth, but your writings don't seem to come from a full heart, +overflowing with happiness. It seems to me that with your command of +language and flowing style you might bring before your reader such sweet +little homes and bright faces and sunny hearts, and that is the sweetest +mission a writer has, I believe." + +Beth watched him silently. She had not expected this from Arthur. She +thought he would overwhelm her with praise; and, instead, he sat there +like a judge laying all her faults before her. Stern critic! Somehow he +didn't seem just like the old Arthur. + +"I don't like him any more," she thought. "He isn't like his old self." + +But somehow she could not help respecting him as she looked at him +sitting there with that great wave of dark hair brushed back from his +brow, and his soulful eyes fixed on something in space. He looked a +little sad, too. + +"Still, he isn't a writer like Clarence," she thought, "and he doesn't +know how to praise like Clarence does." + +"But Arthur," she said, finally speaking her thoughts aloud; "you speak +as though I could change my way of writing merely by resolving to. I can +write only as nature allows." + +"That's too sentimental, Beth; just like your writing. You are a little +bit visionary." + +"But there are gloomy and visionary writers as well as cheerful ones. +Both have their place." + +"I do not believe, Beth, that gloom has a place in this bright earth of +ours. Sadness and sorrow will come, but there is sweetness in the cup as +well. The clouds drift by with the hours, Beth, but the blue sky stands +firm throughout all time." + +She caught sight of Clarence coming as he was speaking, and scarcely +heeded his last words, but nevertheless they fastened themselves in her +mind, and in after years she recalled them. + +Clarence and Arthur had never met before face to face, and somehow there +was something striking about the two as they did so. Arthur was only a +few years older, but he looked so manly and mature beside Clarence. They +smiled kindly when Beth introduced them, and she felt sure that they +approved of each other. Arthur withdrew soon, and Beth wondered if he +had any suspicion of the truth. + +Once alone with her, Clarence drew her to his heart in true lover-like +fashion. + +"Oh, Clarence, don't! People will see you." + +"Suppose they do. You are mine." + +"But you mustn't tell it, Clarence. You won't, will you?" + +He yielded to her in a pleasant teasing fashion. + +"Have you had a talk with your father, Beth?" + +"Yes," she answered seriously, "and I rather hoped he would take it +differently." + +"I had hoped so, too; but, still, he doesn't oppose us, and he will +become more reconciled after a while, you know, when he sees what it is +to have a son. Of course, he thinks us very young; but still I think we +are more mature than many young people of our age." + +Beth's face looked changed in the last twenty-four hours. She had a more +satisfied, womanly look. Perhaps that love-craving heart of hers had +been too empty. + +"I have been looking at the upstair rooms at home," said Clarence. +"There will have to be some alterations before our marriage." + +"Why, Clarence!" she exclaimed, laughing; "you talk as though we were +going off to Gretna Green to be married next week." + +"Sure enough, the time is a long way off, but it's well to be looking +ahead. There are two nice sunny rooms on the south side. One of them +would be so nice for study and writing. It has a window looking south +toward the lake, and another west. You were always fond of watching the +sun set, Beth. But you must come and look at them. Let's see, to-day's +Saturday. Come early next week; I shall be away over Sunday, you know." + +"Yes, you told me so last night." + +"Did I tell you of our expected guest?" he asked, after a pause. "Miss +Marie de Vere, the daughter of an old friend of my mother's. Her father +was a Frenchman, an aristocrat, quite wealthy, and Marie is the only +child, an orphan. My mother has asked her here for a few weeks." + +"Isn't it a striking name?" said Beth, "Marie de Vere, pretty, too. I +wonder what she will be like." + +"I hope you will like her, Beth. She makes her home in Toronto, and it +would be nice if you became friends. You will be a stranger in Toronto, +you know, next winter. How nice it will be to have you there while I am +there, Beth. I can see you quite often then. Only I hate to have you +study so hard." + +"Oh, but then it won't hurt my brain, you know. Thoughts of you will +interrupt my studies so often" she said, with a coquettish smile. + +Clarence told her some amusing anecdotes of 'Varsity life, then went +away early, as he was going to leave the village for a day or two. + +Beth hurried off to the kitchen to help Aunt Prudence. It was unusual +for her to give any attention to housework, but a new interest in +domestic affairs seemed to have aroused within her to-day. + +The next day was Sunday, and somehow it seemed unusually sacred to Beth. +The Woodburn household was at church quite early, and Beth sat gazing +out of the window at the parsonage across the road. It was so +home-like--a great square old brick, with a group of hollyhocks beside +the study window. + +The services that day seemed unusually sweet, particularly the +Sunday-school hour. Beth's attention wandered from the lesson once or +twice, and she noticed Arthur in the opposite corner teaching a class of +little girls--little tots in white dresses. He looked so pleased and +self-forgetful. Beth had never seen him look like that before; and the +children were open-eyed. She saw him again at the close of the +Sunday-school, a little light-haired creature in his arms. + +"Why, Arthur, I didn't think you were so fond of children." + +"Oh, yes, I'm quite a grandfather, only minus the grey hair." + +It was beautiful walking home that afternoon in the light June breeze. +She wondered what Clarence was doing just then. Home looked so sweet and +pleasant, too, as she opened the gate, and she thought how sorry she +should be to leave it to go to college in the fall. + +Beth stayed in her room a little while, and then came down stairs. +Arthur was alone in the parlor, sitting by the north window, and Beth +sat down near. The wind had ceased, the sun was slowly sinking in the +west, a flock of sheep were resting in the shadow of the elms on the +distant hill-slope, and the white clouds paused in the blue as if moored +by unseen hands. Who has not been moved by the peace and beauty of the +closing hours of a summer Sabbath? Arthur and Beth were slow to begin +conversation, for silence seemed more pleasing. + +"Arthur, when are you going out as a missionary?" asked Beth, at last. + +"Not for three or four years yet." + +"Where are you going, do you know?" + +"To the Jews, at Jerusalem." + +"Are you sure you will be sent just where you want to go?" + +"Yes, for I am going to pay my own expenses. A bachelor uncle of mine +died, leaving me an annuity." + +"Don't you dread going, though?" + +"Dread it! No, I rejoice in it!" he said, with a radiant smile. "One has +so many opportunities of doing good in a work like that." + +"Do you always think of what you can do for others?" + +"That is the best way to live," he answered, a sweet smile in the depths +of his dark eyes. + +"But don't you dread the loneliness?" + +"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." + +"Oh, Arthur!"--she buried her face for a moment in the cushions, and +then looked up at him with those searching grey eyes of hers--"you are +brave; you are good; I wish I were, too." + +He looked down upon her tenderly for a moment. + +"But, Beth, isn't your life a consecrated one--one of service?" + +"It is all consecrated but one thing, and I can't consecrate that." + +"You will never be happy till you do. Beth, I am afraid you are not +perfectly happy," he said, after a pause. "You do not look to be." + +"Oh, yes, I am quite happy, very happy, and I shall be happier still by +and by," she said, thinking of Clarence. "But, Arthur, there is one +thing I can't consecrate. I am a Christian, and I do mean to be good, +only I can't consecrate my literary hopes and work." + +"Oh, why not, Beth? That is the very thing you should consecrate. That's +the widest field you have for work. But why not surrender that, too, +Beth?" + +"Oh, I don't know. I couldn't write like 'Pansy' does, it isn't natural +to me." + +"You don't need to write like 'Pansy.' She has done splendid work, +though, and I don't believe there is a good home where she isn't loved. +But it may not be your place to be just like 'Pansy.'" + +"No; I want to be like George Eliot." + +A graver look crossed his face. + +"That is right to a certain extent. George Eliot certainly had a grand +intellect, but if she had only been a consecrated Christian woman how +infinitely greater she might have been. With such talent as hers +undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of +heaven. Beth, don't you see what grand possibilities are yours, with +your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?" + +"Ah, yes. Arthur, but then--I am drifting somehow. Life is bearing me +another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be famous, and +perhaps wealthy, too, but I am drifting with the years." + +"But it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, Beth. +You will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. Do +you not see there are two paths before you? Which will you choose, Beth? +'For self?' or 'for Jesus?' The one will bring you fame and wealth, +perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not be +satisfied. The other--oh, it would make you so much happier! Your books +would be read at every fire-side, and Beth Woodburn would be a name to +be loved. You are drifting--but whither, Beth?" + +His voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was +something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget those +last words. + +The moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her dreams, +and she and Clarence were alone together in a lovely island garden. It +was so very beautiful--a grand temple of nature, its aisles carpeted +with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a star-strewn sea +all round! No mortal artist could have planned that mysteriously +beautiful profusion of flowers--lily and violet, rose and oleander, +palm-tree and passion-vine, and the olive branches and orange blossoms +interlacing in the moon-light above them. Arthur was watering the tall +white lilies by the water-side and all was still with a hallowed silence +they dared not break. Suddenly a wild blast swept where they stood. All +was desolate and bare, and Clarence was gone. In a moment the bare rocks +where she had stood were overwhelmed, and she was drifting far out to +sea--alone! Stars in the sky above--stars in the deep all round and the +winds and the waters were still! And she was drifting--but whither? + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_MARIE._ + + +"Isn't she pretty?" + +"She's picturesque looking." + +"Pretty? picturesque? I think she's ugly!" + +These were the varied opinions of a group of Briarsfield girls who were +at the station when the evening train stopped. The object of their +remarks was a slender girl whom the Mayfairs received with warmth. It +was Marie de Vere--graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and +daintily dressed brown hair. This was the girl that Beth and Arthur were +introduced to when they went to the Mayfairs to tea a few days later. +Beth recalled the last evening she was there to tea. Only a few days had +since passed, and yet how all was changed! + +"Do you like Miss de Vere?" asked Clarence, after Beth had enjoyed a +long conversation with her. + +"Oh, yes! I'm just delighted with her! She has such kind eyes, and she +seems to understand one so well!" + +"You have fallen in love at first sight. The pleasure on your face makes +up for the long time I have waited to get you alone. Only I wish you +would look at me like you looked at Miss de Vere just now," he said, +trying to look dejected. + +She laughed. Those little affectionate expressions always pleased her, +for she wondered sometimes if Clarence could be a cold and unresponsive +husband. He was not a very ardent lover, and grey-eyed, intellectual +Beth Woodburn had a love-hungering heart, though few people knew it. + +"Do you know," said Beth, "Miss de Vere has told me that there is a +vacant room at her boarding-house. She is quite sure she can get it for +me this winter. Isn't she kind? I believe we shall be great friends." + +"Yes, you will enjoy her friendship. She is a clever artist and +musician, you know. Edith says she lives a sort of Bohemian life in +Toronto. Her rooms are littered with music and painting and literature." + +"How nice! Her face looks as if she had a story, too. There's something +sad in her eyes." + +"She struck me as being remarkably lively," said Clarence. + +"Oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret sorrows. Look, +there she is walking with Arthur toward the lake." + +Clarence smiled for a moment. + +"Perhaps fate may see fit to link them together," he said. + +"Oh, no, I don't think so! I can't imagine it." + +"Grafton's a fine fellow, isn't he?" + +"I'm glad you like him so well, Clarence. He's just like my brother, you +know. We had such an earnest talk Sunday night. He made me feel, oh, I +don't know how. But do you know, my life isn't consecrated to God, +Clarence; is yours?" + +They were walking under the stars of the open night, and Clarence looked +thoughtful for a moment, then answered unhesitatingly: + +"No, Beth. I settled that long ago. I don't think we need to be +consecrated. So long as we are Christians and live fairly consistent +lives, I think that suffices. Of course, with people like Arthur Grafton +it is different. But as for us we are consecrated to art, you know, in +the shape of writing. Let us make the utmost of our talents." + +"Yes, we are consecrated to art," said Beth with a sigh of relief, and +began talking of Marie. + +Since Beth was to leave home in the fall, she did not go away during the +summer, and consequently saw much of Marie during the few weeks she +stayed at Briarsfield. It is strange how every life we come in contact +with leaves its impress upon ourselves! It was certainly so with Marie +and Beth. Marie had seen so much of the world and of human life, and +Beth had always lived so quietly there in her own village, that now a +restlessness took possession of her to get away far beyond the horizon +of Briarsfield. + +The days passed on as days will pass. Clarence was home most of the +time, and he and Beth had many walks together in the twilight, and +sometimes in the morning. What delightful walks they were in the cool of +the early summer morning! There was one especially pretty spot where +they used to rest along the country road-side. It was a little hill-top, +with the ground sloping down on either side, then rising again in great +forest-crowned hills. Two oak trees, side by side, shaded them as they +watched the little clouds sailing over the harvest fields. + +Arthur was with them a great deal of the summer, and Beth was occupied +with preparations for leaving home. She used to talk to Arthur about +Marie sometimes, but he disappointed her by his coldness. She fancied +that he did not altogether approve of Marie. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +_"FOR I LOVE YOU, BETH."_ + + +It came soon, her last Sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in the +west. Beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. Do you remember +that last Sabbath before you left home? Everything, the hills outside, +the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you in +mute farewell. Beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through the +open door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leaping +up in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. She had +always liked that stove with its cheery fire. Then she turned her eyes +to the window and noted that the early September frost had browned her +favorite meadow where the clover bloomed last June, and that the maples +along the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now all +decked in crimson and yellow. + +Her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked around +she saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. Poor father! He +would miss her, she knew, though he tried not to let her see how much. +Aunt Prudence, too, dear old soul, seemed sorry to have her go, but she +had her own peculiar way of expressing it, namely, by getting crosser +every day. She did not approve of so much "larnin'" for girls, +especially when Beth was "goin' to be married to that puny Mayfair." +Aunt Prudence always said her "say," as she expressed it, but she meant +well and Beth understood. + +Beth was not to go until Friday, and Clarence was to meet her at the +station. He had been called away to the city with his father on business +more than a week before. Arthur was with them to-day, but he was to +leave on the early morning train to join a college mate. He was to be at +Victoria University that winter and Beth expected to see him often. + +They had an early supper, and the September sunset streamed through the +open window on the old-fashioned china tea-set. Beth was disappointed +after tea when her father's services were required immediately by a +patient several miles away. Arthur and she sat down by that same old +parlor window in the hush of the coming night; a few white clouds were +spread like angel wings above and the early stars were shining in the +west. They were silent for a while. Arthur and Beth were often silent +when together, but the silence was a pleasing, not an embarrassing one. + +"Are you sorry to leave home, Beth?" asked Arthur. + +"Yes, I am; and would you believe it, I thought I'd be so glad to have a +change, and yet it makes me sad now the time is drawing near." + +They were silent again for a while. + +"Arthur, do you know, I think it seems so hard for you to go away so far +and be a missionary when you are so fond of home and home life." + +He smiled tenderly upon her, but she did not know the meaning of that +smile then as she knew a little later. + +"It is my Father's will," he said with a sweeter, graver smile. + +"Beth, do you not see how your talent could be used in the mission +field?" + +"He does not know I am going to marry Clarence," she thought with a +smile, "and he is going to map out a life work for a maiden lady." + +"No, I don't see how," she answered. + +"You know there is a large proportion of the world that never read such +a thing as a missionary book, and that if more such books were read, +missions would be better supported. Now, if someone with bright talents +were to write fascinating stories of Arabian life or life in Palestine, +see how much interest would be aroused. But then you would need to live +among the people and know their lives, and who would know them so well +as a missionary?" + +Beth smiled at his earnestness. + +"Oh, no, Arthur; I couldn't do that." + +His eyes filled in a moment with a sad, pleading look. + +"Beth, can you refuse longer to surrender your life and your life's +toil? Look, Beth," he said, pointing upward to the picture of Christ +upon the wall, "can you refuse Him--can you refuse, Beth?" + +"Oh, Arthur, don't," she said drooping her face. + +"But I _must_, Beth! Will you enter your Father's service? Once again I +ask you." + +Her eyes were turned away and she answered nothing. + +"Beth," he said softly, "I have a more selfish reason for urging +you--for I love you, Beth. I have loved you since we were children +together. Will you be my own--my wife? It is a holy service I ask you to +share. Are you ready, Beth?" + +Her pale face was hidden in her hands. He touched her hair reverently. +Tick! tick! tick! from the old clock in the silence. Then a crimson +flush, and she rose with sudden violence. + +"Oh, Arthur, what _can_ you mean? I thought--you seemed my brother +almost--I thought you would always be that. Oh, Arthur! Arthur! how can +you--how dare you talk so? I am Clarence Mayfair's promised wife." + +"Clarence Mayfair's--" The words died away on his white lips. He leaned +upon the mantel-piece, and Beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. His face +was so deathly white. His eyes were shaded by his hand, and his brow +bore the marks of strong agony. Oh, he was wounded! Those moments were +awful in their silence. The darkness deepened in the old parlor. There +was a sound of voices passing in the street. The church bell broke the +stillness. Softly the old calm crept over his brow, and he raised his +face and looked at her with those great dark eyes--eyes of unfathomable +tenderness and impenetrable fire, and she felt that her very soul stood +naked before him. She trembled and sank on the couch at her side. His +look was infinitely tender as he came toward her. + +"I have hurt you--forgive me," he said gently, and he laid his hand on +her head so reverently for a moment. His white lips murmured something, +but she only caught the last words, "God bless you--forever. Good-bye, +Beth--little Beth." + +He smiled back upon her as he left the room, but she would rather he had +looked sad. That smile--she could never forget it, with its wonderful +sweetness and sorrow. + +She sat motionless for a while after he left the room. She felt thrilled +and numbed. There are moments in life when souls stand forth from their +clayey frames and touch each other, forgetful of time and space. It was +one of those experiences that Beth had just passed through. She went to +her room and crouched down at her window beneath the stars of that +autumn night. Poor Arthur! She was so sad over it all. And he had loved +her! How strange! How could it have been? Loved her since they were +children, he had said. She had never thought of love coming like that. +And they had played together upon that meadow out there. They had grown +up together, and he had even lived in her home those few years before he +went to college. No, she had never dreamed of marrying Arthur! But oh, +he was wounded so! She had never seen him look like that before. And he +had hoped that she would share his life and his labor. She thought how +he had pictured her far away under the burning sun of Palestine, bathing +his heated brow and cheering him for fresh effort. He had pictured, +perhaps, a little humble home, quiet and peaceful, somewhere amid the +snow-crested mountains of the East, where he would walk with her in the +cool of night-fall, under the bright stars and clear sky of that distant +land. Poor, mistaken Arthur! She was not fitted for such a life, she +thought. They were never made for each other. Their ambitions were not +the same. She had found her counterpart in Clarence, and he understood +her as Arthur never could have done. Arthur was a grand, good, practical +man, but there was nothing of the artist-soul in him, she thought. But +she had hoped that he would always be her own and Clarence's friend. He +was such a noble friend! And now her hope was crushed. She could never +be the same to him again, she knew, and he had said farewell. + +"Good-bye, Beth--little Beth," he had said, and she lingered over the +last two words, "little Beth." Yes, she would be "little Beth" to him, +forever now, the little Beth that he had loved and roamed with over +meadow and woodland and wayside, in the sunny, bygone days. + +"Good-bye, Beth--little Beth." Poor Arthur! + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_'VARSITY._ + + +Friday morning came, the last day of September, and the train whistled +sharply as it steamed around the curve from Briarsfield with Beth at one +of the car-windows. It had almost choked her to say good-bye to her +father at the station, and she was still straining her eyes to catch the +last glimpse of home. She could see the two poplars at the gate almost +last of all, as the train bore her out into the open country. She looked +through her tears at the fields and hills, the stretches of woodland and +the old farm-houses, with the vines clambering over their porches, and +the tomatoes ripening in the kitchen window-sills. Gradually the tears +dried, for there is pleasure always in travelling through Western +Ontario, particularly on the lake-side, between Hamilton and Toronto. + +Almost the first one Beth saw, as the train entered Toronto station, +was Clarence, scanning the car-windows eagerly for her face. Her eyes +beamed as he came toward her. She felt as if at home again. Marie had +secured her room for her, and Beth looked around with a pleased air when +the cab stopped on St. Mary's street. It was a row of three-storey brick +houses, all alike, but a cheery, not monotonous, row, with the maples in +front, and Victoria University at the end of the street. A plump, cheery +landlady saw Beth to her room, and, once alone, she did just what +hundreds of other girls have done in her place--sat down on that big +trunk and wept, and wondered what "dear old daddy" was doing. But she +soon controlled herself, and looked around the room. It was a very +pretty room, with rocker and table, and a book-shelf in the corner. +There was a large window, too, opening to the south, with a view of St. +Michael's College and St. Basil's Church. Beth realized that this room +was to be her home for the coming months, and, kneeling down, she asked +that the presence of Christ might hallow it. + +She was not a very close follower of Christ, but the weakest child of +God never breathed a prayer unheard. + +It was such a pleasant treat when Marie tapped at the door just before +tea. It would be nice to have Marie there all winter. Beth looked around +the tea-table at the new faces: Mrs. Owen, at one end of the table, +decidedly stout; Mr. Owen, at the other end, decidedly lean. There were +two sweet-faced children, a handsome, gloomy-browed lawyer, and Marie at +her side. + +The next day, Clarence took Beth over to 'Varsity--as Toronto University +is popularly called--and she never forgot that bright autumn morning +when she passed under the arch of carved stone into the University +halls, those long halls thronged with students. Clarence left her in the +care of a gentle fourth-year girl. Beth was taken from lecturer to +lecturer until the registering was done, and then she stopped by one of +the windows in the ladies' dressing-room to gaze at the beautiful autumn +scenery around--the ravine, with its dark pines, and the Parliament +buildings beyond. Beth was beginning to love the place. + +We must not pause long over that first year that Beth spent at 'Varsity. +It passed like a flash to her, the days were so constantly occupied. But +her memory was being stored with scenes she never forgot. It was so +refreshing on the brisk, autumn mornings to walk to lectures through +the crimson and yellow leaves of Queen's Park: and, later in the year, +when the snow was falling she liked to listen to the rooks cawing among +the pines behind the library. Sometimes, too, she walked home alone in +the weird, winter twilight from the Modern Language Club, or from a late +lecture, her mind all aglow with new thoughts. Then there were the +social evenings in the gymnasium, with its red, blue and white +decorations, palms and promenades, and music of the orchestra, and hum +of strange voices. It was all new to Beth; she had seen so little of the +world. There was the reception the Y.W.C.A. gave to the +"freshettes"--she enjoyed that, too. What kind girls they were! Beth was +not slow to decide that the "'Varsity maid" would make a model wife, so +gentle and kindly and with such a broad, progressive mind. Still Beth +made hardly any friendships worthy of the name that first year. She was +peculiar in this respect. In a crowd of girls she was apt to like all, +but to love none truly. When she did make friends she came upon them +suddenly, by a sort of instinct, as in the case of Marie, and became so +absorbed in them she forgot everyone else. This friendship with Marie +was another feature of her present life that pleased her. She had +dropped out of Sunday-school work. She thought city Sunday-schools +chilly, and she spent many a Sunday afternoon in Marie's room. She liked +to sit there in the rocker by the grate fire, and listen to Marie talk +as she reclined in the cushions, with her dark, picturesque face. They +talked of love and life and books and music, and the world and its ways, +for Marie was clever and thoughtful. In after years Beth looked back on +those Sunday afternoons with a shadow of regret, for her feet found a +sweeter, holier path. Marie prided herself on a little tinge of +scepticism, but they rarely touched on that ground. The twilight shadows +gathered about the old piano in the corner, and the pictures grew dimmer +on the wall, and Marie would play soft love-songs on her guitar, and +sometime Beth would recite one of her poems. + +"Have you finished the novel you were writing last summer, Beth?" asked +Marie, one day. + +"No, there are just three more chapters, and I am going to leave them +till holidays, next summer, so I can give them my full time and +attention." + +"Tell me the story." + +Then Beth sat by the fire with a dreamy look on her face and told the +plot of her story. Marie leaned forward, a bright, delighted sparkle in +her dark eyes. Beth had never interested her like that before. She felt +encouraged, and Marie was in raptures when she had finished. + +"It's just splendid! Oh, Beth, how clever you are; you will be famous +soon. I shall be proud of your friendship." + +Beth did not enjoy as much of the company of Clarence as she had hoped +during these days, though he always brought her home from church on +Sunday evening. Marie was always with them. Beth never thought of +leaving her, and Clarence, too, seemed to enjoy her company. Beth was +pleased at this; she liked to have Clarence appreciate her friends. +Then, they three often went to the musical concerts; Beth liked those +concerts so much, and Marie's face would fairly sparkle sometimes, and +change with every wave of music. + +"Just look! Isn't Marie's face grand?" said Clarence one night in a +concert. + +Beth only smiled. That night she sat in the rocker opposite her mirror +and looked at her own reflection. + +"What a grave, grey-eyed face it is!" she thought. She loved music and +beautiful things, and yet she wondered why her eyes never sparkled and +glowed like Marie's. She wished they had more expression. And yet Marie +was not a pretty girl: no one would have thought for a moment of +calling her pretty. + +But what of Arthur? Beth was surprised that during all this time she had +seen him but once, though she lived so near to Victoria. That once was +in the University hall. She had studied late one afternoon, in the +reading-room, after the other girls were gone, and it was just where the +two corridors met that she came face to face with Arthur. He stopped, +and inquired about her studies and her health, and his eyes rested +kindly upon her for a moment; but he did not speak to her just like the +old Arthur. "Good-bye, Beth--little Beth." She recalled the words as she +passed down the long, deserted hall, with its row of lights on either +side. + +There was another thing that touched Beth. It was when Marie left them +just before the examinations in the spring; she was going to visit some +friends. Sweet Marie! How she would miss her. She sat by the +drawing-room window waiting to bid her good-bye. It was a bright April +day, with soft clouds and a mild breeze playing through the budding +trees. Marie came down looking so picturesque under her broad-brimmed +hat, and lifted her veil to receive Beth's farewell kiss. Beth watched +her as she crossed the lawn to the cab. Clarence came hurrying up to +clasp her hand at the gate. He looked paler, Beth thought; she hoped he +would come in, but he turned without looking at her window and hurried +away. Beth felt a little sad at heart; she looked at the long, empty +drawing-room, and sighed faintly, then went back upstairs to her books. + +And what had that winter brought to Beth? She had grown; she felt it +within herself. Her mind had stretched out over the great wide world +with its millions, and even over the worlds of the sky at night, and at +times she had been overwhelmed at the glory of earth's Creator. Yes, she +had grown; but with her growth had come a restlessness; she felt as +though something were giving way beneath her feet like an iceberg +melting in mild waters. There was one particular night that this +restlessness had been strong. She had been to the Modern Language Club, +and listened to a lecture on Walt Whitman, by Dr. Needler. She had never +read any of Whitman's poetry before, she did not even like it. But there +were phrases and sentences here and there, sometimes of Whitman's, +sometimes of Dr. Needler's, that awakened a strange incoherent music in +her soul--a new chord was struck. It was almost dark when she reached +her room, at the close of a stormy winter day. She stood at her window +watching the crimson and black drifts of cloud piled upon each other in +the west. Strife and glory she seemed to read in that sky. She thought +of Whitman's rugged manliness, of the way he had mingled with all +classes of men--mingled with them to do them good. And Beth's heart +cried out within her, only to do something in this great, weary +world--something to uplift, to ennoble men, to raise the lowly, to feed +and to clothe the uncared for, to brighten the millions of homes, to +lift men--she knew not where. This cry in Beth's heart was often heard +after that--to be great, to do something for others. She was growing +weary of the narrow boundaries of self. She would do good, but she knew +not how. She heard a hungry world crying at her feet, but she had not +the bread they craved. Poor, blinded bird, beating against the bars of +heaven! Clarence never seemed to understand her in those moods: he had +no sympathy with them. Alas, he had never known Beth Woodburn; he had +understood her intellectual nature, but he had never sounded the depths +of her womanly soul. He did not know she had a heart large enough to +embrace the whole world, when once it was opened. Poor, weak, blinded +Clarence! She was as much stronger than he, as the star is greater than +the moth that flutters towards it. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_ENDED._ + + +June was almost over, and Beth had been home a full month on that long +four months' vacation that university students are privileged to enjoy. +She was very ambitious when she came home that first vacation. She had +conceived a fresh ideal of womanhood, a woman not only brilliantly +educated and accomplished, but also a gentle queen of the home, one who +thoroughly understood the work of her home. Clarence was quite pleased +when she began to extol cooking as an art, and Dr. Woodburn looked +through the open kitchen-door with a smile at his daughter hidden behind +a clean white apron and absorbed in the mysteries of the pastry board. +Aunt Prudence was a little astonished, but she never would approve of +Beth's way of doing things--"didn't see the sense of a note-book and +lead-pencil." But Beth knew what she was doing in that respect. + +Then there were so many books that Beth intended to read in that +vacation! Marie had come to the Mayfair's, too, and helped her to pass +some pleasant hours. But there was something else that was holding +Beth's attention. It was Saturday evening, and that story was almost +finished, that story on which she had built so many hopes. She sat in +her room with the great pile of written sheets before her, almost +finished; but her head was weary, and she did not feel equal to writing +the closing scene that night. She wanted it to be the most touching +scene of all, and so it had to be rolled up for another week. Just then +the door-bell rang and Mrs. Ashley was announced, our old friend Edith +Mayfair, the same sweet, fair girl under another name. + +They sat down by the window and had a long chat. + +"Have you seen the new minister and his wife yet?" asked Edith. + +"No; I heard he was going to preach to-morrow." + +The Rev. Mr. Perth, as the new Methodist minister, was just now +occupying the attention of Briarsfield. + +"It's interesting to have new people come to town. I wonder if they +will be very nice. Are they young?" asked Beth. + +"Yes. They haven't been married so very long." + +"Edith"--Beth hesitated before she finished the quietly eager +enquiry--"do you still think marriage the best thing in the world?" + +Edith gave her friend a warm embrace in reply. "Yes, Beth, I think it +the very best thing, if God dwell in your home." + +"That sounds like Arthur," said Beth. + +"Do you ever hear of him. Where is he?" + +"I don't know where he is," said Beth, with a half sigh. + +Clarence walked home with Beth to dinner, after church, the next +morning. + +"How do you like the new minister?" Beth asked. + +"Oh, I think he's a clever little fellow." + +"So do I," said Beth. "He seems to be a man of progressive ideas. I +think we shall have bright, interesting sermons." + +Marie was slightly ill that Sunday, and did not come out. Clarence and +Beth took a stroll in the moonlight. The world looked bright and +beautiful beneath the stars, but Clarence was quieter even than usual, +and Beth sighed faintly. Clarence was growing strangely quiet and +unconfidential. He was certainly not a demonstrative lover. Perhaps, +after all, love was not all she had dreamed. She had painted her +dreamland too bright. She did not acknowledge this thought, even to her +own soul; but her heart was a little hungry that summer night. Poor +Beth! Before another Sabbath she was to know a greater pain than mere +weariness. The flames were being kindled that were to scorch that poor +heart of hers. + +It was about ten o'clock the next night when she finished her novel. +Somehow it gave her a grave feeling. Aunt Prudence was in bed, and Dr. +Woodburn had gone out into the country to a patient, and would not +return till midnight. The house was so still, and the sky and the stars +so beautiful; the curtains of her open window just moved in the night +air! It was all ended now--that dreamland which she had lived and loved +and gave expression to on those sheets of paper. Ended! And she was +sitting there with her pen in her hand, her work finished, bending over +it as a mother does over her child. She almost dreaded to resign it to a +publisher, to cast it upon the world. And yet it would return to her, +bringing her fame! She was sure of that. The last scene alone would make +her famous. She could almost see the sweet earnest-eyed woman in her +white robes at the altar; she could hear the sound of voices and the +tread of feet; she was even conscious of the fragrance of the flowers. +It was all so vivid to her! + +Then a sudden impulse seized her. She would like so much to show it to +Clarence, to talk to him, and feel his sympathy. He never retired much +before midnight, and it was scarcely ten minutes' walk. She would get +back before her father returned, and no one would know. Seizing her hat, +she went quietly out. It was a freak, but then Beth had freaks now and +then. A great black cloud drifted over the moon, and made everything +quite dark. A timid girl would have been frightened, but Beth was not +timid. + +She knew Clarence was likely to be in the library, and so went around to +the south side. The library window was quite close to the door of the +side hall, and as Beth came up the terrace, through the open window a +picture met her eyes that held her spell-bound. + +Clarence and Marie were sitting side by side on the sofa, a few feet +from the window. Marie's dark face was drooping slightly, her cheeks +flushed, and her lips just parted in a smile. There was a picture of the +Crucifixion on the wall above them, and rich violet curtains hanging to +one side. One of Marie's slender olive hands rested on the crimson +cushions at her side, the other Clarence was stroking with a tender +touch. Both were silent for a moment. Then Clarence spoke in a soft, low +tone: + +"Marie, I want to tell you something." + +"Do you? Then tell me." + +"I don't like to say it," he answered. + +"Yes, do. Tell me." + +"If I were not an engaged man,"--his voice seemed to tremble faintly, +and his face grew paler--"I should try and win you for my wife." + +Beth drew back a step, her young cheek colorless as death. No cry +escaped her white lips, but her heart almost ceased its beating. It was +only a moment she stood there, but it seemed like years. The dark, +blushing girl, the weak, fair-haired youth in whom she had placed her +trust, the pictures, the cushions, the curtains, every detail of the +scene, seemed printed with fire upon her soul. She was stung. She had +put her lips to the cup of bitterness, and her face looked wild and +haggard as she turned away. + +Only the stars above and the night wind sighing in the leaves, and a +heart benumbed with pain! A tall man passed her in the shadow of the +trees as she was crossing the lawn, but she paid no heed. The lights in +the village homes were going out one by one as she returned up the dark, +deserted street. The moon emerged from the clouds, and filled her room +with a flood of unnatural light just as she entered. She threw herself +upon her pillow, and a cry of pain went up from her wounded heart. She +started the next instant in fear lest some one had heard. But no, there +was no one near here, save that loving One who hears every moan; and +Beth had not learned yet that He can lull every sufferer to rest in His +bosom. The house was perfectly still, and she lay there in the darkness +and silence, no line changing in the rigid marble of her face. She heard +her father's step pass by in the hall; then the old clock struck out the +midnight hour, and still she lay in that stupor with drops of cold +perspiration on her brow. + +Suddenly a change came over her. Her cheeks grew paler still, but her +eyes burned. She rose and paced the room, with quick, agitated steps. + +"Traitress! Traitress!" she almost hissed through her white lips. "It is +_her_ fault. It is _her_ fault. And I called her _friend_. Friend! +Treachery!" + +Then she sank upon her bed, exhausted by the outburst of passion, for it +took but little of this to exhaust Beth. She was not a passionate girl. +Perhaps, never in her life before had she passed through anything like +passion, and she lay there now still and white, her hands folded as in +death. + +In the meantime something else had happened at the Mayfair dwelling. She +had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in +the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in +the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the +same scene in the library. He paused but a moment before entering, but +even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the +hall to the half-open curtains of the library. Marie's face was still +drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently, +and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the +door-way. + +"Clarence Mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation. "Clarence +Mayfair, you dare to speak words of love to that woman at your side? +You! Beth Woodburn's promised husband?" + +"Arthur Grafton!" exclaimed Clarence, and Marie drew back through the +violet curtains. + +A firm hand grasped Clarence by the shoulder, and, white with fear, he +stood trembling before his accuser. + +"Wretch! unworthy wretch! And you claim _her_ hand! Do you know her +worth?" + +"In the name of heaven, Grafton, don't alarm the house!" said Clarence, +in a terrified whisper. His lip trembled with emotion, and Arthur's dark +eyes flashed with fire. There was a shade of pitiful scorn in them, too. +After all, what a mere boy this delicate youth looked, he thought. +Perhaps he was too harsh. He had only heard a sentence or two outside +the window, and he might have judged too harshly. + +"I know it, I know I have wronged her," said Clarence, in a choked +voice; "but don't betray me!" + +There was a ring of true penitence and sorrow in the voice that touched +Arthur, and as he raised his face to that picture of the Crucifixion on +the wall, it softened gradually. + +"Well, perhaps I am severe. May God forgive you, Clarence. But it is +hard for a man to see another treat the woman he--well, there, I'll say +no more. Only promise me you will be true to her--more worthy of her." + +"I will try, Arthur. Heaven knows I have always meant to be honorable." + +"Then, good-bye, Clarence. Only you need not tell Beth you have seen me +to-night," said Arthur, as he turned to leave; "I shall be out of +Briarsfield before morning." + +Poor Arthur! Time had not yet healed his wound, but he was one of those +brave souls who can "suffer and be still." That night, as he was passing +through Briarsfield on the late train, a desire had seized him to go +back to the old place just once more, to walk up and down for a little +while before the home of the woman he loved. He did not care to speak to +her or to meet her face to face. She was another's promised wife. Only +to be near her home--to breathe one deep blessing upon her, and then to +leave before break of day, and she would never know he had been near. He +had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the +great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark +street toward the Mayfairs'. After a little while he had followed, even +approached the windows of Clarence Mayfair's home, hoping for one last +look. But he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only +seen what filled his heart with sorrow. A meaner man would have taken +advantage of the sight, and exposed his rival. But Arthur had anything +but a mean soul. He believed Beth loved Clarence, as he thought a woman +should love the man to whom she gives her life. He believed that God was +calling him to the mission-field alone. He had only caught a few words +that Clarence had said to Marie, and he fancied it may, after all, have +been mere nonsense. Surely he could not have ceased to love Beth! Surely +he could not be blind to her merits! Arthur saw only too truly how weak, +emotional and changeable Clarence was, but it was not his place to +interfere with those whom God had joined. So he argued to himself. + +But the night was passing, and Beth still lay there, no tear on her cold +white cheeks. The clock struck one, a knell-like sound in the night! +Beth lay there, her hands folded on her breast, the prayer unuttered by +her still lips--one for death. The rest were sleeping quietly in their +beds. They knew nothing of her suffering. They would never know. Oh, if +that silent messenger would but come now, and still her weary heart! +They would come in the morning to look at her. Yes; Clarence would come, +too. Perhaps he would love her just a little then. Perhaps he would +think of her tenderly when he saw her with the white roses in her hands. +Oh, was there a God in heaven who could look down on her sorrow +to-night, and not in pity call her home? She listened for the call that +would bear her far beyond this earthly strife, where all was such tangle +and confusion. She listened, but she heard it not, and the darkness +deepened, the moon grew pale and the stars faded away. The house was so +still! The whistle of a steam-engine broke the silence, and she saw the +red light as the train swept around the curve. It was bearing Arthur +away, and she did not know that one who loved her had been so near! Then +she saw a grey gleam in the east. Ah, no! she could not die. The day was +coming again, and she would have to face them all. She would sit in the +same place at the breakfast table. She would meet Clarence again, and +Marie--oh--oh, she could not bear the thought of it! She sat up on her +bedside with such a weary, anguished look in her eyes! Then she went to +kneel at the open window, where her mother had taught her to kneel long +years ago. Her sweet-faced, long-dead mother! When she raised her eyes +again the east was all aglow with the pink and purple dawn, and the +rooks were cawing in the pines across the meadow. She paced the floor +for a moment or two. + +"Yes, it must be done. I will do it," she thought. "He loves her. I will +not stand in the way of his happiness. No; I had rather die." + +And she took a sheet of note-paper, and wrote these simple words: + + "DEAR CLARENCE,--I do not believe you love me any more. I can never + be your wife. I know your secret. I know you love Marie. I have + seen it often in your eyes. Be happy with her, and forget me. May + you be very happy, always. Good-bye. BETH." + +She took it herself to the Mayfair home, knowing that her father would +only think she had gone out for a morning walk. The smoke-wreaths were +curling upward from the kitchen chimneys as she passed down the street, +and Squire Mayfair looked a little surprised when she handed him her +note for Clarence, and turned to walk away. + +That sleepless, tearless night had told upon her, and she was not able +to come down to breakfast. Her father came in, and looked at her with a +professional air. + +"Just what I told you, Beth. You've worked too hard. You need rest. +That's just what's the matter," he said, in a brusque voice, as he put +some medicine on the table and left the room. + +Rest! Yes, she could rest now. Her work was done. She looked at the +sheet of manuscript that she had taken last night to show Clarence. Yes, +the work was done. She had reached the end of her story--the end of her +prospect of marriage. Ended her labor--ended her life-dream! + +As for Clarence, he read her note without any emotion. + +"Humph! I didn't think Grafton was the fellow to make mischief so +quickly. A tale-bearer! Well, it's all for the best. I made a mistake. I +do not love Beth Woodburn. I cannot understand her." + +Beth slept, and seemed much better in the afternoon, but she was still +quite pale when she went into her father's room after tea. + +"Dear old daddy," she said, putting her arms about his neck, "you were +always so kind. You never refuse me anything if you can help it. I wish +you would let me go away." + +"Why, certainly, Beth, dear!" he said briskly. "Isn't that just what +I've been telling you? Stop writing all day in that hot room up-stairs. +Go off and have a frolic. Go and see your Aunt Margaret." + +And so it was settled that if Beth were well enough she should start for +Welland next afternoon. She did not see Clarence during the next +morning. It surprised her that he sought no explanation, and before +three o'clock Briarsfield was a mere speck in the distance. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_THE HEAVENLY CANAAN._ + + +Nearly two months later Beth returned home. Marie had broken off her +visit abruptly, and Clarence had gone away. It was a rainy Saturday, and +Beth sat waiting for her father to finish his rounds. Her visit had +refreshed her, and she looked fairly well again. After all, she had so +many bright prospects! She was young and talented. Her novel was +finished. She would read it through at once, making minor corrections, +and then publish it. With all youth's hopefulness, she was sure of fame +and worldly success, perhaps of wealth too. She seemed to see a rich +harvest-field before her as she sat listening to the rain beat on the +roof that summer afternoon. But, after all, she was not happy. Somehow, +life was all so hollow! So much tangle and confusion! Her young feet +were weary. It was not simply that her love was unreturned. That pained +her far less than she would have thought. It was that her idol was +shattered. Only in the last few weeks had she begun to see Clarence +Mayfair as he really was. It was a wonderfully deep insight into human +nature that Beth had; but she had never applied it where Clarence was +concerned before, and now that she did, what was it she saw?--a weak, +wavering, fickle youth, with a good deal of fine sentiment, perhaps, but +without firm, manly strength; ambitious, it was true, but never likely +to fulfil his ambitions. The sight pained her. And yet this was the one +she had exalted so, and had believed a soaring genius. True, his mind +had fine fibre in it, but he who would soar must have strength as well +as wings. Beth saw clearly just what Clarence lacked, and what can pain +a woman more deeply than to know the object she has idealized is +unworthy? + +Beth had not told her father yet that all was at an end between her and +Clarence. She dreaded telling him that, but she knew he must have +learned it from the Mayfairs during her absence. She sighed as she +thought of it all, and just then Dr. Woodburn came in and sat down on +the couch beside her. They talked until the twilight of that rainy +afternoon began to deepen. Then they were silent for a while, and Beth +saw her father looking at her with a tender look in his eyes. + +"Beth, my dear child, what is wrong between you and Clarence?" + +She had believed she could tell him all with perfect calmness, but there +was something so very gentle in his look and voice that it disarmed her, +and she threw both arms about his neck, and burst into tears. + +"Oh, father, dear, I could not marry him. It would not be right. He +loves Marie de Vere." + +Dr. Woodburn turned away his face, tenderly stroking her hair as she +leaned upon his breast. He spoke no word, but she knew what he felt. + +"Oh, daddy, dear, don't think anything about it," she said, giving him a +warm embrace as she looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "I'm +not unhappy. I have so many things to think of, and I have always you, +you dear old father. I love you better than anyone else on earth. I will +be your own little daughter always." + +She pressed her arms about him more tightly, and there were tears in his +eyes as he stooped to kiss her brow. + +Beth thought of all his tenderness that night as she lay in bed, and +then slept, with the rain beating on the roof overhead. + +It was a bright sunshiny Sabbath morning when she awoke. She remembered +with pleasure how much she had liked Mr. Perth, the new minister, that +Sunday. She had heard him before she went away. He had seemed such an +energetic, wide-awake, inspiring man! Beth liked that stamp of people. +She meant to be a progressive girl. She meant to labor much and to have +much success. + +She was quite early at church that morning, and interested herself by +looking at Mrs. Perth, whom she had never seen before. She was a fair, +slender, girlish creature--very youthful indeed for a married woman. She +had a great mass of light hair, drawn back plainly from a serenely fair +forehead. The fashion became her well, for, in fact, the most striking +thing about her face was its simplicity and purity. She was certainly +plain-looking, but Beth fancied her face looked like the white cup of a +lily. She had such beautiful blue eyes, too, and such a sweet smile. + +"I think I shall love her. I believe we shall be great friends," thought +Beth, after she had had an introduction to Mrs. Perth; and they did +become fast friends. + +Beth had seldom been at Sunday-school since she left home, but an +impulse seized her to go this afternoon. She was quite early, and she +sat down in a seat by herself to muse awhile. She gazed at the lilies +about the altar and the stained-glass windows above the organ. How long +it seemed to look back to that Sunday of two months ago! She shuddered +slightly, and tried to change her thoughts, but she could not help going +back to it. It seemed as though years had since passed. So it is always. +We go about our daily tasks, and the time passes swiftly or slowly, +according as our lives are active or monotonous. Then a crisis comes--an +upheaval--a turn in the current. It lasts but a moment, perhaps, but +when we look back, years seem to have intervened. Beth gave a half sigh, +and concluded she was a little weary, as the people poured into the +Bible-class. Mrs. Perth came and sat beside Beth. Is it not strange how, +in this world of formality and convention, we meet someone now and +again, and there is but a look, a word, a, smile, and we feel that we +have known them so long? There is something familiar in their face, and +we seem to have walked beside them all along the way. It was just so +with Beth and Mrs. Perth. Sweet May Perth! She soon learned to call her +that. + +Beth was never to forget that Sunday afternoon. Mr. Perth taught the +Bible-class. He was an enthusiastic man, reminding her somewhat of +Arthur. They were studying, that day, the approach of the Israelites to +Canaan, and as Mr. Perth grew more earnest, Beth's face wore a brighter +look of interest. Soon he laid aside historical retrospect, and talked +of the heavenly Canaan toward which Christ's people were journeying, a +bright land shining in the sunlight of God's love, joy in abundance, joy +overflowing! He looked so happy as he talked of that Divine love, +changeless throughout all time, throughout all eternity--a love that +never forsakes, that lulls the weary like a cradle-song, a love that +satisfies even the secret longings! Oh, that woman heart of hers, how it +yearned, yea, hungered for a love like that love, that could tread the +earth in humiliation, bearing the cross of others' guilt, dying there at +Calvary! She knew that old, old story well, but she drank it in like a +little wondering child to-day. What were those things He promised to +those who would tread the shining pathway? Life, peace, rest, hope, joy +of earth, joy of heaven! Oh, how she longed to go with them! The tears +were standing in her eyes, and her heart was beating faster. But this +one thing she must do, or turn aside from the promised land of God's +people. Down at the feet of Jesus she must lay her all. And what of that +novel she had written? Could she carry that over into this heavenly +Canaan? "The fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." Hers +would perish, she knew that well. Highly moral, highly refined and +scholarly, but what of its doubts, its shadows, its sorrows without +hope, its supernatural gloom? Beth was a master-artist in the field of +gloom. She knew how to make her readers shudder, but would that story of +hers bring more joy into the world? Would it sweeten life and warm human +hearts? Ah, no! And yet, could she destroy it now, before its +publication? Could she bear the thought of it? She loved it almost as a +mother loves her child. A look of indecision crossed her face. But, just +then, she seemed to hear the bells of heaven ringing forth their sweet +Gospel call. The bright sunshine and the angel voices of a higher life +seemed to break in on her soul. In a moment--she never knew how it +was--she became willing to surrender all. It was hardly a year since she +had said nay to Arthur, when he asked her to lay her life at the feet of +that same Jesus of Nazareth. She refused then, and even one hour ago +she would still have refused; but now she would have trudged the +highways, poverty-stricken, unknown and obscure, for His dear sake. She +would have gone forth, like St. Paul, to the uttermost ends of the +earth, she felt she loved Him so! There were tears in her eyes, and a +new joy seemed to throb in her heart. She felt so kindly to everyone +about her. Was it an impulse or what? She laid her hand softly on May +Perth's as she sat beside her, and May, looking into her eyes, seemed to +read her heart. She held her hand with a warm, loving pressure, and they +were friends from that hour. + +Even the sunlight looked more golden when Beth stepped out into it that +afternoon. Everything had caught a tint from the pearly gates, for that +hour had been a turning-point in her life. She had found the secret of +life--the secret of putting self utterly into the background and living +for others' happiness; and they who find that secret have the key to +their own happiness. The old tinge of gloom in her grey eyes passed +away, and, instead, there came into them the warmth and light of a new +life. They seemed to reach out over the whole world with tender +sympathy, like a deep, placid sea, with the sunlight gilding, its +depths. + +"Beth, you are growing beautiful," her father said to her one day; and +there were something so reverential in his look that it touched her too +deeply to make her vain. + +The four weeks that remained before the first of October, when she was +to return to college, passed quickly. Clarence did not return, and she +heard that he had gone to England, intending to take his degree at +Cambridge. The Ashleys, too, had left Briarsfield, as Mr. Ashley had +secured a principalship east of Toronto. Beth heard nothing more of +Marie, though she would so gladly have forgiven her now! + +Beth soon became quite absorbed in her new friend, May Perth. She told +her one day of her fancy that her face looked like a lily-cup. Mrs. +Perth only laughed and kissed her, in her sweet, unconscious way. Beth +always loved to kiss May Perth's brow; it was so calm and fair, it +reminded her of the white breast of a dove. + +Just three or four days before Beth was to go away, Aunt Prudence came +into her room at a time when she was alone. + +"Did you ever see this picture that Arthur left in his room when he went +away last fall?" she asked. "I don't know whether he did it himself or +not." + +She placed it in the light and left the room. Beth recognized it almost +instantly. + +"Why, it's that poem of mine that Arthur liked best of all!" she +thought. + +Yes, it was the very same--the grey rocks rising one above another, the +broad white shore, and the lonely cottage, with the dark storm-clouds +lowering above it, and the fisherman's bride at the window, pale and +anxious, her sunny hair falling about her shoulders as she peered far +out across the sea--the black, storm-tossed sea--and far out among the +billows the tiny speck of sail that never reached the shore. Beth was no +connoisseur of art, but she knew the picture before her was intensely +beautiful, even sublime. There was something in it that made her _feel_. +It moved her to tears even as Arthur's music had done. No need to tell +her both came from the same hand. Besides, no one else had seen that +poem but Arthur. And Arthur could paint like this, and yet she had said +he had not an artist soul. She sighed faintly. Poor Arthur! Perhaps, +after all, she had been mistaken. And she laid the picture carefully +away among her treasures. + +Her last evening at home soon came. It was a clear, chilly night, and +they had a fire in the drawing-room grate. It was so cosy to sit there +with her father, resting her head on his shoulders, and watching the +coals glowing in the twilight. + +"Beth, my child, you look so much happier lately. Are you really so +happy?" he said, after they had been talking for a while. + +"Oh, I think life is so very happy!" said Beth, in a buoyant tone. "And +when you love Jesus it is so much sweeter, and somehow I like everyone +so much and everybody is so kind. Oh, I think life is grand!" + +Dr. Woodburn was a godly man, and his daughter's words thrilled him +sweetly. He brushed away a tear she did not see, and stooped to kiss the +young cheek resting on his coat-sleeve. They were silent for a few +moments. + +"Beth, my dear," he said in a softer tone, "Do you know, I thought that +trouble last summer--over Clarence--was going to hurt you more. How is +it, Beth?" + +She hesitated a moment. + +"I don't believe I really loved him, father," she said, in a quiet tone, +"I thought I did. I thought it was going to break my heart that night I +found out he loved Marie. But, somehow, I don't mind. I think it is far +better as it is. Oh, daddy, dear, it's so nice I can tell you things +like this. I don't believe all girls can talk to their fathers this +way. But I--I always wanted to be loved--and Clarence was different from +other people in Briarsfield, you know, and I suppose I thought we were +meant for each other." + +Dr. Woodburn did not answer at once. + +"I don't think you would have been happy with him, Beth," he said, after +a little. "All has been for the best. I was afraid you didn't know what +love meant when you became engaged to him. It was only a school-girl's +fancy." + +"Beth, I am going to tell you something," he said a moment later, as he +stroked her hair. "People believe that I always took a special interest +in Arthur Grafton because his father saved my life when we were boys, +but that was not the only reason I loved him. Years ago, down along the +Ottawa river, Lawrence Grafton was pastor in the town where I had my +first practice. He was a grand fellow, and we were the greatest friends. +I used to take him to see my patients often. He was just the one to +cheer them up. Poor fellow! Let's see, it's seventeen years this fall +since he died. It was the first summer I was there, and Lawrence had +driven out into the country with me to see a sick patient. When we were +coming back, he asked me to stop with him at a farm-house, where some +members of his church lived. I remember the place as if I had seen it +yesterday, an old red brick building, with honeysuckle climbing about +the porch and cherry-trees on the lawn. The front door was open, and +there was a flight of stairs right opposite, and while we waited for an +answer to the bell a beautiful woman, tall and graceful, paused at the +head of the stairs above us, and then came down. To my eyes she was the +most beautiful woman I had ever seen, Beth. She was dressed in white, +and had a basket of flowers on her arm. She smiled as she came towards +us. Her hair was glossy-black, parted in the middle, and falling in +waves about her smooth white forehead; but her eyes were her real +beauty, I never saw anything like them, Beth. They were such great, +dark, tender eyes. They seemed to have worlds in them. It was not long +before I loved Florence Waldon. I loved her." His voice had a strange, +deep pathos in it. "She was kind to me always, but I hardly dared to +hope, and one day I saw her bidding good-bye to Lawrence. It was only a +look and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me. I kept silent +about my love from that hour, and one evening Lawrence came to my rooms. + +"'Congratulate me, Arthur!' he cried, in a tone that bubbled over with +joy. I knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed my +face. 'Congratulate me, Arthur! I am going to marry Florence Waldon next +month, and you must be best man.' + +"I did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and I was best man +at the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him Arthur +after me. He is the Arthur Grafton you have known. But poor Lawrence! +Little Arthur was only a few months old when she took sick. They called +me in, and I did all I could to save her, but one night, as Lawrence and +I stood by her bedside--it was a wild March night, and the wind was +moaning through the shutters while she slept--suddenly she opened her +eyes with a bright look. + +"'Oh, Lawrence, listen, they are singing!' she cried, 'it is so +beautiful; I am going home--good-bye--take care of Arthur,' and she was +gone." + +Dr. Woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster. + +"After that I came to Briarsfield and met your mother, Beth. She seemed +to understand from my face that I had suffered, and after we had become +friends I told her that story, that I had never told to mortal before or +since till now. She was so very tender, and I saw in her face that she +loved me, and by-and-by I took her to wife, and she healed over the +wound with her gentle hands. She was a sweet woman, Beth. God bless her +memory. But the strange part of the story is, Florence Waldon's brother, +Garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of the +pine-wood. She had two other brothers, one a talented editor in the +States, the other a successful lawyer. Garth, too, was a bright, +original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up to +it. He was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor Lawrence +died he left little Arthur--he was three years old then--to him. The +dear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother. He used to come +and hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do you +remember a few years later, when your own sweet mother died, how he came +to comfort you and filled your lap with flowers?" + +Yes, Beth remembered it all, and the tears were running down her cheeks +as she drooped her head in silence. The door-bell broke the stillness +just then. Dr. Woodburn was wanted. Bidding Beth a hasty but tender +good-bye, he hurried off at the call of duty. Beth sat gazing at the +coal-fire in silence after her father left. Poor dear old father! What +a touching story it was! He must have suffered so, and yet he had buried +his sorrow and gone about his work with smiling face. Brave, heroic +soul! Beth fell to picturing it all over again with that brilliant +imagination of hers, until she seemed to see the tall woman, with her +beautiful dark eyes and hair, coming down the stairs, just as he had +seen her. She seemed to hear the March winds moan as he stepped out into +the night and left the beautiful young wife, pale in death. Then she +went to the window and looked out at the stars in the clear sky, and the +meadow tinged with the first frost of autumn; and the pine-wood to the +north, with the moon hanging like a crescent of silver above it. It was +there, at that window, Arthur had asked her to be his wife. Poor Arthur! +She was glad her father did not know. It would have pained him to think +she had refused the son of the woman he had loved. + +Beth lingered a little, gazing at the clear frosty scene before her, +then rose with a firm look on her face and went up to her room. There +was one thing more to be done before she left home to-morrow. She had +resolved upon it. It was dark in her room, but she needed no light to +recognize that roll of manuscript in her drawer. She hesitated a moment +as she touched it tenderly. Must she do it? Yes, ah, yes! She could not +publish that story now. Just then the picture of Arthur seemed to flash +through her mind, reading it and tossing it down with that cold, silent +look she had sometimes seen on his face. It was dark in the hall as she +carried it down to the drawing-room grate. She crouched down on the +hearth-rug before the coals, and a moment later the flames that played +among the closely-written sheets lighted her face. Nothing but a +blackened parchment now for all that proud dream of fame! The room grew +dark again, and only the coals cracking and snapping, and the steady +ticking of the old clock on the mantel piece above her head, broke the +stillness. It was done. She went to the window and knelt down. + +"Father, I have sacrificed it for Thee. Take this talent Thou hast given +me and use it for Thy honor, for I would serve Thee alone, Father." + +She slept that night with a smile on her lips. Yes, friend, it was a +hero's deed, and He who alone witnessed it hath sealed her brow with a +light such as martyrs wear in heaven. As for the world, oh, that every +book filled with dark doubts and drifting fears and shuddering gloom had +perished, too, in those flames! + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_'VARSITY AGAIN._ + + +In a few days Beth was settled again at Mrs. Owen's, on St. Mary's +Street, and tripping to her lectures as usual. Marie was not there, of +course, and Beth knew nothing of her whereabouts. In fact, there had +been a complete change of boarders. The house was filled with 'Varsity +girls this year, with the exception of Marie's old room, a change which +Beth appreciated. One of the girls was a special friend of hers, a +plump, dignified little creature whom most people called pretty. Hers +was certainly a jolly face, with those rosy cheeks and laughing brown +eyes, and no one could help loving Mabel Clayton. She belonged to the +Students' Volunteer Movement, and as this was her last year at college, +Beth thought sometimes a little sorrowfully of the following autumn when +she was to leave for India. + +Beth meant to have her spend a few days at Briarsfield with her next +summer. But a good many things were to happen to Beth before the next +summer passed. A Victoria student was occupying Marie's old room, but as +he took his meals out of the house Beth never even saw him. One of the +girls who saw him in the hall one day described him as "just too nice +looking for anything," but Beth's interest was not aroused in the +stranger. + +That was a golden autumn for Beth, the happiest by far she had ever +known. She was living life under that sweet plan of beginning every day +afresh, and thinking of some little act of kindness to be done. Beth +soon began to believe the girls of University College were the very +kindest in the world; but she would have been surprised, to hear how +often they remarked, "Beth Woodburn is always so kind!" There was +another treat that she was enjoying this year, and that was Dr. Tracy's +lectures. + +"I think he is an ideal man," she remarked once to Mabel Clayton. "I'm +not in love with him, but I think he's an ideal man." + +Mabel was an ardent admirer of Dr. Tracy's, too, but she could not help +laughing at Beth's statement. + +"You are such a hero-worshipper, Beth!" she said. "You put a person up +on a pedestal, and then endow him with all the virtues under the sun." + +A peculiar look crossed Beth's face. She remembered one whom she had +placed on the pedestal of genius, and the idol had fallen, shattered at +her feet. + +She was still the same emotional Beth. There were times when without any +outward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost +cried out, "Oh stay, happy moment, till I drink to the full my draught +of joy!" + +Arthur's painting hung above Beth's study table, and sometimes a shadow +crossed her face as she looked at it. She missed the old friendship, and +she wondered, too, that she never met him anywhere. + +Beth did not go home at Thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted +it the evening before. She was a little homesick for "daddy," and to +dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early. Her +head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of +music in the drawing-room down-stairs. She rose in bed to listen, it was +so like Arthur's music. She was not at all familiar with the piece, but +it thrilled her somehow. There was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes +at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was +bearing her very soul away! Then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold +and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her eyes! Clearer again, +and more triumphant! Her lips parted as she listened. One sweet +prolonged swell, and it died away. She listened for more, but all was +silent. She looked out of the window at the stars in the clear sky, and +the dark shadow of St. Michael's tower on the snow-covered college roof, +then fell back among the pillows to sleep and dream. + +She was walking again on the old path by the road-side at home, just as +she used to go every evening for the milk. The dusk was deepening and +she began to hurry, when she noticed a tall, dark figure ahead. As she +drew nearer she recognized Arthur's broad shoulders and well-set head. +Then a strange, indefinable fear seized her. She did not want to +overtake him, to meet him face to face. She tried to slacken her steps, +but a mysterious, resistless wind seemed to bear her forward against her +will. Not a leaf stirred. All was still around her, and yet that +uncanny, spirit-like wind urged her on. She struggled, and although +Arthur never looked back, she felt that he knew all about her struggles. +At last she made one mighty effort and tore herself free. She took the +path on the other side of the road. It was all quiet there, and she +walked on slowly. The darkness grew thicker, and she lost sight of +Arthur. Then the country became quite new to her. There were bridges +every little way--old rickety bridges, that creaked beneath her step, +with holes where she caught her feet, and she could hear the great wild +torrents rushing below in the darkness. She grew frightened. Oh, how she +wished Arthur were there! Then suddenly it grew lighter, and she saw +that her path was turning, and lo! there was Arthur! A moment more and +their paths would meet. He reached the spot a few steps before her, and +turning, looked at her just once, but she saw in his look that he knew +all that had passed in her heart. "Follow me," he said, with a tender +look; and she followed in silence where the path led between the steep, +high banks, where strange flowers were clinging in the dim light. She +was quite content now, not frightened any longer. Then the bank opened +by their pathway, and he led her into a strange, sandy, desert-looking +place. They entered a shadowy tent, and in the dim light she could see +strange faces, to whom Arthur was talking. No one noticed her, but she +did not feel slighted, for though he did not look at her, she felt that +he was thinking of her. Then suddenly the strange faces vanished, and +she was alone with Arthur. He came toward her with such a beautiful +smile, and there was something in his hand of bright gold--the brightest +gold she had ever seen. It was a golden spear with a tiny ring on one +end and a mass of chain hanging to it; but lo! when she looked around +her she saw it had filled the place with a beautiful mystic light, a +golden halo. Then he drew her nearer, nearer to his bosom, and in a +moment she felt the spear point touch her heart! An instant of pain, +then it pierced her with a deep, sweet thrill. She felt it even to her +finger tips. She awoke with a start, but she could almost feel that +thrill even after she was awake. She could not sleep again quickly, but +lay watching the stars and the moonlight growing paler on her book-case. +Sleep came at length, and when she awoke again it was at the sound of +Mr. Owen's jolly "Heigho! Everybody up! Everybody up!" This was a way he +had of waking the children in good time for breakfast, and it had the +merit of always arousing the boarders, too. Beth naturally supposed that +the musician she had heard the night before had been a caller, and so +made no enquiries. + +The following Sunday evening Beth went to church alone. It was only +three or four blocks up to the Central, and Beth was never timid. She +did not look around the church much, or she would have recognized a +familiar face on the east side. It was Clarence Mayfair's; he was paler +than usual, and his light curly hair looked almost artificial in the +gaslight. There was something sadder and more manly in his expression, +and his eyes were fixed on Beth with a reverent look. How pure she was, +he thought, how serene; her brow looked as though an angel-hand had +smoothed it in her slumber. She seemed to breathe a benediction on +everything around her; she reminded him of an image of an angel bending +in prayer, that he had seen in one of the old cathedral windows across +the sea. And yet, after knowing a woman like that, he had fancied he +could--even fancied he did--love Marie de Vere. What folly had blinded +him then, he wondered? Marie had her charms, to be sure, with those +dark, bewitching eyes of hers, so kind and sympathetic, so bright and +witty and entertaining. But there was something about Marie that was +fleeting, something about Beth that was abiding; Marie's charms +bewitched while she was present and were soon forgotten, but Beth's +lingered in the memory and deepened with the years. It was well, after +all, he thought, that Marie had refused his offer of marriage that +morning he received Beth's note, and went to her in the heat of his +passion. He was but a boy then, and yet it was only a few months ago. +What was it that had changed him from boyhood to manhood so suddenly? He +did not try to answer the question, but only felt conscious of the +change within. He realized now that he had never known what it meant to +love. Marie had shed her lustre on him as she passed; Beth he had never +fully comprehended. He had a dim feeling that she was somehow too high +for him. But would this reverence he felt for her ripen into love with +the maturer years of his manhood? We never can tell the changes that +time will weave in these hearts of ours. It is to be feared Clarence was +not a very attentive listener throughout the service that night. At the +close he waited for Beth in the moonlight outside, but she did not +notice him till he was right beside her. + +"Clarence!" she exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. "Why, I thought +you were in England." + +"So I was; but I am back, you see." + +"I thought you were going to take a year at Cambridge." + +"I did intend to, but I found it too expensive. Besides, I thought I +wouldn't bother finishing my course. I am doing some work along the +journalistic line at present. I just came to Toronto last night, and +intend to leave Tuesday or Wednesday." + +In the first moment of her surprise she had forgotten everything except +that Clarence was an old friend from home; but now, as he walked beside +her, it all came back like a flash--the memory of that night last summer +when she had seen him last. She grew suddenly silent and embarrassed. +She longed to ask him about Marie; she wondered if they were engaged, +and if so where she was, but she soon controlled herself and asked him +about his trip to England, about his mother, about his work, about Edith +and everything else of possible or impossible interest. She was +relieved, without knowing why, that it was only a few blocks to her +boarding-place. He lingered a moment as he said good-night, and +something in his look touched her a little. Only the stirring of old +memories. She hardly knew whether she was pleased or not to meet him +again; but as she entered her room in the darkness her dream seemed to +flash across her memory and a tender voice said, "Follow me." + +Clarence strolled a little way into the park, pondering on the past. He +had never asked Beth for an explanation of her farewell note. He +naturally supposed that Arthur Grafton had gone directly to her that +night and caused the rupture. He wondered if Arthur were in love with +her. Then he turned suddenly and walked back by St. Mary's Street to +Yonge. The street was almost deserted; there was only one figure in +sight, a tall man drawing nearer. There was No.----, where he had left +Beth at the door. He had just passed a few more doors when a familiar +voice startled him. It was Arthur Grafton! Clarence felt ill at ease for +a moment, but Arthur's tone was so kind it dispelled his embarrassment. +They talked for a few moments, then parted; and Clarence, looking back a +moment later, saw Arthur ring the bell at Beth's boarding-place. A +peculiar look, almost a sneer, crossed his face for a moment. + +"Ah, he is going in to spend the evening with his beloved," he thought. + +And Clarence resolved, then and there, not to call on Beth the following +day, as he had intended. + +But Arthur proceeded absently to the room Marie had formerly occupied, +without the slightest idea that Beth had lived in the house with him +nearly two months. It was strange, but though he had seen all the other +girls in the house he had never seen Beth. He had not enquired her +address the year before, not wishing to know. He wished to have nothing +to do with Clarence Mayfair's promised wife. She was nothing to him. +Should he encourage the love he felt for another's wife? No! He had +loved with all the strength of that love that comes but once to any +human heart, and he had suffered as only the strong and silent can +suffer; but he had resolved to bury his pain, and it had given his face +a sterner look. So he lay down to rest that night all unconscious that +Beth was in the room just overhead; that he had heard her footsteps +daily, even listened to her humming little airs to unrecognizable tunes; +but the sight of Clarence Mayfair had aroused the past, and he did not +sleep till late. + +The following afternoon, as Beth sat studying in her room after +lectures, she heard a faint tap at her door, a timid knock that in some +way seemed to appeal strangely to her. She opened the door--and there +stood Marie! In the first moment of her surprise Beth forgot everything +that had separated them, and threw both arms about her in the old +child-like way. She seated her in the rocker by the window and they +talked of various things for a while, but Beth noticed, now and then, +an uneasy look in her eyes. + +"She has come to tell me she is going to marry Clarence, and she finds +it difficult, poor girl," thought Beth, with a heart full of sympathy. + +"Beth," said Marie at last, "I have wronged you. I have come here to ask +you to forgive me." + +Beth belonged to the kind of people who are always silent in +emergencies, so she only looked at her with her great tender eyes, in +which there was no trace of resentment. + +"I came between you and Clarence Mayfair. He never loved me. It was only +a fancy. I amused and interested him, I suppose. That was all. He is +true to you in the depths of his heart, Beth. It was my fault--all my +fault. He never loved me. It was you he loved, but I encouraged him. It +was wrong, I know." + +Something seemed to choke her for a moment. + +"Will you forgive me, Beth? Can you ever forgive?" + +She was leaning forward gracefully, her fur cape falling back from her +shoulders and her dark eyes full of tears. + +Beth threw both arms about her old friend tenderly, forgetting all the +bitter thoughts she had once had. + +"Oh, Marie, dear, I love you--I love you still. Of course I forgive +you." + +Then Beth told her all the story of the past, and of that night when she +had learned that Clarence did not love her, of her wounded vanity, her +mistaken belief in the genuineness of her own love for him, and her +gradual awakening to the fact that it was not love after all. + +"Then it wasn't Mr. Grafton at all who made the trouble?" interrupted +Marie. + +"Mr. Grafton? Why, no! What could he have to do with it?" + +"Oh, nothing. We thought, at least Clarence thought, he made the +trouble." + +Beth looked mystified, but Marie only continued in a softened tone: + +"I am afraid you don't know your own heart, dear Beth. You will come +together again, and all will be forgotten." + +"No, Marie, never! The past was folly. All is better as it is." + +A pained look that Beth could not fathom drifted across Marie's brow. +"You think so now, but you will change," she said. + +A knock at the door interrupted them just then, as Mrs. Owen announced a +friend of Beth's. + +Marie kissed her gently. + +"Good-bye, Beth," she said in her sweet low voice, and there was a +tender sadness in her dark eyes. Beth did not know its meaning at the +time, but a day was coming when she would know. + +Beth saw nothing more of Clarence during his few days in the city. She +wondered sometimes if Marie had seen him, but though they saw each other +occasionally during the rest of the winter, neither of them mentioned +his name. + +That week had seemed eventful in Beth's eyes, but it was more eventful +even than she thought. The following Saturday, after tea, as Beth and +Mabel Clayton were going back upstairs, Beth had seated Mabel by force +on the first step of the second flight to tell her some funny little +story. Beth was in one of her merry moods that night. Beth was not a +wit, but she had her vein of mirth, and the girls used to say she was +growing livelier every day. The gas was not lighted in the hall, but +Beth had left her door open and the light shone out on the head of the +stairs. A moment later they started up with their arms about each +other's waist. + +"Oh, Beth, I left that note-book down stairs. Wait, I'll bring it up to +you." + +Beth waited, standing in the light as her friend scampered down again. +She heard the door of Marie's old room open, and a tall man stepped into +the hall, but as it was dark below she could not see his face. She +wondered, though, why he stood so still, and she had a consciousness +that someone was looking at her. + +Arthur Grafton--for it was he--stood for a moment as if stunned. There +she was--Beth Woodburn! The woman he--hush! Clarence Mayfair's promised +wife! She looked even beautiful as she stood there in the light, with a +smile on her face and a pure white chrysanthemum at her throat. + +"You needn't hurry so, Mabel dear. I can wait," she said as her friend +approached. + +It was over a year since he had heard that voice, and he had tried to +believe his heart was deadened to its influence; but now to-night, at +the first sound, it thrilled him again with its old-time music. A moment +later she closed her door and the hall was dark, and his heart began to +beat faster now that he grasped the truth. He turned again to his room, +filled with the soft radiance of moonlight. He leaned back in his study +chair, his eyes closed; he could hear the students of St. Michael's +chanting an evening hymn, and an occasional cab rattled past in the +street below. He noted it as we note all little details in our moments +of high excitement. Then a smile gradually lighted up his face. Oh, +sweet love! For one moment it seemed to be mastering him. She was there. +Hark! Was that her footstep overhead? Oh, to be near her--to touch her +hand just once! + +Then a stern, dark frown settled on his brow. He rose and paced the room +with a sort of frenzied step. What is she to you--Clarence Mayfair's +promised wife? Arthur Grafton, what is she to you? Oh, that love, deep +and passionate, that comes to us but once! That heart-cry of a strong +soul for the one being it has enshrined! Sometimes it is gratified and +bears in after years its fruits, whether sweet or bitter; or again, it +is crushed--blighted in one moment, perhaps--and we go forth as usual +trying to smile, and the world never knows, never dreams. A few years +pass and our hearts grow numb to the pain, and we say we have +forgotten--that love can grow cold. Cold? Yes; but the cold ashes will +lie there in the heart--the dust of our dead ideal! Would such a fate be +Arthur's? No. There was no room in that great pulsing heart of his for +anything that was cold--no room for the chill of forgetfulness. Strive +as he might, he knew he could never forget. What then remained? Even in +that hour a holier radiance lighted his brow. Strong to bear the +burdens and sorrows of others, he had learned to cast all his care upon +One who had never forsaken him--even his unrequited love. He laid it on +the altar of his God, to bloom afresh, a beauteous flower transplanted +by the River of Life, beyond the blight of envy and of care--beyond, yet +near enough to earth to scatter its fragrance in blessings down upon the +head of her whom he--loved! Dare he say that word? Yes, in a sweeter, +holier sense than before, as one might love the beings of another world. +His face was quite calm as he turned on the light to resume his studies, +but before beginning his work he looked a little sadly around the room. +Yes, he had spent pleasant hours there, but he must leave, now. It was +better that the same roof should not shelter them both. He did not wish +to see Beth Woodburn again; and he just remembered that a friend of his +was going to vacate a room on the other side of the park. He would take +it early next week. + +It was a week later, one afternoon, just before tea, that Beth and Mabel +Clayton were sitting in the drawing-room with Mrs. Owen. + +"Do you know any of the girls over at the college who would like to get +a room, Miss Clayton?" + +"No, but I might find some one." + +"Mr. Grafton has moved out of his room for some reason, I don't know +what." + +"Mr.--whom did you say?" asked Beth. + +"Mr. Grafton. Did you know him? A tall, dark fellow! Goes to Victoria. +Quite good-looking!" + +"Why, surely, can it be Arthur Grafton! That's just who it is! Why, how +funny we never met each other coming in and out!" + +"Did you know him, Beth?" asked Mabel. "I met him once or twice in the +halls, but I didn't know you knew him." + +"Yes, I have known him ever since we were children." + +"Oh, then you have heard him play," said Mrs. Owens. "He played for us +Thanksgiving eve. He's a splendid musician." + +Beth felt just a tinge of disappointment that night as she passed the +closed door of the room Arthur had occupied. She wondered why he never +tried to find her. It was unkind of him to break the old friendship so +coldly. It was not her fault she could not love him, she thought. She +could never, never do that! In fact, she did not believe she would ever +love any man. + +"Some people are not made for marriage, and I think I'm one of them." +And Beth sighed faintly and fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +_DEATH._ + + +Christmas eve, and Beth was home for her two weeks' holidays. It was +just after tea, and she and her father thought the parlor decidedly +cosy, with the curtains drawn and the candles flaming among the holly +over the mantel-piece. It seemed all the cosier because of the storm +that raged without. The sleet was beating against the pane, and the wind +came howling across the fields. Beth parted the curtains once, and +peeped out at the snow-wreaths whirling and circling round. + +"Dear! such a storm! I am glad you're not out to-night, daddy." + +Beth came back to the fire-side, and passed her father a plate of +fruit-cake she had made herself. + +"It's too fresh to be good, but you mustn't find any fault. Just eat +every bit of it down. Oh, Kitty, stop!" + +They had been cracking walnuts on the hearth-rug, and Beth's pet kitten +was amusing itself by scattering the shells over the carpet. + +Beth sat down on the footstool at her father's feet. + +"You look well after your fall's work, Beth; hard study doesn't seem to +hurt you." + +"I believe it agrees with me, father." + +"Did you see much of Arthur while you were in Toronto, Beth? I was +hoping you would bring him home for the Christmas holidays." + +"No, I never saw him once." + +"Never saw him once!" + +He looked at her a little sternly. + +"Beth, what is the matter between you and Arthur?" + +Ding! The old door-bell sounded. Beth drooped her head, but the bell had +attracted her father's attention, and Aunt Prudence thrust her head into +the parlor in her unceremonious way. + +"Doctor, that Brown fellow, by the mill, is wuss, an' his wife's took +down, too. They think he's dyin'." + +"Oh, daddy, I can't let you go out into this dreadful storm. Let me go +with you." + +"Nonsense, child! I must go. It's a matter of life and death, perhaps. +Help me on with my coat, daughter, please, I've been out in worse storms +than this." + +Beth thought her father looked so brave and noble in that big otter +overcoat, and his long white beard flowing down. She opened the door for +him, and the hall light shone out into the snow. She shuddered as she +saw him staggering in the wind and sleet, then went back into the +parlor. It seemed lonely there, and she went on to the kitchen, where +Aunt Prudence was elbow-deep in pastry. A kitchen is always a cheerful +place at Christmas time. Beth's fears seemed quieted, and she went back +to the parlor to fix another branch of holly about a picture. Ding! Was +any one else sick, she wondered, as she went to answer the bell. She +opened the door, and there stood Mrs. Perth! It was really she, looking +so frail and fair in her furs. + +"Why, May, dear! What are you doing out in this storm?" + +"Oh, I'm nearly half dead, Beth." She tried to laugh, but the attempt +was not exactly a success. + +Beth took her in to the fire, removed her wraps, all matted with snow, +and called to Aunt Prudence for some hot tea. + +"Is your father out to-night, Beth?" asked May. + +"Yes, he went away out to the Browns'. But wherever have you been?" + +"I've been taking some Christmas things to a poor family about two miles +out in the country, and I didn't think the storm so very bad when I +started; but I'm like the Irishman with his children, I've 'more'n I +want'--of sleet, at any rate. Walter is away to-night, you know." + +"Mr. Perth away! Where?" + +"Oh, he went to Simcoe. He has two weddings. They are friends of ours, +and we didn't like to refuse. But it's mean, though," she continued, +with a sweet, affected little pout; "he'll not get back till afternoon, +and it's Christmas, too." + +"Oh, May dear, you'll just stay right here with us to-night, and for +dinner to-morrow. Isn't that just fine!" Beth was dancing around her in +child-like glee. Mrs. Perth accepted, smiling at her pleasure; and they +sat on the couch, chatting. + +"Did you say Dr. Woodburn had gone to the Browns'." + +"Yes, Mrs. Brown is sick, too." + +"Oh, isn't it dreadful? They're so poor, too. I don't believe they've a +decent bed in the house." + +"Eight! There, the clock just struck. Father ought to be back. It was +only a little after six when he went out." + +She looked anxiously at the drawn curtains, but the sleet beating harder +and harder upon the pane was her only answer. + +"There he is now!" she cried, as a step entered the hall, and she rushed +to meet him. + +"Oh, daddy, dear--why, father!" + +Her voice changed to wonder and fear. His overcoat was gone and he +seemed a mass of ice and snow. His beard was frozen together; his breath +came with a thick, husky, sound, and he looked so pale and exhausted. +She led him to the fire, and began removing his icy garments. She was +too frightened to be of much use, but May's thoughtful self was flitting +quietly around, preparing a hot drink and seeing that the bed was ready. +He could not speak for a few minutes, and then it was only brokenly. + +"Poor creatures! She had nothing over her but a thin quilt, and the snow +blowing through the cracks; and I just took off my coat--and put it over +her. I thought I could stand it." + +Beth understood it now. He had driven home, all that long way, facing +the storm, after taking off his warm fur overcoat, and he was just +recovering from a severe cough, too. She trembled for its effect upon +him. It went to her heart to hear his husky breathing as he sat there +trembling before the fire. They got him to bed soon, and Aunt Prudence +tramped through the storm for Dr. Mackay, the young doctor who had +started up on the other side of the town. He came at once, and looked +grave after he had made a careful examination. There had been some +trouble with the heart setting in, and the excitement of his adventure +in the storm had aggravated it. Beth remembered his having trouble of +that sort once before, and she thought she read danger in Dr. Mackay's +face. + +That was a long, strange night to Beth as she sat there alone by her +father's bedside. He did not sleep, his breathing seemed so difficult. +She had never seen him look like that before--so weak and helpless, his +silvery hair falling back from his brow, his cheeks flushed, but not +with health. He said nothing, but he looked at her with a pitying look +sometimes. What did it all mean? Where would it end? She gave him his +medicine from hour to hour. The sleet beat on the window and the heavy +ticking of the clock in the intervals of the storm sounded like +approaching footsteps. The wind roared, and the old shutter creaked +uneasily. The husky breathing continued by her side and the hours grew +longer. Oh, for the morning! What would the morrow bring? She had +promised May to awaken her at three o'clock, but she looked so serene +sleeping with a smile on her lips, that Beth only kissed her softly and +went back to her place. Her father had fallen asleep, and it was an hour +later that she heard a gentle step beside her, and May looked at her +reproachfully. She went to her room and left May to watch. There was a +box on her table that her father had left before he went out that +evening, and then she remembered that it was Christmas morning. +Christmas morning! There was a handsome leather-bound Bible and a gold +watch with a tiny diamond set in the back. She had a choked feeling as +she lay down, but she was so exhausted she soon slept. It was late in +the morning when she awoke, and May did not tell her of her father's +fainting spell. Aunt Prudence was to sit up that night. The dear old +housekeeper! How kind she was, Beth thought. She had often been amused +at the quaint, old-fashioned creature. But she was a kind old soul, in +spite of her occasional sharp words. + +Dr. Woodburn continued about the same all the following day, saving that +he slept more. The next day was Sunday, and Beth slept a little in the +afternoon. When she awakened she heard Dr. Mackay going down the hall, +and May came in to take her in her arms and kiss her. She sat down on +the bed beside Beth, with tears in her beautiful eyes. + +"Beth, your father has been such a good man. He has done so much! If God +should call him home to his reward, would you--would you refuse to give +him up?" + +Beth laid her head on May's shoulder, sobbing. + +"Oh, May--is it--death?" she asked, in a hoarse whisper. + +"I fear so, dear." + +Beth wept long, and May let her grief have its way for a while, then +drew her nearer to her heart. + +"If Jesus comes for him, will you say 'no'?" + +"His will be done," she answered, when she grew calmer. + +The next day lawyer Graham came and stayed with Dr. Woodburn some time, +and Beth knew that all hope was past, but she wore a cheerful smile in +her father's presence during the few days that followed--bright winter +days, with sunshine and deep snow. The jingle of sleigh-bells and the +sound of merry voices passed in the street below as she listened to the +labored breathing at her side. It was the last day of the year that he +raised his hand and smoothed her hair in his old-time way. + +"Beth, I am going home. You have been a good daughter--my one great +joy. God bless you, my child." He paused a moment. "You will have to +teach, and I think you had better go back to college soon. You'll not +miss me so much when you're working." + +Beth pressed back her tears as she kissed him silently, and he soon fell +asleep. She went to the window and looked out on it all--the clear, cold +night sky with its myriads of stars, the brightly lighted windows and +the snow-covered roofs of the town on the hill-slope, and the Erie, a +frozen line of ice in the distant moonlight. The town seemed unusually +bright with lights, for it was the gay season of the year. And, oh, if +she but dared to give vent to that sob rising in her throat! She turned +to the sleeper again; a little later he opened his eyes with a bright +smile. + +"In the everlasting arms," he whispered faintly, then pointed to a +picture of Arthur on the table. Beth brought it to him. He looked at it +tenderly, then gave it back to her. He tried to say something, and she +bent over him to catch the words, but all was silent there; his eyes +were closed, his lips set in a smile. Her head sank upon his breast. +"Papa!" she cried. + +No answer, not even the sound of heartbeats. There was a noiseless step +at her side, and she fell back, unconscious, into May's arms. When she +came to again she was in her own room, and Mr. Perth was by her side. +Then the sense of her loss swept over her, and he let her grief have its +way for a while. + +"My child," he said at last, bending over her. How those two words +soothed her! He talked to her tenderly for a little while, and she +looked much calmer when May came back. + +But the strain had been too much for her, and she was quite ill all the +next day. She lay listening to the strange footsteps coming and going in +the halls, for everyone came to take a last look at one whom all loved +and honored. There was the old woman whom he had helped and encouraged, +hobbling on her cane to give him a last look and blessing; there was the +poor man whose children he had attended free of charge, the hand of +whose dying boy he had held; there was the little ragged girl, who +looked up through her tears and said, "He was good to me." Then came the +saddest moment Beth had ever known, when they led her down for the last +time to his side. She scarcely saw the crowded room, the flowers that +were strewn everywhere. + +It was all over. The last words were said, and they led her out to the +carriage. The sun was low in the west that afternoon when the Perths +took her to the parsonage--"home to the parsonage," as she always said +after that. Aunt Prudence came to bid her good-bye before she went away +to live with her married son, and Beth never realized before how much +she loved the dear old creature who had watched over her from her +childhood. Just once before she returned to college she went back to +look at the old home, with its shutters closed and the snow-drifts on +its walks. She had thought her future was to be spent there, and now +where would her path be guided? + +"Thou knowest, Lord," she said faintly. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +_LOVE._ + + +In the soft flush of the following spring Beth returned to the parsonage +at Briarsfield. It was so nice to see the open country again after the +city streets. Mr. Perth met her at the station just as the sun was +setting, and there was a curious smile on his face. He was a little +silent on the way home, as if he had something on his mind; but +evidently it was nothing unpleasant. The parsonage seemed hidden among +the apple-blossoms, and Mrs. Perth came down the walk to meet them, +looking so fair and smiling, and why--she had something white in her +arms! Beth bounded forward to meet her. + +"Why, May, where did you--whose baby?" asked Beth, breathless and +smiling. + +"Who does she look like?" + +The likeness to May Perth on the little one-month-old face was +unmistakable. + +"You naughty puss, why didn't you tell me when you wrote?" + +"Been keeping it to surprise you," said Mr. Perth. "Handsome baby, isn't +it? Just like her mother!" + +"What are you going to call her?" + +"Beth." And May kissed her fondly as she led her in. + +What a pleasant week that was! Life may be somewhat desert-like, but +there is many a sweet little oasis where we can rest in the shade by the +rippling water, with the flowers and the birds about us. + +One afternoon Beth went out for a stroll by herself down toward the +lake, and past the old Mayfair home. The family were still in Europe, +and the place, she heard, was to be sold. The afternoon sunshine was +beating on the closed shutters, the grass was knee-deep on the lawn and +terraces, and the weeds grew tall in the flower-beds. Deserted and +silent! Silent as that past she had buried in her soul. Silent as those +first throbs of her child-heart that she had once fancied meant love. + +That evening she and May sat by the window watching the sunset cast its +glories over the lake, a great sheet of flame, softened by a wrapping of +thin purplish cloud, like some lives, struggling, fiery, triumphant, +but half hidden by this hazy veil of mortality. + +"Are you going to write another story, Beth?" + +"Yes, I thought one out last fall. I shall write it as soon as I am +rested." + +"What is it--a love story?" + +"Yes, it's natural to me to write of love; and yet--I have never been +seriously in love." + +May laughed softly. + +"Do you know, I am beginning to long to love truly. I want to taste the +deep of life, even if it brings me pain." + +It was a momentary restlessness, and she recalled these words before +long. + +Mr. Perth joined them just then. He was going away for a week's holiday +on the following day. + +"I suppose you have a supply for Sunday," said Mrs. Perth. + +"Yes, I have. I think he'll be a very good one. He's a volunteer +missionary." + +"Where is he going?" asked Beth. + +"I don't know." + +"I should like to meet him," and Beth paused before she continued, in a +quiet tone, "I am going to be a missionary myself." + +"Beth!" exclaimed Mrs. Perth. + +"I thought you were planning this," said Mr. Perth. + +"Thought so? How could you tell?" asked Beth. + +"I saw it working in your mind. You are easily read. Where are you +going?" + +"I haven't decided yet. I only just decided to go lately--one Sunday +afternoon this spring. I used to hate the idea." + +Perhaps it was this little talk that made her think of Arthur again that +night. Why had he never sent her one line, one word of sympathy in her +sorrow? He was very unkind, when her father had loved him so. Was that +what love meant? + +The supply did not stay at the parsonage, and Beth did not even ask his +name, as she supposed it would be unfamiliar to her. The old church +seemed so home-like that Sunday. The first sacred notes echoed softly +down the aisles; the choir took their places; then there was a moment's +solemn hush,--and Arthur! Why, that was Arthur going up into the pulpit! +She could hardly repress a cry of surprise. For the moment she forgot +all her coldness and indifference, and looked at him intently. He seemed +changed, somehow; he was a trifle paler, but there was a delicate +fineness about him she had never seen before, particularly in his eyes, +a mystery of pain and sweetness, blended and ripened into a more perfect +manhood. Was it because Arthur preached that sermon she thought it so +grand? No, everybody seemed touched. And this was the small boy who had +gone hazel-nutting with her, who had heard her geography, and, barefoot, +carried her through the brook. But that was long, long ago. They had +changed since then. Before she realized it, the service was over, and +the people were streaming through the door-way where Arthur stood +shaking hands with the acquaintances of his childhood. There was a +soothed, calm expression on Beth's brow, and her eyes met Arthur's as he +touched her hand. May thought she seemed a trifle subdued that day, +especially toward evening. Beth had a sort of feeling that night that +she would have been content to sit there at the church window for all +time. There was a border of white lilies about the altar, a sprinkling +of early stars in the evening sky; solemn hush and sacred music within, +and the cry of some stray night-bird without. There were gems of poetry +in that sermon, too; little gleanings from nature here and there. Then +she remembered how she had once said Arthur had not an artist-soul. Was +she mistaken? Was he one of those men who bury their sentiments under +the practical duties of every-day life? Perhaps so. + +The next day she and May sat talking on the sofa by the window. + +"Don't you think, May, I should make a mistake if I married a man who +had no taste for literature and art?" + +"Yes, I do. I believe in the old German proverb, 'Let like and like mate +together.'" + +Was that a shadow crossed Beth's face? + +"But, whatever you do, Beth, don't marry a man who is all moonshine. A +man may be literary in his tastes and yet not be devoted to a literary +life. I think the greatest genius is sometimes silent; but, even when +silent, he inspires others to climb the heights that duty forbade him to +climb himself." + +"You've deep thoughts in your little head, May." And Beth bent over, in +lover-like fashion, to kiss the little white hand, but May had dropped +into one of her light-hearted, baby moods, and playfully withdrew it. + +"Don't go mooning like that, kissing my dirty little hands! One would +think you had been falling in love." + +Beth went for another stroll that evening. She walked past the dear old +house on the hill-top. The shutters were no longer closed; last summer's +flowers were blooming again by the pathway; strange children stopped +their play to look at her as she passed, and there were sounds of mirth +and music within. Yes, that was the old home--home no longer now! There +was her own old window, the white roses drooping about it in the early +dew. + +"Oh, papa! papa! look down on your little Beth!" These words were in her +eyes as she lifted them to the evening sky, her tears falling silently. +She was following the old path by the road-side, where she used to go +for the milk every evening, when a firm step startled her. + +"Arthur! Good evening. I'm so glad to see you again!" + +She looked beautiful for a moment, with the tears hanging from her +lashes, and the smile on her face. + +"I called to see you at the parsonage, but you were just going up the +street, so I thought I might be pardoned for coming too." + +They were silent for a few moments. It was so like old times to be +walking there together. The early stars shone faintly; but the clouds +were still pink in the west; not a leaf stirred, not a breath; no sound +save a night-bird calling to its mate in the pine-wood yonder, and the +bleat of lambs in the distance. Presently Arthur broke the silence with +sweet, tender words of sorrow for her loss. + +"I should have written to you if I had known, but I was sick in the +hospital, and I didn't--" + +"Sick in the hospital! Why, Arthur, have you been ill? What was the +matter?" + +"A light typhoid fever. I went to the Wesleyan College, at Montreal, +after that, so I didn't even know you had come back to college." + +"To the Wesleyan? I thought you were so attached to Victoria! Whatever +made you leave it, Arthur?" + +He flushed slightly, and evaded her question. + +"Do you know, it was so funny, Arthur, you roomed in the very house +where I boarded last fall, and I never knew a thing about it till +afterward? Wasn't it odd we didn't meet?" + +Again he made some evasive reply, and she had an odd sensation, as of +something cold passing between them. He suddenly became formal, and they +turned back again at the bridge where they used to sit fishing, and +where Beth never caught anything (just like a girl); they always went to +Arthur's hook. The two forgot their coldness as they walked back, and +Beth was disappointed that Arthur had an engagement and could not come +in. They lingered a moment at the gate as he bade her good-night. A +delicate thrill, a something sweet and new and strange, possessed her as +he pressed her hand! Their eyes met for a moment. + +"Good-bye for to-night, Beth." + +May was singing a soft lullaby as she came up the walk. Only a moment! +Yet what a revelation a moment may bring to these hearts of ours! A +look, a touch, and something live is throbbing within! We cannot speak +it. We dare not name it. For, oh, hush, 'tis a sacred hour in a woman's +life. + +Beth went straight to her room, and sat by the open window in the +star-light. Some boys were singing an old Scotch ballad as they passed +in the street below; the moon was rising silvery above the blue Erie; +the white petals of apple-blossoms floated downward in the night air, +and in it all she saw but one face--a face with great, dark, tender +eyes, that soothed her with their silence. Soothed? Ah, yes! She felt +like a babe to-night, cradled in the arms of something, she knew not +what--something holy, eternal and calm. And _this_ was love. She had +craved it often--wondered how it would come to her--and it was just +Arthur, after all, her childhood's friend, Arthur--but yet how changed! +He was not the same. She felt it dimly. The Arthur of her girlhood was +gone. They were man and woman now. She had not known this Arthur as he +was now. A veil seemed to have been suddenly drawn from his face, and +she saw in him--her ideal. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed +heavenward. She had thought to journey to heathen lands alone, +single-handed to fight the battle, and now--"Arthur--Arthur!" she called +in a soft, sweet whisper as she drooped her smiling face. What mattered +all her blind shilly-shally fancies about his nature not being poetic? +There was more poetry buried in that heart of his than she had ever +dreamed. "I can never, never marry Arthur!" she had often told herself. +She laughed now as she thought of it, and it was late before she slept, +for she seemed to see those eyes looking at her in the darkness--so +familiar, yet so new and changed! She awoke for a moment in the grey +light just before dawn, and she could see him still; her hand yet +thrilled from his touch. She heard the hoarse whistle of a steamer on +the lake; the rooks were cawing in the elm-tree over the roof, and she +fell asleep again. + +"Good-morning, Rip Van Winkle," said May, when she entered the +breakfast-room. + +"Why, is that clock--just look at the time! I forgot to wind my watch +last night, and I hadn't the faintest idea what time it was when I got +up this morning!" + +"Good-bye for to-night, Beth," he had said, and he was going away +to-morrow morning, so he would surely come to-day. No wonder she went +about with an absent smile on her face, and did everything in the +craziest possible way. It was so precious, this newly-found secret of +hers! She knew her own heart now. There was no possibility of her +misunderstanding herself in the future. The afternoon was wearing away, +and she sat waiting and listening. Ding! No, that was only a +beggar-woman at the door. Ding, again! Yes, that was Arthur! Then she +grew frightened. How could she look into his eyes? He would read her +secret there. He sat down before her, and a formal coldness seemed to +paralyze them both. + +"I have come to bid you good-bye, Miss Woodburn!" + +Miss Woodburn! He had never called her that before. How cold his voice +sounded in her ears! + +"Are you going back to Victoria College?" she asked. + +"No, to the Wesleyan. Are you going to spend your summer in +Briarsfield?" + +"Most of it. I am going back to Toronto for a week or two before +'Varsity opens. My friend Miss de Vere is staying with some friends +there. She is ill and--" + +"Do you still call her your friend?" he interrupted, with a sarcastic +smile. + +"Why, yes!" she answered wonderingly, never dreaming that he had +witnessed that same scene in the Mayfair home. + +"You are faithful, Beth," he said, looking graver. Then he talked +steadily of things in which neither of them had any interest. How cold +and unnatural it all was! Beth longed to give way to tears. In a few +minutes he rose to go. He was going! Arthur was going! She dared not +look into his face as he touched her hand coldly. + +"Good-bye, Miss Woodburn. I wish you every success next winter." + +She went back to the parlor and watched him--under the apple trees, +white with blossom, through the gate, past the old church, around the +corner--he was gone! The clock ticked away in the long, silent parlor; +the sunshine slept on the grass outside; the butterflies were flitting +from flower to flower, and laughing voices passed in the street, but her +heart was strangely still. A numb, voiceless pain! What did it mean? +Had Arthur changed? Once he had loved her. "God have pity!" her white +lips murmured. And yet that look, that touch last night--what did it +mean? What folly after all! A touch, a smile, and she had woven her fond +hopes together. Foolish woman-heart, building her palace on the sands +for next day's tide to sweep away! Yet how happy she had been last +night! A thrill, a throb, a dream of bliss; crushed now, all but the +memory! The years might bury it all in silence, but she could never, +never forget. She had laid her plans for life, sweet, unselfish plans +for uplifting human lives. Strange lands, strange scenes, strange faces +would surround her. She would toil and smile on others, "but oh, Arthur, +Arthur--" + +All through the long hours of that night she lay watching; she could not +sleep. Arthur was still near, the same hills surrounding them both. The +stars were shining and the hoarse whistle of the steamers rent the +night. Perhaps they would never be so near again. Would they ever meet, +she wondered. Perhaps not! Another year, and he would be gone far across +the seas, and then, "Good-bye, Arthur! Good-bye! God be with you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +_FAREWELL._ + + +Beth's summer at Briarsfield parsonage passed quietly and sweetly. She +had seemed a little sad at first, and May, with her woman's instinct, +read more of her story than she thought, but she said nothing, though +she doubled her little loving attentions. The love of woman for woman is +passing sweet. + +But let us look at Beth as she sits in the shadow of the trees in the +parsonage garden. It was late in August, and Beth was waiting for May to +come out. Do you remember the first time we saw her in the shadow of the +trees on the lawn at home? It is only a little over two years ago, but +yet how much she has changed! You would hardly recognize the immature +girl in that gentle, sweet-faced lady in her dark mourning dress. The +old gloom had drifted from her brow, and in its place was sunlight, not +the sunlight of one who had never known suffering, but the gentler, +sweeter light of one who had triumphed over it. It was a face that would +have attracted you, that would have attracted everyone, in fact, from +the black-gowned college professor to the small urchin shouting in the +street. To the rejoicing it said, "Let me laugh with you, for life is +sweet;" to the sorrowing, "I understand, I have suffered, too. I know +what you feel." Just then her sweet eyes were raised to heaven in holy +thought, "Dear heavenly Father, thou knowest everything--how I loved +him. Thy will be done. Oh, Jesus, my tender One, thou art so sweet! Thou +dost understand my woman's heart and satisfy even its sweet longings. +Resting in Thy sweet presence what matter life's sorrows!" + +She did not notice the lattice gate open and a slender, fair-haired man +pause just inside to watch her. It was Clarence Mayfair. There was a +touching expression on his face as he looked at her. Yes, she was +beautiful, he thought. It was not a dream, the face that he had carried +in his soul since that Sunday night last fall. Beth Woodburn was +beautiful. She was a woman now. She was only a child when they played +their little drama of love there in Briarsfield. The play was past now; +he loved her as a man can love but one woman. And now--a shadow crossed +his face--perhaps it was too late! + +"Clarence!" exclaimed Beth, as he advanced, "I'm glad to see you." And +she held out her hand with an air of graceful dignity. + +"You have come back to visit Briarsfield, I suppose. I was so surprised +to see you," she continued. + +"Yes, I am staying at Mr. Graham's." + +She noticed as he talked that he looked healthier, stronger and more +manly. Altogether she thought him improved. + +"Your father and mother are still in England, I suppose," said she. + +"Yes, they intend to stay with their relatives this winter. As for me, I +shall go back to 'Varsity and finish my course." + +"Oh, are you going to teach?" + +"Yes; there's nothing else before me," he answered, in a discouraged +tone. + +She understood. She had heard of his father's losses, and, what grieved +her still more, she had heard that Clarence was turning out a literary +failure. He had talent, but he had not the fresh, original genius that +this age of competition demands. Poor Clarence! She was sorry for him. + +"You have been all summer in Briarsfield?" he asked. + +"Yes, but I am going to Toronto to-morrow morning." + +"Yes, I know. Miss de Vere told me she had sent for you." + +"Oh, you have seen her then!" + +"Yes, I saw her yesterday. Poor girl, she'll not last long. Consumption +has killed all the family." + +Beth wondered if he loved Marie, and she looked at him, with her gentle, +sympathetic eyes. He caught her look and winced under it. She gazed away +at the glimpse of lake between the village roofs for a moment. + +"Beth, have you forgotten the past?" he asked, in a voice abrupt but +gentle. + +She started. She had never seen his face look so expressive. The tears +rose to her eyes as she drooped her flushing face. + +"No, I have not forgotten." + +"Beth, I did not love you then; I did not know what love meant--" + +"Oh, don't speak of it! It would have been a terrible mistake!" + +"But, Beth, can you never forgive the past? I love you _now_--I have +loved you since--" + +"Oh, hush, Clarence! You _must_ not speak of love!" And she buried her +face in her hands and sobbed a moment, then leaned forward slightly +toward him, a tender look in her eyes. + +"I love another," she said, in a low gentle voice. + +He shielded his eyes for a moment with his fair delicate hand. It was a +hard moment for them both. + +"I am so sorry, Clarence. I know what you feel. I am sorry we ever met." + +He looked at her with a smile on his saddened face. + +"I feared it was so; but I had rather love you in vain than to win the +love of any other woman. Good-bye, Beth." + +"Good-bye." + +He lingered a moment as he touched her hand in farewell. + +"God bless you," she said, softly. + +He crossed the garden in the sunshine, and she sat watching the fleecy +clouds and snatches of lake between the roofs. Poor Clarence! Did love +mean to him what it meant to her? Ah, yes! she had seen the pain written +on his brow. Poor Clarence! That night she craved a blessing upon him as +she knelt beside her bed. Just then he was wandering about the +weed-grown lawns of his father's house, which looked more desolate than +ever in the light of the full moon. It was to be sold the following +spring, and he sighed as he walked on toward the lake-side. Right there +on that little cliff he had asked Beth Woodburn to be his wife, and but +for that fickle faithlessness of his, who knew what might have been? And +yet it was better so--better for _her_--God bless her. And the thought +of her drew him heavenward that night. + +The next day Beth was on her way to Toronto to see Marie. She was in a +pensive mood as she sat by the car window, gazing at the farm-lands +stretching far away, and the wooded hill-sides checkered by the sunlight +shining through their boughs. There is always a pleasant diversion in a +few hours' travel, and Beth found herself drawn from her thoughts by the +antics of a negro family at the other end of the car. A portly colored +woman presided over them; she had "leben chilen, four dead and gone to +glory," as she explained to everyone who questioned her. + +It was about two o'clock when Beth reached Toronto, and the whirr of +electric cars, the rattle of cabs and the mixed noises of the city +street would all have been pleasantly exciting to her young nerves but +for her thoughts of Marie. She wondered at her coming to the city to +spend her last days, but it was quiet on Grenville Street, where she was +staying with her friends, the Bartrams. Beth was, indeed, struck by the +change in her friend when she entered the room. She lay there so frail +and shadow-like among her pillows, her dark cheeks sunken, though +flushed; but her eyes had still their old brilliancy, and there was an +indefinable gentleness about her. Beth seemed almost to feel it as she +stooped to kiss her. The Bartrams were very considerate, and left them +alone together as much as possible, but Marie was not in a talking mood +that day. Her breath came with difficulty, and she seemed content to +hold Beth's hand and smile upon her, sometimes through tears that +gathered silently. Bright, sparkling Marie! They had not been wont to +associate tears with her in the past. It was a pleasant room she had, +suggestive of her taste--soft carpet and brightly-cushioned chairs, a +tall mirror reflecting the lilies on the stand, and a glimpse of Queen's +Park through the open window. The next day was Sunday, and Beth sat by +Marie while the others went to church. They listened quietly to the +bells peal forth their morning call together, and Beth noted with +pleasure that it seemed to soothe Marie as she lay with closed eyes and +a half smile on her lips. + +"Beth, you have been so much to me this summer. Your letters were so +sweet. You are a great, grand woman, Beth." And she stroked Beth's hair +softly with her frail, wasted hand. + +"Do you remember when I used to pride myself on my unbelief?" Her breath +failed her for a moment. "It is past now," she continued, with a smile. +"It was one Sunday; I had just read one of your letters, and I felt +somehow that Jesus had touched me. I am ready now. It was hard, so hard +at first, to give up life, but I have learned at last to say 'His will +be done.'" + +Beth could not speak for the sob she had checked in her throat. + +"Beth, I may not be here another Sunday. I want to talk to you, dear. +You remember the old days when that trouble came between you and--and +Clarence. I was a treacherous friend to you, Beth, to ever let him speak +of love to me. I was a traitor to--" + +"Oh, hush! Marie, darling, don't talk so," Beth pleaded in a sobbing +tone. + +"I _must_ speak of it, Beth. I was treacherous to you. But when you know +what I suffered--" Her breath failed again for a moment. "I _loved_ +him, Beth," she whispered. + +"Marie!" There was silence for a moment, broken only by Marie's labored +breathing. "I loved him, but I knew he did not love me. It was only a +fancy of his. I had charmed him for the time, but I knew when I was gone +his heart would go back to you--and now, Beth, I am dying slowly, I ask +but one thing more. I have sent for Clarence. Let everything be +forgotten now; let me see you happy together just as it was before." + +"Oh, hush, Marie! It cannot be. It can never be. You know I told you +last fall that I did not love him." + +"Ah, but that is your pride, Beth; all your pride! Listen to me, Beth. +If I had ten years more to live, I would give them all to see you both +happy and united." + +Beth covered her face with her hands, as her tears flowed silently. + +"Marie, I must tell you all," she said, as she bent over her. "I love +another: I love Arthur!" + +"Arthur Grafton!" Marie exclaimed, and her breath came in quick, short +gasps, and there was a pained look about her closed eyes. Beth +understood she was grieved for the disappointment of the man she loved. + +"And you, Beth--are you happy? Does he--Arthur, I mean--love you?" she +asked, with a smile. + +"No. He loved me once, the summer before I came to college, but he is +changed now. He was in Briarsfield this summer for a few days, but I saw +he was changed. He was not like the same Arthur--so changed and cold." +She sat with a grave look in her grey eyes as Marie lay watching her. +"Only once I thought he loved me," she continued; "one night when he +looked at me and touched my hand. But the next day he was cold again, +and I knew then that he didn't love me any more." + +Marie lay for a few moments with a very thoughtful look in her eyes, but +she made no remark, and, after a while, she slept from weakness and +exhaustion. + +Beth went out for a few hours next morning, and found her very much +weaker when she returned. Mrs. Bartram said she had tired herself +writing a letter. She had a wide-awake air as if she were watching for +something, and her ear seemed to catch every step on the stair-way. It +was toward the close of day. + +"Hark! who's that?" she asked, starting. + +"Only Mrs. Bartram. Rest, dearest," said Beth. + +But the brilliant eyes were fixed on the door, and a moment later +Clarence entered the room. Marie still held Beth's hand, but her dark +eyes were fixed on Clarence with a look never to be forgotten. + +"You have come at last," she said, then fell back on her pillows +exhausted, but smiling, her eyes closed. + +He stood holding the frail hand she had stretched out to him, then the +dark eyes opened slowly, and she gazed on him with a yearning look. + +"Put your hand upon my forehead, I shall die happier," she said, softly. +"Oh, Clarence, I loved you! I loved you! It can do no harm to tell you +now. Kiss me just once. In a moment I shall be with my God." + +Beth had glided from the room, and left her alone with the man she +loved; but in a few minutes he called her and Mrs. Bartram to the +bed-side. Marie was almost past speaking, but she stretched forth her +arms to Beth and drew her young head down upon her breast. There was +silence for a few minutes, broken only by Marie's hoarse breathing. + +"Jesus, my Redeemer," her pale lips murmured faintly, then the +heart-throbs beneath Beth's ear were still; the slender hand fell +helpless on the counterpane; the brilliant eyes were closed; Marie was +gone! + +When Beth came to look at her again she lay smiling in her white, +flowing garment, a single lily in her clasped hands. Poor Marie! She had +loved and suffered, and now it was ended. Aye, but she had done more +than suffer. She had refused the man she loved for his sake and for the +sake of another. Her sacrifice had been in vain, but the love that +sacrificed itself--was that vain? Ah, no! Sweet, brave Marie! + +Her friends thought it a strange request of hers to be buried at +Briarsfield, but it was granted. Her vast wealth--as she had died +childless--went, by the provisions of her father's will, to a distant +cousin, but her jewels she left to Beth. The following afternoon Mr. +Perth read the funeral service, and they lowered the lovely burden in +the shadow of the pines at the corner of the Briarsfield church-yard. +There in that quiet village she had first seen him she loved. After all +her gay social life she sought its quiet at last, and the stars of that +summer night looked down on her new-made grave. + +The following day Mr. Perth laid a colored envelope from a large +publishing firm in Beth's lap. They had accepted her last story for a +good round sum, accompanied by most flattering words of encouragement. +As she read the commendatory words, she smiled at the thought of having +at least one talent to use in her Master's service. Yes, Beth Woodburn +of Briarsfield would be famous after all. It was no vain dream of her +childhood. + +Four weeks passed and Beth had finished her preparations for returning +to college in the fall. In a few weeks she would be leaving May and the +dear old parsonage, but she would be glad to be back at 'Varsity again. +There came a day of heavy rain, and she went out on an errand of charity +for May. When she returned, late in the afternoon, she heard Mr. Perth +talking to someone in the study, but that was nothing unusual. The rain +was just ceasing, and the sun suddenly broke through the clouds, filling +all the west with glory. Beth went down into the garden to drink in the +beauty. Rugged clouds stood out like hills of fire fringed with gold, +and the great sea of purple and crimson overhead died away in the soft +flush of the east, while the wet foliage of the trees and gardens shone +like gold beneath the clouds. It was glorious! She had never seen +anything like it before. Look! there were two clouds of flame parting +about the sunset like a gateway into the beyond, and within all looked +peaceful and golden. Somehow it made her think of Marie. Poor Marie! +Why had Clarence's love for her been unreal? Why could she not have +lived and they been happy together? Love and suffering! And what had +love brought to her? Only pain. She thought of Arthur, too. Perhaps he +was happiest of all. He seemed to have forgotten. But she--ah, she could +never forget! Yet, "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy +sight." And she pulled a bunch of fall flowers from the bush at her +side, careless of the rain-drops that shook on her bare head as she +touched the branches. She did not know that she was being observed from +the study window. + +"She is going to be a missionary, isn't she?" said the stranger who was +talking to Mr. Perth. + +"Yes; she hasn't decided her field yet, but she will make a grand one +wherever she goes. She's a noble girl; I honor her." + +"Yes, she is very noble," said the stranger slowly, as he looked at her. +She would have recognized his voice if she had been within hearing, but +she only pulled another spray of blossoms, without heeding the sound of +the study door shutting and a step approaching her on the gravelled +walk. + +"Beth." + +"Arthur! Why, I--I thought you were in Montreal!" + +"So, I was. I just got there a few days ago, but I turned around and +came back to-day to scold you for getting your feet wet standing there +in the wet grass. I knew you didn't know how to take care of yourself." +There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Didn't I always take care +of you when you were little?" + +"Yes, and a nice tyrant you were!" she said, laughing, when she had +recovered from her surprise, "always scolding and preaching at me." + +He seemed inclined to talk lightly at first, and then grew suddenly +silent as they went into the drawing-room. Beth felt as though he were +regarding her with a sort of protecting air. What did it mean? What had +brought him here so suddenly? She was growing embarrassed at his +silence, when she suddenly plunged into conversation about Montreal, the +Wesleyan College, and other topics that were farthest away from her +present thought and interest. + +"Beth," said Arthur suddenly, interrupting the flow of her remarks in a +gentle tone, "Beth, why did you not tell me last summer that you were +going to be a missionary?" + +She seemed startled for a moment, as he looked into her flushed face. + +"Oh, I don't know. I--I meant to. I meant to tell you that afternoon you +came here before you went away, but I didn't know you were going so +soon, and I didn't tell you somehow. Who told you?" + +"Marie de Vere told me," he said, gently. "She wrote to me just a few +hours before she died; but I didn't get the letter till yesterday. She +left it with Clarence, and he couldn't find me at first." + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, and there was a tender +smile in his eyes. Then a sudden flush crimsoned her cheek. How much did +he know? Had Marie told him that she-- + +"Beth, why did you not tell me before that you were free--that you were +not another's promised wife?" His voice was gentle, very gentle. Her +face drooped, and her hand trembled as it lay on her black dress. He +rose and bent over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. His touch +thrilled her, soothed her, but she dare not raise her eyes. + +"I--I--didn't know it mattered--that; you cared," she stammered. + +"Didn't know I cared!" he exclaimed; then, in a softer tone, "Beth, did +you think I had forgotten--that I could forget? I love you, Beth. Can +you ever love me enough to be my wife?" + +She could not speak, but in her upturned face he read her answer, and +his lips touched her brow reverently. Closer, closer to his breast he +drew her. Soul open to soul, heart beating against heart! The old clock +ticked in the stillness, and the crimson glow of the sunset was +reflected on the parlor wall. Oh, what joy was this suddenly breaking +through the clouds upon them! Beth was the first to break the silence. + +"Oh, Arthur, I love you so! I love you so!" she said, twining her arms +passionately about his neck, as her tears fell upon his breast. It was +the long pent-up cry of her loving womanhood. + +"But Arthur, why were you so cold and strange that day we parted last +summer?" + +"I thought you were another's intended wife. I tried to hide my love +from you." His voice shook slightly as he answered. + +One long, lingering look into each other's eyes, and, with one thought, +they knelt together beside the old couch and gave thanks to the +all-loving Father who had guided their paths together. + +That night Beth lay listening as the autumn wind shook the elm-tree +over the roof and drifted the clouds in dark masses across the starry +sky. But the winds might rage without--aye, the storms might beat down, +if they would, what did it matter? Arthur was near, and the Divine +presence was bending over her with its shielding love. "Oh, God, Thou +art good!" She was happy--oh, so happy! And she fell asleep with a smile +on her face. + +The autumn passed--such a gloriously happy autumn--and Christmas eve had +come. The snow lay white and cold on the fields and hills about +Briarsfield, but in the old church all was warmth and light. A group of +villagers were gathered inside, most of them from curiosity, and before +the altar Arthur and Beth were standing side by side. Beth looked very +beautiful as she stood there in her white bridal robes. The church was +still, sacredly still, but for the sound of Mr. Perth's earnest voice; +and in the rear of the crowd was one face, deadly pale, but calm. It was +Clarence. How pure she looked, he thought. Pure as the lilies hanging in +clusters above her head! Was she of the earth--clay, like these others +about her? The very tone of her voice seemed to have caught a note from +above. No, he had never been worthy of her! Weak, fickle, wave-tossed +soul that he was! A look of humiliation crossed his face, then a look of +hope. If he had never been worthy of her hand he would be worthy at +least to have loved her in vain. He would be what she would have had him +be. It was over; the last words were said; the music broke forth, and +the little gold band gleamed on Beth's fair hand as it lay on Arthur's +arm. He led her down the aisle, smiling and happy. Oh, joy! joy +everlasting! joy linking earth to heaven! They rested that night in +Beth's old room at the parsonage, and as the door closed behind them +they knelt together--man and wife. Sacred hour! + +Out beneath the stars of that still Christmas eve was one who saw the +light shine from their window as he passed and blessed them. He carried +a bunch of lilies in his hand as he made his way to a long white mound +in the church-yard. Poor Marie! He stooped and laid them in the snow, +the pure white snow--pure as the dead whose grave it covered! pure as +the vows he had heard breathed that night! + + * * * * * + +Seven years have passed, and Beth sits leaning back in a rocker by the +window, in the soft bright moonlight of Palestine. And what have the +years brought to Beth? She is famous now. Her novels are among the most +successful of the day. She has marked out a new line of work, and the +dark-eyed Jewish characters in her stories have broadened the sympathies +of her world of readers. But the years have brought her something +besides literary fame and success in the mission-field. By her side is a +little white cot, and a little rosy-cheeked boy lies asleep upon the +pillow, one hand, thrown back over his dark curls--her little Arthur. + +There is a step beside her, and her husband bends over her with a loving +look. + +"It is seven years to-night since we were married, Beth." + +There are tears in her smiling eyes as she looks up into his face. + +"And you have never regretted?" he asks. + +"Oh, Arthur! How could I?" and she hides her face on his breast. + +"My wife! my joy!" he whispers, as he draws her closer. + +"Arthur, do you remember what a silly, silly girl I used to be when I +thought you had not enough of the artist-soul to understand my nature? +And here, if I hadn't had you to criticise and encourage me, I'd never +have succeeded as well as I have." + +He only kisses her for reply, and they look out over the flat-roofed +city in the moonlight. Peace! peace! sweet peace! "Not as the world +giveth, give I unto you." And the stars are shining down upon them in +their love. And so, dear Beth, farewell! + +The evening shadows lengthen as I write, but there is another to whom we +must bid farewell. It is Clarence. Father and mother are both dead, and +in one of the quiet parts of Toronto he lives, unmarried, in his +comfortable rooms. The years have brought him a greater measure of +success than once he had hoped. The sorrow he has so bravely hidden has +perhaps enabled him to touch some chord in the human hearts of his +readers. At any rate, he has a good round income now. Edith's children +come often to twine their arms about his neck; but there are other +children who love him, too. Down in the dark, narrow streets of the city +there is many a bare, desolate home that he has cheered with warmth and +comfort, many a humble fireside where the little ones listen for his +step, many little hands and feet protected from the cold by his +benefactions. But no matter how lowly the house, he always leaves behind +some trace of his artistic nature--a picture or a bunch of flowers, +something suggestive of the beautiful, the ideal. Sometimes, when the +little ones playing about him lisp their childish praises, a softness +fills his eyes and he thinks of one who is far away. Blessed be her +footsteps! But he is not sad long. No, he is the genial, jolly bachelor, +whom everybody loves, so unlike the Clarence of long ago; and so +farewell, brave heart--fare thee well! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beth Woodburn, by Maud Petitt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETH WOODBURN *** + +***** This file should be named 16343-8.txt or 16343-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/4/16343/ + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, +Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Beth Woodburn + +Author: Maud Petitt + +Release Date: July 22, 2005 [EBook #16343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETH WOODBURN *** + + + + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, +Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>BETH WOODBURN.</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>MAUD PETITT.</h2> + +<h3>TORONTO:</h3> +<h3>WILLIAM BRIGGS,</h3> +<p class='center'>29-33 <span class="smcap">Richmond Street West.</span></p> +<p class='center'><span class="smcap">Montreal</span>: C.W. COATES. <span class="smcap">Halifax</span>: S.F. HUESTIS.</p> +<p class='center'>1897.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="smcap">Entered</span> according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the +year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by <span class="smcap">William +Briggs</span>, at the Department of Agriculture.</p> + +<hr /> +<p class='center'>To my mother</p> + +<p class='center'>THIS MY FIRST BOOK</p> + +<p class='center'>IS LOVINGLY</p> + +<p class='center'>DEDICATED.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class="index"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Beth at Eighteen</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">A Dream of Life</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Whither, Beth?</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Marie</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">"For I Love You, Beth"</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">"For I Love You, Beth"</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">'Varsity</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Ended</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">The Heavenly Canaan</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Death</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Love</li> +</ul></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a> +<ul> + <li class="subitem">Farewell</li> +</ul></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h2>BETH WOODBURN.</h2> + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>BETH AT EIGHTEEN.</i></p> + + +<p>In the good old county of Norfolk, close to the shore of Lake Erie, lies +the pretty village of Briarsfield. A village I call it, though in truth +it has now advanced almost to the size and dignity of a town. Here, on +the brow of the hill to the north of the village (rather a retired spot, +one would say, for so busy a man), at the time of which my story treats, +stood the residence of Dr. Woodburn.</p> + +<p>It was a long, old-fashioned rough-cast house facing the east, with +great wide windows on each side of the door and a veranda all the way +across the front. The big lawn was quite uneven, and broken here and +there by birch trees, spruces, and crazy clumps of rose-bushes, all in +bloom. Altogether it was a sweet, home-like old place. The view to the +south showed, over the village roofs on the hill-side, the blue of Lake +Erie outlined against the sky, while to the north stretched the open, +undulating country, so often seen in Western Ontario.</p> + +<p>One warm June afternoon Beth, the doctor's only daughter, was lounging +in an attitude more careless than graceful under a birch tree. She, her +father and Mrs. Margin, the housekeeper—familiarly known as Aunt +Prudence—formed the whole household. Beth was a little above the +average height, a girlish figure, with a trifle of that awkwardness one +sometimes meets in an immature girl of eighteen; a face, not what most +people would call pretty, but still having a fair share of beauty. Her +features were, perhaps, a little too strongly outlined, but the brow was +fair as a lily, and from it the great mass of dark hair was drawn back +in a pleasing way. But her eyes—those earnest, grey eyes—were the most +impressive of all in her unusually impressive face. They were such +searching eyes, as though she had stood on the brink scanning the very +Infinite, and yet with a certain baffled look in them as of one who had +gazed far out, but failed to pierce the gloom—a beaten, longing look. +But a careless observer might have dwelt longer on the affectionate +expression about her lips—a half-childish, half-womanly tenderness.</p> + +<p>Beth was in one of her dreamy moods that afternoon. She was gazing away +towards the north, her favorite view. She sometimes said it was prettier +than the lake view. The hill on which their house stood sloped abruptly +down, and a meadow, pink with clover, stretched far away to rise again +in a smaller hill skirted with a bluish line of pines. There was a +single cottage on the opposite side of the meadow, with white blinds and +a row of sun-flowers along the wall; but Beth was not absorbed in the +view, and gave no heed to the book beside her. She was dreaming. She had +just been reading the life of George Eliot, her favorite author, and the +book lay open at her picture. She had begun to love George Eliot like a +personal friend; she was her ideal, her model, for Beth had some repute +as a literary character in Briarsfield. Not a teacher in the village +school but had marked her strong literary powers, and she was not at all +slow to believe all the hopeful compliments paid her. From a child her +stories had filled columns in the Briarsfield <i>Echo</i>, and now she was +eighteen she told herself she was ready to reach out into the great +literary world—a nestling longing to soar. Yes, she would be +famous—Beth Woodburn, of Briarsfield. She was sure of it. She would +write novels; oh, such grand novels! She would drink from the very +depths of nature and human life. The stars, the daisies, sunsets, +rippling waters, love and sorrow, and all the infinite chords that +vibrate in the human soul—she would weave them all with warp of gold. +Oh, the world would see what was in her soul! She would be the bright +particular star of Canadian literature; and then wealth would flow in, +too, and she would fix up the old home. Dear old "daddy" should retire +and have everything he wanted: and Aunt Prudence, on sweeping days, +wouldn't mind moving "the trash," as she called her manuscripts. Daddy +wouldn't make her go to bed at ten o'clock then; she would write all +night if she choose; she would have a little room on purpose, and +visitors at Briarsfield would pass by the old rough-cast house and point +it out as Beth Woodburn's home, and—well, this is enough for a sample +of Beth's daydreams. They were very exaggerated, perhaps, and a little +selfish, too; but she was not a fully-developed woman yet, and the years +were to bring sweeter fruit. She had, undoubtedly, the soul of genius, +but genius takes years to unfold itself.</p> + +<p>Then a soft expression crossed the face of the dreamer. She leaned +back, her eyes closed and a light smile played about her lips. She was +thinking of one who had encouraged her so earnestly—a tall, slender +youth, with light curly hair, blue eyes and a fair, almost girlish, +face—too fair and delicate for the ideal of most girls: but Beth +admired its paleness and delicate features, and Clarence Mayfair had +come to be often in her thoughts. She remembered quite well when the +Mayfairs had moved into the neighborhood and taken possession of the +fine old manor beside the lake, and she had become friends with the only +daughter, Edith, at school, and then with Clarence. Clarence wrote such +pretty little poems, too. This had been the foundation of their +friendship, and, since their tastes and ambitions were so much alike, +what if—</p> + +<p>Her eyes grew brighter, and she almost fancied he was looking down into +her face. Oh, those eyes—hush, maiden heart, be still. She smiled at +the white cloud drifting westward—a little boat-shaped cloud, with two +white figures in it, sailing in the summer blue. The breeze ruffled her +dark hair. There fell a long shadow on the grass beside her.</p> + +<p>"Clarence—Mr. Mayfair! I didn't see you coming. When did you get home?"</p> + +<p>"Last night. I stayed in Toronto till the report of our 'exams' came +out."</p> + +<p>"I see you have been successful," she replied. "Allow me to congratulate +you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I hear you are coming to 'Varsity this fall, Miss Woodburn. +Don't you think it quite an undertaking? I'm sure I wish you joy of the +hard work."</p> + +<p>"Why, I hope you are not wearying of your course in the middle of it, +Mr. Mayfair. It is only two years till you will have your B.A."</p> + +<p>"Two years' hard work, though; and, to tell the truth, a B.A. has lost +its charms for me. I long to devote my life more fully to literature. +That is my first ambition, you know, and I seem to be wasting so much +time."</p> + +<p>"You can hardly call time spent that way wasted," she answered. "You +will write all the better for it by and by."</p> + +<p>Then they plunged into one of their old-time literary talks of authors +and books and ambitions. Beth loved these talks. There was no one else +in Briarsfield she could discuss these matters with like Clarence. She +was noticing meanwhile how much paler he looked than when she saw him +last, but she admired him all the more. There are some women who love a +man all the more for being delicate. It gives them better opportunities +to display their womanly tenderness. Beth was one of these.</p> + +<p>"By the way, I mustn't forget my errand," Clarence exclaimed after a +long chat.</p> + +<p>He handed her a dainty little note, an invitation to tea from his sister +Edith. Beth accepted with pleasure. She blushed as he pressed her hand +in farewell, and their eyes met. That look and touch of his went very +deep—deeper than they should have gone, perhaps; but the years will +tell their tale. She watched him going down the hill-side in the +afternoon sunshine, then fell to dreaming again. What if, after all, she +should not always stay alone with daddy? If someone else should +come—And she began to picture another study where she should not have +to write alone, but there should be two desks by the broad windows +looking out on the lake, and somebody should—</p> + +<p>"Beth! Beth! come and set the tea-table. My hands is full with them +cherries."</p> + +<p>Beth's dream was a little rudely broken by Mrs. Martin's voice, but she +complacently rose and went into the house.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim, +good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of +Canadian life. She had been Dr. Woodburn's housekeeper ever since Beth +could remember, and they had always called her "Aunt Prudence."</p> + +<p>"What did that gander-shanks of a Mayfair want?" asked the old lady with +a funny smile, as Beth was bustling about.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just come to bring an invitation to tea from Edith."</p> + +<p>Dr. Woodburn entered as soon as tea was ready. He was the ideal father +one meets in books, and if there was one thing on earth Beth was proud +of it was "dear daddy." He was a fine, broad-browed man, strikingly like +Beth, but with hair silvery long before its time. His eyes were like +hers, too, though Beth's face had a little shadow of gloom that did not +belong to the doctor's genial countenance.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant little tea-table to which they sat down. Mrs Martin +always took tea with them, and as she talked over Briarsfield gossip to +the doctor, Beth, as was her custom, looked silently out of the window +upon the green sloping lawn.</p> + +<p>"Well, Beth, dear," said Dr. Woodburn, "has Mrs. Martin told you that +young Arthur Grafton is coming to spend his holidays with us?"</p> + +<p>"Arthur Grafton! Why, no!" said Beth with pleased surprise.</p> + +<p>"He is coming. He may drop in any day. He graduated this spring, you +know. He's a fine young man, I'm told."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Beth ain't got time to think about anything but that slim young +Mayfair, now-a-days," put in Mrs. Martin. "He's been out there with her +most of the afternoon, and me with all them cherries to tend to."</p> + +<p>Beth saw a faint shadow cross her father's face, but put it aside as +fancy only and began to think of Arthur. He was an old play-fellow of +hers. An orphan at an early age, he had spent his childhood on his +uncle's farm, just beyond the pine wood to the north of her home. Her +father had always taken a deep interest in him, and when the death of +his uncle and aunt left him alone in the world, Dr. Woodburn had taken +him into his home for a couple of years until he had gone away to +school. Arthur had written once or twice, but Beth was staying with her +Aunt Margaret, near Welland, that summer, and she had seen fit, for +unexplained reasons, to stop the correspondence: so the friendship had +ended there. It was five years now since she had seen her old +play-fellow, and she found herself wondering if he would be greatly +changed.</p> + +<p>After tea Beth took out her books, as usual, for an hour or two; then, +about eight o'clock, with her tin-pail on her arm, started up the road +for the milk. This was one of her childhood's tasks that she still took +pleasure in performing. She sauntered along in the sweet June twilight +past the fragrant clover meadow and through the pine wood, with the +fire-flies darting beneath the boughs. Some girls would have been +frightened, but Beth was not timid. She loved the still sweet solitude +of her evening walk. The old picket gate clicked behind her at the Birch +Farm, and she went up the path with its borders of four-o'clocks. It was +Arthur's old home, where he had passed his childhood at his uncle's—a +great cheery old farm-house, with morning-glory vines clinging to the +windows, and sun-flowers thrusting their great yellow faces over the +kitchen wall.</p> + +<p>The door was open, but the kitchen empty, and she surmised that Mrs. +Birch had not finished milking; so Beth sat down on the rough bench +beneath the crab-apple tree and began to dream of the olden days. There +was the old chain swing where Arthur used to swing her, and the +cherry-trees where he filled her apron. She was seven and he was +ten—but such a man in her eyes, that sun-browned, dark-eyed boy. And +what a hero he was to her when she fell over the bridge, and he rescued +her! He used to get angry though sometimes. Dear, how he thrashed +Sammie Jones for calling her a "little snip." Arthur was good, though, +very good. He used to sit in that very bench where she was sitting, and +explain the Sunday-school lesson to her, and say such good things. Her +father had told her two or three years ago of Arthur's decision to be a +missionary. He was going away off to Palestine. "I wonder how he can do +it," she thought. "He has his B.A. now, too, and he was always so +clever. He must be a hero. I'm not good like that; I—I don't think I +want to be so good. Clarence isn't as good as that. But Clarence must be +good. His poetry shows it. I wonder if Arthur will like Clarence?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Birch, with a pail of fresh milk on each arm, interrupted her +reverie.</p> + +<p>Beth enjoyed her walk home that night. The moon had just risen, and the +pale stars peeped through the patches of white cloud that to her fancy +looked like the foot-prints of angels here and there on the path of the +infinite. As she neared home a sound of music thrilled her. It was only +an old familiar tune, but she stopped as if in a trance. The touch +seemed to fill her very soul. It was so brave and yet so tender. The +music ceased; some sheep were bleating in the distance, the stars were +growing brighter, and she went on toward home.</p> + +<p>She was surprised as she crossed the yard to see a tall dark-haired +stranger talking to her father in the parlor. She was just passing the +parlor door when he came toward her.</p> + +<p>"Well, Beth, my old play-mate!"</p> + +<p>"Arthur!"</p> + +<p>They would have made a subject for an artist as they stood with clasped +hands, the handsome dark-eyed man, the girl, in her white dress, her +milk-pail on her arm, and her wondering grey eyes upturned to his.</p> + +<p>"Why, Beth, you look at me as if I were a spectre."</p> + +<p>"But, Arthur, you're so changed! Why, you're a man, now!" at which he +laughed a merry laugh that echoed clear to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Beth joined her father and Arthur in the parlor, and they talked the old +days over again before they retired to rest. Beth took out her pale blue +dress again before she went to sleep. Yes, she would wear that to the +Mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room +window that would just match. So thinking she laid it carefully away and +slept her girl's sleep that night.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>A DREAM OF LIFE.</i></p> + + +<p>It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror +fastening the moss roses in her belt. Arthur had gone away with her +father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the +evening. Aunt Prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying +late and Beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. It was a +delightful day. The homes all looked so cheery, and the children were +playing at the gates as she went down the street. There was one her eye +dwelt on more than the rest. The pigeons were strutting on the sloping +roof, the cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls +were swinging under the cherry-tree. Yes, marriage and home must be +sweet after all. Beth had always said she never would marry. She wanted +to write stories and not have other cares. But school girls change +their views sometimes.</p> + +<p>It was only a few minutes' walk to the Mayfair residence beside the +lake. Beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great +old lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain +yonder, the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue Erie +stretching far away.</p> + +<p>Edith Mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired, winsome +creature, several years older than Beth. But she looked even younger. +Hers was such a child-like face! It was pretty to see the way she twined +her arm about Beth. They had loved each other ever since the Mayfairs +had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair were +sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs. Mayfair; she was such +a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. Mr. +Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To Beth's literary mind there +was something about the Mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. They +were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in +Briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment.</p> + +<p>It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into—a pleasing +confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying +on the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's +attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High +School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had +become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their +names. Beth looked up and saw Edith watching her with a smiling, +blushing face. The next minute she threw both arms about Beth.</p> + +<p>"Can't you guess what I was going to tell you, Beth, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Edith, are you and Mr. Ashley—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear. I thought you would guess."</p> + +<p>Beth only hugged her by way of congratulation, and Edith laughed a +little hysterically. Beth was used to these emotional fits of Edith's. +Then she began to question—</p> + +<p>"When is it to be?"</p> + +<p>"September. And you will be my bridesmaid, won't you, dear?"</p> + +<p>Beth promised.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Beth, I think marriage is the grandest institution God ever made."</p> + +<p>Beth had a strange dream-like look in her eyes, and the tea-bell broke +their reverie.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ashley had dropped in for tea, and Clarence sat beside Beth, with +Edith and her betrothed opposite. It was so pleasant and home-like, +with the pink cluster of roses smiling in at the window.</p> + +<p>After tea, Edith and Mr. Ashley seemed prepared for a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, in +which Mrs. Mayfair was also interested; and Clarence took Beth around to +the conservatory to see a night-blooming cirius. It was not out yet, and +so they went for a promenade through the long grounds toward the lake. +Beth never forgot that walk in all her life to come. Somehow she did not +seem herself. All her ambition and struggle seemed at rest. She was a +child, a careless child, and the flowers bloomed around her, and +Clarence was at her side. The lake was very calm when they reached it; +the stars were shining faintly, and they could see Long Point Island +like a long dark line in the distant water.</p> + +<p>"Arthur is going to take me over to the island this week," said Beth.</p> + +<p>They had just reached a little cliff jutting out over the water. It was, +perhaps, one of the most picturesque scenes on the shores of Lake Erie.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it be grand to be on this cliff and watch a thunderstorm +coming up over the lake?" said Beth.</p> + +<p>"You are very daring Beth—Miss Woodburn. Edith would rather hide her +head under the blankets."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I really love thunderstorms," continued Beth. "It is such +a nice safe feeling to lie quiet and sheltered in bed and hear the +thunder crash and the storm beat outside. Somehow, I always feel more +deeply that God is great and powerful, and that the world has a live +ruler." She stopped rather suddenly. Clarence never touched on religious +subjects in conversation—</p> + +<p>"Dear, what a ducking Arthur and I got in a thunderstorm one time. We +were out hazel-nutting and—"</p> + +<p>"Do you always call Mr. Grafton Arthur?" interrupted Clarence, a little +impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Why, how funny it would seem to call Arthur Mr. Grafton!"</p> + +<p>"Beth"—he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,—"Beth, do you love +Arthur Grafton?"</p> + +<p>"Love Arthur! Why, dear, no! I never thought of it. He's just like my +brother. Besides," she continued after a pause, "Arthur is going away +off somewhere to be a missionary, and I don't think I could be happy if +I married a man who wasn't a writer."</p> + +<p>That was very naive of Beth. She forgot Clarence's literary +pretensions.</p> + +<p>"Then can you love me, Beth? Don't you see that I love you?"</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence. Their eyes met in a long, earnest look. An +impulse of tenderness came over her, and she threw both arms about his +neck as he clasped her to his breast. The stars were shining above and +the water breaking at their feet. They understood each other without +words.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clarence, I am so happy, so very happy!"</p> + +<p>The night air wafted the fragrance of roses about them like incense. +They walked on along the shore, happy lovers, weaving their life-dreams +under the soft sky of that summer night.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if anyone else is as happy as we are, Beth!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clarence, how good we ought to be! I mean to always be kinder and +to try and make other people happy, too."</p> + +<p>"You are good, Beth. May God bless our lives."</p> + +<p>She had never seen Clarence so earnest and manly before. Yes, she was +very much in love, she told herself.</p> + +<p>They talked much on the way back to the house. He told her that his +father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be +several years before he himself could marry. But Beth's brow was not +clouded. She wanted her college course, and somehow Clarence seemed so +much more manly with a few difficulties to face.</p> + +<p>A faint sound of music greeted them as they reached the house. Edith was +playing her guitar. Mrs. Mayfair met them on the veranda.</p> + +<p>"Why, Clarence, how late you've kept the child out," said Mrs. Mayfair +with a motherly air. "I'm afraid you will catch cold, Miss Woodburn; +there is such a heavy dew!"</p> + +<p>Clarence went up to his mother and said something in a low tone. A +pleased look lighted her face.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad, dear Beth, my daughter. I shall have another daughter in +place of the one I am giving away."</p> + +<p>She drew the girl to her breast with tender affection. Beth had been +motherless all her life, and the caress was sweet and soothing to her. +Edith fastened her cape and kissed her fondly when she was going home. +Clarence went with her, and somehow everything was so dream-like and +unreal that even the old rough-cast home looked strange and shadowy in +the moon-light. It was perhaps a relief that her father had not yet +returned.</p> + +<p>She was smiling and happy, but even her own little room seemed strangely +unnatural that night. She stopped just inside the door and looked at it, +the moonlight streaming through the open window upon her bed. Was she +really the same Beth Woodburn that had rested there last night and +thought about the roses. She took them out of her belt now. A sweetly +solemn feeling stole over her, and she crossed over and knelt at the +window, the withered roses in her hand, her face upturned to heaven. +Sacred thoughts filled her mind. She had longed for love, someone to +love, someone who loved her; but was she worthy, she asked herself, pure +enough, good enough? She felt to-night that she was kneeling at an +unseen shrine, a bride, to be decked by the holy angels in robes whiter +than mortal ever saw.</p> + +<p>Waves of sweet music aroused her. She started up as from a dream, +recognizing at once the touch of the same hand that she had heard in the +distance the night before, and it was coming from their own parlor +window, right beneath hers! She held her breath almost as she stole out +and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the parlor. Why, it was +Arthur! Was it possible he could play like that? She made a striking +picture as she stood there on the stairs, her great grey eyes drinking +in the music: but she was relieved somehow when it ceased. It was +bright, quick, inspiring; but it seemed to make her forget her new-born +joy while it lasted.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>WHITHER, BETH?</i></p> + + +<p>Beth was lying in the hammock, watching the white clouds chase each +other over the sky. Her face was quite unclouded, though the morning had +not passed just as she had hoped. It was the next afternoon after she +had taken tea at the Mayfair's, and Clarence had come to see her father +that morning. They had had a long talk in the study, and Beth had sat in +her room anxiously pulling to pieces the roses that grew at her window. +After a little while she was called down. Clarence was gone, and she +thought her father did not look quite satisfied, though he smiled as she +sat down beside him.</p> + +<p>"Beth, I am sorry you are engaged so young," he said gently. "Are you +sure you love him, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, papa, dear. You don't understand," and she put both arms +about his neck. "I am in love, truly. Believe me, I shall be happy."</p> + +<p>"Clarence is delicate, too," said her father with a grave look.</p> + +<p>They were both silent for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>"But, after all, he cannot marry for three or four years to come, and +you must take your college course, Beth."</p> + +<p>They were silent again for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you, Beth, my darling child." There were tears in his +eyes, and his voice was very gentle. He kissed her and went out to his +office.</p> + +<p>What a dear old father he was! Only Beth wished he had looked more +hopeful and enthusiastic over the change in her life. Aunt Prudence had +been told before dinner, and she had taken it in a provokingly quiet +fashion that perplexed Beth. What was the matter with them all? Did they +think Clarence the pale-faced boy that he looked? They were quite +mistaken. Clarence was a man.</p> + +<p>So Miss Beth reasoned, and the cloud passed off her brow, for, after +all, matters were about as they were before. The morning had been rather +pleasant, too. Arthur had played some of his sweet old pieces, and then +asked as a return favor to see some of her writing. She had given him +several copies of the Briarsfield <i>Echo</i>, and he was still reading. In +spite of her thoughts of Clarence, she wondered now and again what +Arthur would think of her. Would he be proud of his old play-mate? He +came across the lawn at last and drew one of the chairs up beside the +hammock.</p> + +<p>"I have read them all, Beth, and I suppose I should be proud of you. You +are talented—indeed, you are more than talented: you are a genius, I +believe. But do you know, Beth, I do not like your writings?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her as if it pained him to utter these words.</p> + +<p>"They are too gloomy. There is a sentimental gloom about everything you +write. I don't know what the years since we parted have brought you, +Beth, but your writings don't seem to come from a full heart, +overflowing with happiness. It seems to me that with your command of +language and flowing style you might bring before your reader such sweet +little homes and bright faces and sunny hearts, and that is the sweetest +mission a writer has, I believe."</p> + +<p>Beth watched him silently. She had not expected this from Arthur. She +thought he would overwhelm her with praise; and, instead, he sat there +like a judge laying all her faults before her. Stern critic! Somehow he +didn't seem just like the old Arthur.</p> + +<p>"I don't like him any more," she thought. "He isn't like his old self."</p> + +<p>But somehow she could not help respecting him as she looked at him +sitting there with that great wave of dark hair brushed back from his +brow, and his soulful eyes fixed on something in space. He looked a +little sad, too.</p> + +<p>"Still, he isn't a writer like Clarence," she thought, "and he doesn't +know how to praise like Clarence does."</p> + +<p>"But Arthur," she said, finally speaking her thoughts aloud; "you speak +as though I could change my way of writing merely by resolving to. I can +write only as nature allows."</p> + +<p>"That's too sentimental, Beth; just like your writing. You are a little +bit visionary."</p> + +<p>"But there are gloomy and visionary writers as well as cheerful ones. +Both have their place."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe, Beth, that gloom has a place in this bright earth of +ours. Sadness and sorrow will come, but there is sweetness in the cup as +well. The clouds drift by with the hours, Beth, but the blue sky stands +firm throughout all time."</p> + +<p>She caught sight of Clarence coming as he was speaking, and scarcely +heeded his last words, but nevertheless they fastened themselves in her +mind, and in after years she recalled them.</p> + +<p>Clarence and Arthur had never met before face to face, and somehow there +was something striking about the two as they did so. Arthur was only a +few years older, but he looked so manly and mature beside Clarence. They +smiled kindly when Beth introduced them, and she felt sure that they +approved of each other. Arthur withdrew soon, and Beth wondered if he +had any suspicion of the truth.</p> + +<p>Once alone with her, Clarence drew her to his heart in true lover-like +fashion.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clarence, don't! People will see you."</p> + +<p>"Suppose they do. You are mine."</p> + +<p>"But you mustn't tell it, Clarence. You won't, will you?"</p> + +<p>He yielded to her in a pleasant teasing fashion.</p> + +<p>"Have you had a talk with your father, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered seriously, "and I rather hoped he would take it +differently."</p> + +<p>"I had hoped so, too; but, still, he doesn't oppose us, and he will +become more reconciled after a while, you know, when he sees what it is +to have a son. Of course, he thinks us very young; but still I think we +are more mature than many young people of our age."</p> + +<p>Beth's face looked changed in the last twenty-four hours. She had a more +satisfied, womanly look. Perhaps that love-craving heart of hers had +been too empty.</p> + +<p>"I have been looking at the upstair rooms at home," said Clarence. +"There will have to be some alterations before our marriage."</p> + +<p>"Why, Clarence!" she exclaimed, laughing; "you talk as though we were +going off to Gretna Green to be married next week."</p> + +<p>"Sure enough, the time is a long way off, but it's well to be looking +ahead. There are two nice sunny rooms on the south side. One of them +would be so nice for study and writing. It has a window looking south +toward the lake, and another west. You were always fond of watching the +sun set, Beth. But you must come and look at them. Let's see, to-day's +Saturday. Come early next week; I shall be away over Sunday, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you told me so last night."</p> + +<p>"Did I tell you of our expected guest?" he asked, after a pause. "Miss +Marie de Vere, the daughter of an old friend of my mother's. Her father +was a Frenchman, an aristocrat, quite wealthy, and Marie is the only +child, an orphan. My mother has asked her here for a few weeks."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a striking name?" said Beth, "Marie de Vere, pretty, too. I +wonder what she will be like."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will like her, Beth. She makes her home in Toronto, and it +would be nice if you became friends. You will be a stranger in Toronto, +you know, next winter. How nice it will be to have you there while I am +there, Beth. I can see you quite often then. Only I hate to have you +study so hard."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but then it won't hurt my brain, you know. Thoughts of you will +interrupt my studies so often" she said, with a coquettish smile.</p> + +<p>Clarence told her some amusing anecdotes of 'Varsity life, then went +away early, as he was going to leave the village for a day or two.</p> + +<p>Beth hurried off to the kitchen to help Aunt Prudence. It was unusual +for her to give any attention to housework, but a new interest in +domestic affairs seemed to have aroused within her to-day.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday, and somehow it seemed unusually sacred to Beth. +The Woodburn household was at church quite early, and Beth sat gazing +out of the window at the parsonage across the road. It was so +home-like—a great square old brick, with a group of hollyhocks beside +the study window.</p> + +<p>The services that day seemed unusually sweet, particularly the +Sunday-school hour. Beth's attention wandered from the lesson once or +twice, and she noticed Arthur in the opposite corner teaching a class of +little girls—little tots in white dresses. He looked so pleased and +self-forgetful. Beth had never seen him look like that before; and the +children were open-eyed. She saw him again at the close of the +Sunday-school, a little light-haired creature in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Why, Arthur, I didn't think you were so fond of children."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I'm quite a grandfather, only minus the grey hair."</p> + +<p>It was beautiful walking home that afternoon in the light June breeze. +She wondered what Clarence was doing just then. Home looked so sweet and +pleasant, too, as she opened the gate, and she thought how sorry she +should be to leave it to go to college in the fall.</p> + +<p>Beth stayed in her room a little while, and then came down stairs. +Arthur was alone in the parlor, sitting by the north window, and Beth +sat down near. The wind had ceased, the sun was slowly sinking in the +west, a flock of sheep were resting in the shadow of the elms on the +distant hill-slope, and the white clouds paused in the blue as if moored +by unseen hands. Who has not been moved by the peace and beauty of the +closing hours of a summer Sabbath? Arthur and Beth were slow to begin +conversation, for silence seemed more pleasing.</p> + +<p>"Arthur, when are you going out as a missionary?" asked Beth, at last.</p> + +<p>"Not for three or four years yet."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going, do you know?"</p> + +<p>"To the Jews, at Jerusalem."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you will be sent just where you want to go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for I am going to pay my own expenses. A bachelor uncle of mine +died, leaving me an annuity."</p> + +<p>"Don't you dread going, though?"</p> + +<p>"Dread it! No, I rejoice in it!" he said, with a radiant smile. "One has +so many opportunities of doing good in a work like that."</p> + +<p>"Do you always think of what you can do for others?"</p> + +<p>"That is the best way to live," he answered, a sweet smile in the depths +of his dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"But don't you dread the loneliness?"</p> + +<p>"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur!"—she buried her face for a moment in the cushions, and +then looked up at him with those searching grey eyes of hers—"you are +brave; you are good; I wish I were, too."</p> + +<p>He looked down upon her tenderly for a moment.</p> + +<p>"But, Beth, isn't your life a consecrated one—one of service?"</p> + +<p>"It is all consecrated but one thing, and I can't consecrate that."</p> + +<p>"You will never be happy till you do. Beth, I am afraid you are not +perfectly happy," he said, after a pause. "You do not look to be."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I am quite happy, very happy, and I shall be happier still by +and by," she said, thinking of Clarence. "But, Arthur, there is one +thing I can't consecrate. I am a Christian, and I do mean to be good, +only I can't consecrate my literary hopes and work."</p> + +<p>"Oh, why not, Beth? That is the very thing you should consecrate. That's +the widest field you have for work. But why not surrender that, too, +Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. I couldn't write like 'Pansy' does, it isn't natural +to me."</p> + +<p>"You don't need to write like 'Pansy.' She has done splendid work, +though, and I don't believe there is a good home where she isn't loved. +But it may not be your place to be just like 'Pansy.'"</p> + +<p>"No; I want to be like George Eliot."</p> + +<p>A graver look crossed his face.</p> + +<p>"That is right to a certain extent. George Eliot certainly had a grand +intellect, but if she had only been a consecrated Christian woman how +infinitely greater she might have been. With such talent as hers +undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of +heaven. Beth, don't you see what grand possibilities are yours, with +your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. Arthur, but then—I am drifting somehow. Life is bearing me +another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be famous, and +perhaps wealthy, too, but I am drifting with the years."</p> + +<p>"But it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, Beth. +You will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. Do +you not see there are two paths before you? Which will you choose, Beth? +'For self?' or 'for Jesus?' The one will bring you fame and wealth, +perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not be +satisfied. The other—oh, it would make you so much happier! Your books +would be read at every fire-side, and Beth Woodburn would be a name to +be loved. You are drifting—but whither, Beth?"</p> + +<p>His voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was +something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget those +last words.</p> + +<p>The moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her dreams, +and she and Clarence were alone together in a lovely island garden. It +was so very beautiful—a grand temple of nature, its aisles carpeted +with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a star-strewn sea +all round! No mortal artist could have planned that mysteriously +beautiful profusion of flowers—lily and violet, rose and oleander, +palm-tree and passion-vine, and the olive branches and orange blossoms +interlacing in the moon-light above them. Arthur was watering the tall +white lilies by the water-side and all was still with a hallowed silence +they dared not break. Suddenly a wild blast swept where they stood. All +was desolate and bare, and Clarence was gone. In a moment the bare rocks +where she had stood were overwhelmed, and she was drifting far out to +sea—alone! Stars in the sky above—stars in the deep all round and the +winds and the waters were still! And she was drifting—but whither?</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>MARIE.</i></p> + + +<p>"Isn't she pretty?"</p> + +<p>"She's picturesque looking."</p> + +<p>"Pretty? picturesque? I think she's ugly!"</p> + +<p>These were the varied opinions of a group of Briarsfield girls who were +at the station when the evening train stopped. The object of their +remarks was a slender girl whom the Mayfairs received with warmth. It +was Marie de Vere—graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and +daintily dressed brown hair. This was the girl that Beth and Arthur were +introduced to when they went to the Mayfairs to tea a few days later. +Beth recalled the last evening she was there to tea. Only a few days had +since passed, and yet how all was changed!</p> + +<p>"Do you like Miss de Vere?" asked Clarence, after Beth had enjoyed a +long conversation with her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I'm just delighted with her! She has such kind eyes, and she +seems to understand one so well!"</p> + +<p>"You have fallen in love at first sight. The pleasure on your face makes +up for the long time I have waited to get you alone. Only I wish you +would look at me like you looked at Miss de Vere just now," he said, +trying to look dejected.</p> + +<p>She laughed. Those little affectionate expressions always pleased her, +for she wondered sometimes if Clarence could be a cold and unresponsive +husband. He was not a very ardent lover, and grey-eyed, intellectual +Beth Woodburn had a love-hungering heart, though few people knew it.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," said Beth, "Miss de Vere has told me that there is a +vacant room at her boarding-house. She is quite sure she can get it for +me this winter. Isn't she kind? I believe we shall be great friends."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you will enjoy her friendship. She is a clever artist and +musician, you know. Edith says she lives a sort of Bohemian life in +Toronto. Her rooms are littered with music and painting and literature."</p> + +<p>"How nice! Her face looks as if she had a story, too. There's something +sad in her eyes."</p> + +<p>"She struck me as being remarkably lively," said Clarence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret sorrows. Look, +there she is walking with Arthur toward the lake."</p> + +<p>Clarence smiled for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps fate may see fit to link them together," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I don't think so! I can't imagine it."</p> + +<p>"Grafton's a fine fellow, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you like him so well, Clarence. He's just like my brother, you +know. We had such an earnest talk Sunday night. He made me feel, oh, I +don't know how. But do you know, my life isn't consecrated to God, +Clarence; is yours?"</p> + +<p>They were walking under the stars of the open night, and Clarence looked +thoughtful for a moment, then answered unhesitatingly:</p> + +<p>"No, Beth. I settled that long ago. I don't think we need to be +consecrated. So long as we are Christians and live fairly consistent +lives, I think that suffices. Of course, with people like Arthur Grafton +it is different. But as for us we are consecrated to art, you know, in +the shape of writing. Let us make the utmost of our talents."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are consecrated to art," said Beth with a sigh of relief, and +began talking of Marie.</p> + +<p>Since Beth was to leave home in the fall, she did not go away during the +summer, and consequently saw much of Marie during the few weeks she +stayed at Briarsfield. It is strange how every life we come in contact +with leaves its impress upon ourselves! It was certainly so with Marie +and Beth. Marie had seen so much of the world and of human life, and +Beth had always lived so quietly there in her own village, that now a +restlessness took possession of her to get away far beyond the horizon +of Briarsfield.</p> + +<p>The days passed on as days will pass. Clarence was home most of the +time, and he and Beth had many walks together in the twilight, and +sometimes in the morning. What delightful walks they were in the cool of +the early summer morning! There was one especially pretty spot where +they used to rest along the country road-side. It was a little hill-top, +with the ground sloping down on either side, then rising again in great +forest-crowned hills. Two oak trees, side by side, shaded them as they +watched the little clouds sailing over the harvest fields.</p> + +<p>Arthur was with them a great deal of the summer, and Beth was occupied +with preparations for leaving home. She used to talk to Arthur about +Marie sometimes, but he disappointed her by his coldness. She fancied +that he did not altogether approve of Marie.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>"FOR I LOVE YOU, BETH."</i></p> + + +<p>It came soon, her last Sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in the +west. Beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. Do you remember +that last Sabbath before you left home? Everything, the hills outside, +the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you in +mute farewell. Beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through the +open door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leaping +up in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. She had +always liked that stove with its cheery fire. Then she turned her eyes +to the window and noted that the early September frost had browned her +favorite meadow where the clover bloomed last June, and that the maples +along the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now all +decked in crimson and yellow.</p> + +<p>Her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked around +she saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. Poor father! He +would miss her, she knew, though he tried not to let her see how much. +Aunt Prudence, too, dear old soul, seemed sorry to have her go, but she +had her own peculiar way of expressing it, namely, by getting crosser +every day. She did not approve of so much "larnin'" for girls, +especially when Beth was "goin' to be married to that puny Mayfair." +Aunt Prudence always said her "say," as she expressed it, but she meant +well and Beth understood.</p> + +<p>Beth was not to go until Friday, and Clarence was to meet her at the +station. He had been called away to the city with his father on business +more than a week before. Arthur was with them to-day, but he was to +leave on the early morning train to join a college mate. He was to be at +Victoria University that winter and Beth expected to see him often.</p> + +<p>They had an early supper, and the September sunset streamed through the +open window on the old-fashioned china tea-set. Beth was disappointed +after tea when her father's services were required immediately by a +patient several miles away. Arthur and she sat down by that same old +parlor window in the hush of the coming night; a few white clouds were +spread like angel wings above and the early stars were shining in the +west. They were silent for a while. Arthur and Beth were often silent +when together, but the silence was a pleasing, not an embarrassing one.</p> + +<p>"Are you sorry to leave home, Beth?" asked Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am; and would you believe it, I thought I'd be so glad to have a +change, and yet it makes me sad now the time is drawing near."</p> + +<p>They were silent again for a while.</p> + +<p>"Arthur, do you know, I think it seems so hard for you to go away so far +and be a missionary when you are so fond of home and home life."</p> + +<p>He smiled tenderly upon her, but she did not know the meaning of that +smile then as she knew a little later.</p> + +<p>"It is my Father's will," he said with a sweeter, graver smile.</p> + +<p>"Beth, do you not see how your talent could be used in the mission +field?"</p> + +<p>"He does not know I am going to marry Clarence," she thought with a +smile, "and he is going to map out a life work for a maiden lady."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't see how," she answered.</p> + +<p>"You know there is a large proportion of the world that never read such +a thing as a missionary book, and that if more such books were read, +missions would be better supported. Now, if someone with bright talents +were to write fascinating stories of Arabian life or life in Palestine, +see how much interest would be aroused. But then you would need to live +among the people and know their lives, and who would know them so well +as a missionary?"</p> + +<p>Beth smiled at his earnestness.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Arthur; I couldn't do that."</p> + +<p>His eyes filled in a moment with a sad, pleading look.</p> + +<p>"Beth, can you refuse longer to surrender your life and your life's +toil? Look, Beth," he said, pointing upward to the picture of Christ +upon the wall, "can you refuse Him—can you refuse, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur, don't," she said drooping her face.</p> + +<p>"But I <i>must</i>, Beth! Will you enter your Father's service? Once again I +ask you."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were turned away and she answered nothing.</p> + +<p>"Beth," he said softly, "I have a more selfish reason for urging +you—for I love you, Beth. I have loved you since we were children +together. Will you be my own—my wife? It is a holy service I ask you to +share. Are you ready, Beth?"</p> + +<p>Her pale face was hidden in her hands. He touched her hair reverently. +Tick! tick! tick! from the old clock in the silence. Then a crimson +flush, and she rose with sudden violence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur, what <i>can</i> you mean? I thought—you seemed my brother +almost—I thought you would always be that. Oh, Arthur! Arthur! how can +you—how dare you talk so? I am Clarence Mayfair's promised wife."</p> + +<p>"Clarence Mayfair's—" The words died away on his white lips. He leaned +upon the mantel-piece, and Beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. His face +was so deathly white. His eyes were shaded by his hand, and his brow +bore the marks of strong agony. Oh, he was wounded! Those moments were +awful in their silence. The darkness deepened in the old parlor. There +was a sound of voices passing in the street. The church bell broke the +stillness. Softly the old calm crept over his brow, and he raised his +face and looked at her with those great dark eyes—eyes of unfathomable +tenderness and impenetrable fire, and she felt that her very soul stood +naked before him. She trembled and sank on the couch at her side. His +look was infinitely tender as he came toward her.</p> + +<p>"I have hurt you—forgive me," he said gently, and he laid his hand on +her head so reverently for a moment. His white lips murmured something, +but she only caught the last words, "God bless you—forever. Good-bye, +Beth—little Beth."</p> + +<p>He smiled back upon her as he left the room, but she would rather he had +looked sad. That smile—she could never forget it, with its wonderful +sweetness and sorrow.</p> + +<p>She sat motionless for a while after he left the room. She felt thrilled +and numbed. There are moments in life when souls stand forth from their +clayey frames and touch each other, forgetful of time and space. It was +one of those experiences that Beth had just passed through. She went to +her room and crouched down at her window beneath the stars of that +autumn night. Poor Arthur! She was so sad over it all. And he had loved +her! How strange! How could it have been? Loved her since they were +children, he had said. She had never thought of love coming like that. +And they had played together upon that meadow out there. They had grown +up together, and he had even lived in her home those few years before he +went to college. No, she had never dreamed of marrying Arthur! But oh, +he was wounded so! She had never seen him look like that before. And he +had hoped that she would share his life and his labor. She thought how +he had pictured her far away under the burning sun of Palestine, bathing +his heated brow and cheering him for fresh effort. He had pictured, +perhaps, a little humble home, quiet and peaceful, somewhere amid the +snow-crested mountains of the East, where he would walk with her in the +cool of night-fall, under the bright stars and clear sky of that distant +land. Poor, mistaken Arthur! She was not fitted for such a life, she +thought. They were never made for each other. Their ambitions were not +the same. She had found her counterpart in Clarence, and he understood +her as Arthur never could have done. Arthur was a grand, good, practical +man, but there was nothing of the artist-soul in him, she thought. But +she had hoped that he would always be her own and Clarence's friend. He +was such a noble friend! And now her hope was crushed. She could never +be the same to him again, she knew, and he had said farewell.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Beth—little Beth," he had said, and she lingered over the +last two words, "little Beth." Yes, she would be "little Beth" to him, +forever now, the little Beth that he had loved and roamed with over +meadow and woodland and wayside, in the sunny, bygone days.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Beth—little Beth." Poor Arthur!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>'VARSITY.</i></p> + + +<p>Friday morning came, the last day of September, and the train whistled +sharply as it steamed around the curve from Briarsfield with Beth at one +of the car-windows. It had almost choked her to say good-bye to her +father at the station, and she was still straining her eyes to catch the +last glimpse of home. She could see the two poplars at the gate almost +last of all, as the train bore her out into the open country. She looked +through her tears at the fields and hills, the stretches of woodland and +the old farm-houses, with the vines clambering over their porches, and +the tomatoes ripening in the kitchen window-sills. Gradually the tears +dried, for there is pleasure always in travelling through Western +Ontario, particularly on the lake-side, between Hamilton and Toronto.</p> + +<p>Almost the first one Beth saw, as the train entered Toronto station, +was Clarence, scanning the car-windows eagerly for her face. Her eyes +beamed as he came toward her. She felt as if at home again. Marie had +secured her room for her, and Beth looked around with a pleased air when +the cab stopped on St. Mary's street. It was a row of three-storey brick +houses, all alike, but a cheery, not monotonous, row, with the maples in +front, and Victoria University at the end of the street. A plump, cheery +landlady saw Beth to her room, and, once alone, she did just what +hundreds of other girls have done in her place—sat down on that big +trunk and wept, and wondered what "dear old daddy" was doing. But she +soon controlled herself, and looked around the room. It was a very +pretty room, with rocker and table, and a book-shelf in the corner. +There was a large window, too, opening to the south, with a view of St. +Michael's College and St. Basil's Church. Beth realized that this room +was to be her home for the coming months, and, kneeling down, she asked +that the presence of Christ might hallow it.</p> + +<p>She was not a very close follower of Christ, but the weakest child of +God never breathed a prayer unheard.</p> + +<p>It was such a pleasant treat when Marie tapped at the door just before +tea. It would be nice to have Marie there all winter. Beth looked around +the tea-table at the new faces: Mrs. Owen, at one end of the table, +decidedly stout; Mr. Owen, at the other end, decidedly lean. There were +two sweet-faced children, a handsome, gloomy-browed lawyer, and Marie at +her side.</p> + +<p>The next day, Clarence took Beth over to 'Varsity—as Toronto University +is popularly called—and she never forgot that bright autumn morning +when she passed under the arch of carved stone into the University +halls, those long halls thronged with students. Clarence left her in the +care of a gentle fourth-year girl. Beth was taken from lecturer to +lecturer until the registering was done, and then she stopped by one of +the windows in the ladies' dressing-room to gaze at the beautiful autumn +scenery around—the ravine, with its dark pines, and the Parliament +buildings beyond. Beth was beginning to love the place.</p> + +<p>We must not pause long over that first year that Beth spent at 'Varsity. +It passed like a flash to her, the days were so constantly occupied. But +her memory was being stored with scenes she never forgot. It was so +refreshing on the brisk, autumn mornings to walk to lectures through +the crimson and yellow leaves of Queen's Park: and, later in the year, +when the snow was falling she liked to listen to the rooks cawing among +the pines behind the library. Sometimes, too, she walked home alone in +the weird, winter twilight from the Modern Language Club, or from a late +lecture, her mind all aglow with new thoughts. Then there were the +social evenings in the gymnasium, with its red, blue and white +decorations, palms and promenades, and music of the orchestra, and hum +of strange voices. It was all new to Beth; she had seen so little of the +world. There was the reception the Y.W.C.A. gave to the +"freshettes"—she enjoyed that, too. What kind girls they were! Beth was +not slow to decide that the "'Varsity maid" would make a model wife, so +gentle and kindly and with such a broad, progressive mind. Still Beth +made hardly any friendships worthy of the name that first year. She was +peculiar in this respect. In a crowd of girls she was apt to like all, +but to love none truly. When she did make friends she came upon them +suddenly, by a sort of instinct, as in the case of Marie, and became so +absorbed in them she forgot everyone else. This friendship with Marie +was another feature of her present life that pleased her. She had +dropped out of Sunday-school work. She thought city Sunday-schools +chilly, and she spent many a Sunday afternoon in Marie's room. She liked +to sit there in the rocker by the grate fire, and listen to Marie talk +as she reclined in the cushions, with her dark, picturesque face. They +talked of love and life and books and music, and the world and its ways, +for Marie was clever and thoughtful. In after years Beth looked back on +those Sunday afternoons with a shadow of regret, for her feet found a +sweeter, holier path. Marie prided herself on a little tinge of +scepticism, but they rarely touched on that ground. The twilight shadows +gathered about the old piano in the corner, and the pictures grew dimmer +on the wall, and Marie would play soft love-songs on her guitar, and +sometime Beth would recite one of her poems.</p> + +<p>"Have you finished the novel you were writing last summer, Beth?" asked +Marie, one day.</p> + +<p>"No, there are just three more chapters, and I am going to leave them +till holidays, next summer, so I can give them my full time and +attention."</p> + +<p>"Tell me the story."</p> + +<p>Then Beth sat by the fire with a dreamy look on her face and told the +plot of her story. Marie leaned forward, a bright, delighted sparkle in +her dark eyes. Beth had never interested her like that before. She felt +encouraged, and Marie was in raptures when she had finished.</p> + +<p>"It's just splendid! Oh, Beth, how clever you are; you will be famous +soon. I shall be proud of your friendship."</p> + +<p>Beth did not enjoy as much of the company of Clarence as she had hoped +during these days, though he always brought her home from church on +Sunday evening. Marie was always with them. Beth never thought of +leaving her, and Clarence, too, seemed to enjoy her company. Beth was +pleased at this; she liked to have Clarence appreciate her friends. +Then, they three often went to the musical concerts; Beth liked those +concerts so much, and Marie's face would fairly sparkle sometimes, and +change with every wave of music.</p> + +<p>"Just look! Isn't Marie's face grand?" said Clarence one night in a +concert.</p> + +<p>Beth only smiled. That night she sat in the rocker opposite her mirror +and looked at her own reflection.</p> + +<p>"What a grave, grey-eyed face it is!" she thought. She loved music and +beautiful things, and yet she wondered why her eyes never sparkled and +glowed like Marie's. She wished they had more expression. And yet Marie +was not a pretty girl: no one would have thought for a moment of +calling her pretty.</p> + +<p>But what of Arthur? Beth was surprised that during all this time she had +seen him but once, though she lived so near to Victoria. That once was +in the University hall. She had studied late one afternoon, in the +reading-room, after the other girls were gone, and it was just where the +two corridors met that she came face to face with Arthur. He stopped, +and inquired about her studies and her health, and his eyes rested +kindly upon her for a moment; but he did not speak to her just like the +old Arthur. "Good-bye, Beth—little Beth." She recalled the words as she +passed down the long, deserted hall, with its row of lights on either +side.</p> + +<p>There was another thing that touched Beth. It was when Marie left them +just before the examinations in the spring; she was going to visit some +friends. Sweet Marie! How she would miss her. She sat by the +drawing-room window waiting to bid her good-bye. It was a bright April +day, with soft clouds and a mild breeze playing through the budding +trees. Marie came down looking so picturesque under her broad-brimmed +hat, and lifted her veil to receive Beth's farewell kiss. Beth watched +her as she crossed the lawn to the cab. Clarence came hurrying up to +clasp her hand at the gate. He looked paler, Beth thought; she hoped he +would come in, but he turned without looking at her window and hurried +away. Beth felt a little sad at heart; she looked at the long, empty +drawing-room, and sighed faintly, then went back upstairs to her books.</p> + +<p>And what had that winter brought to Beth? She had grown; she felt it +within herself. Her mind had stretched out over the great wide world +with its millions, and even over the worlds of the sky at night, and at +times she had been overwhelmed at the glory of earth's Creator. Yes, she +had grown; but with her growth had come a restlessness; she felt as +though something were giving way beneath her feet like an iceberg +melting in mild waters. There was one particular night that this +restlessness had been strong. She had been to the Modern Language Club, +and listened to a lecture on Walt Whitman, by Dr. Needler. She had never +read any of Whitman's poetry before, she did not even like it. But there +were phrases and sentences here and there, sometimes of Whitman's, +sometimes of Dr. Needler's, that awakened a strange incoherent music in +her soul—a new chord was struck. It was almost dark when she reached +her room, at the close of a stormy winter day. She stood at her window +watching the crimson and black drifts of cloud piled upon each other in +the west. Strife and glory she seemed to read in that sky. She thought +of Whitman's rugged manliness, of the way he had mingled with all +classes of men—mingled with them to do them good. And Beth's heart +cried out within her, only to do something in this great, weary +world—something to uplift, to ennoble men, to raise the lowly, to feed +and to clothe the uncared for, to brighten the millions of homes, to +lift men—she knew not where. This cry in Beth's heart was often heard +after that—to be great, to do something for others. She was growing +weary of the narrow boundaries of self. She would do good, but she knew +not how. She heard a hungry world crying at her feet, but she had not +the bread they craved. Poor, blinded bird, beating against the bars of +heaven! Clarence never seemed to understand her in those moods: he had +no sympathy with them. Alas, he had never known Beth Woodburn; he had +understood her intellectual nature, but he had never sounded the depths +of her womanly soul. He did not know she had a heart large enough to +embrace the whole world, when once it was opened. Poor, weak, blinded +Clarence! She was as much stronger than he, as the star is greater than +the moth that flutters towards it.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>ENDED.</i></p> + + +<p>June was almost over, and Beth had been home a full month on that long +four months' vacation that university students are privileged to enjoy. +She was very ambitious when she came home that first vacation. She had +conceived a fresh ideal of womanhood, a woman not only brilliantly +educated and accomplished, but also a gentle queen of the home, one who +thoroughly understood the work of her home. Clarence was quite pleased +when she began to extol cooking as an art, and Dr. Woodburn looked +through the open kitchen-door with a smile at his daughter hidden behind +a clean white apron and absorbed in the mysteries of the pastry board. +Aunt Prudence was a little astonished, but she never would approve of +Beth's way of doing things—"didn't see the sense of a note-book and +lead-pencil." But Beth knew what she was doing in that respect.</p> + +<p>Then there were so many books that Beth intended to read in that +vacation! Marie had come to the Mayfair's, too, and helped her to pass +some pleasant hours. But there was something else that was holding +Beth's attention. It was Saturday evening, and that story was almost +finished, that story on which she had built so many hopes. She sat in +her room with the great pile of written sheets before her, almost +finished; but her head was weary, and she did not feel equal to writing +the closing scene that night. She wanted it to be the most touching +scene of all, and so it had to be rolled up for another week. Just then +the door-bell rang and Mrs. Ashley was announced, our old friend Edith +Mayfair, the same sweet, fair girl under another name.</p> + +<p>They sat down by the window and had a long chat.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen the new minister and his wife yet?" asked Edith.</p> + +<p>"No; I heard he was going to preach to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The Rev. Mr. Perth, as the new Methodist minister, was just now +occupying the attention of Briarsfield.</p> + +<p>"It's interesting to have new people come to town. I wonder if they +will be very nice. Are they young?" asked Beth.</p> + +<p>"Yes. They haven't been married so very long."</p> + +<p>"Edith"—Beth hesitated before she finished the quietly eager +enquiry—"do you still think marriage the best thing in the world?"</p> + +<p>Edith gave her friend a warm embrace in reply. "Yes, Beth, I think it +the very best thing, if God dwell in your home."</p> + +<p>"That sounds like Arthur," said Beth.</p> + +<p>"Do you ever hear of him. Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know where he is," said Beth, with a half sigh.</p> + +<p>Clarence walked home with Beth to dinner, after church, the next +morning.</p> + +<p>"How do you like the new minister?" Beth asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think he's a clever little fellow."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Beth. "He seems to be a man of progressive ideas. I +think we shall have bright, interesting sermons."</p> + +<p>Marie was slightly ill that Sunday, and did not come out. Clarence and +Beth took a stroll in the moonlight. The world looked bright and +beautiful beneath the stars, but Clarence was quieter even than usual, +and Beth sighed faintly. Clarence was growing strangely quiet and +unconfidential. He was certainly not a demonstrative lover. Perhaps, +after all, love was not all she had dreamed. She had painted her +dreamland too bright. She did not acknowledge this thought, even to her +own soul; but her heart was a little hungry that summer night. Poor +Beth! Before another Sabbath she was to know a greater pain than mere +weariness. The flames were being kindled that were to scorch that poor +heart of hers.</p> + +<p>It was about ten o'clock the next night when she finished her novel. +Somehow it gave her a grave feeling. Aunt Prudence was in bed, and Dr. +Woodburn had gone out into the country to a patient, and would not +return till midnight. The house was so still, and the sky and the stars +so beautiful; the curtains of her open window just moved in the night +air! It was all ended now—that dreamland which she had lived and loved +and gave expression to on those sheets of paper. Ended! And she was +sitting there with her pen in her hand, her work finished, bending over +it as a mother does over her child. She almost dreaded to resign it to a +publisher, to cast it upon the world. And yet it would return to her, +bringing her fame! She was sure of that. The last scene alone would make +her famous. She could almost see the sweet earnest-eyed woman in her +white robes at the altar; she could hear the sound of voices and the +tread of feet; she was even conscious of the fragrance of the flowers. +It was all so vivid to her!</p> + +<p>Then a sudden impulse seized her. She would like so much to show it to +Clarence, to talk to him, and feel his sympathy. He never retired much +before midnight, and it was scarcely ten minutes' walk. She would get +back before her father returned, and no one would know. Seizing her hat, +she went quietly out. It was a freak, but then Beth had freaks now and +then. A great black cloud drifted over the moon, and made everything +quite dark. A timid girl would have been frightened, but Beth was not +timid.</p> + +<p>She knew Clarence was likely to be in the library, and so went around to +the south side. The library window was quite close to the door of the +side hall, and as Beth came up the terrace, through the open window a +picture met her eyes that held her spell-bound.</p> + +<p>Clarence and Marie were sitting side by side on the sofa, a few feet +from the window. Marie's dark face was drooping slightly, her cheeks +flushed, and her lips just parted in a smile. There was a picture of the +Crucifixion on the wall above them, and rich violet curtains hanging to +one side. One of Marie's slender olive hands rested on the crimson +cushions at her side, the other Clarence was stroking with a tender +touch. Both were silent for a moment. Then Clarence spoke in a soft, low +tone:</p> + +<p>"Marie, I want to tell you something."</p> + +<p>"Do you? Then tell me."</p> + +<p>"I don't like to say it," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, do. Tell me."</p> + +<p>"If I were not an engaged man,"—his voice seemed to tremble faintly, +and his face grew paler—"I should try and win you for my wife."</p> + +<p>Beth drew back a step, her young cheek colorless as death. No cry +escaped her white lips, but her heart almost ceased its beating. It was +only a moment she stood there, but it seemed like years. The dark, +blushing girl, the weak, fair-haired youth in whom she had placed her +trust, the pictures, the cushions, the curtains, every detail of the +scene, seemed printed with fire upon her soul. She was stung. She had +put her lips to the cup of bitterness, and her face looked wild and +haggard as she turned away.</p> + +<p>Only the stars above and the night wind sighing in the leaves, and a +heart benumbed with pain! A tall man passed her in the shadow of the +trees as she was crossing the lawn, but she paid no heed. The lights in +the village homes were going out one by one as she returned up the dark, +deserted street. The moon emerged from the clouds, and filled her room +with a flood of unnatural light just as she entered. She threw herself +upon her pillow, and a cry of pain went up from her wounded heart. She +started the next instant in fear lest some one had heard. But no, there +was no one near here, save that loving One who hears every moan; and +Beth had not learned yet that He can lull every sufferer to rest in His +bosom. The house was perfectly still, and she lay there in the darkness +and silence, no line changing in the rigid marble of her face. She heard +her father's step pass by in the hall; then the old clock struck out the +midnight hour, and still she lay in that stupor with drops of cold +perspiration on her brow.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a change came over her. Her cheeks grew paler still, but her +eyes burned. She rose and paced the room, with quick, agitated steps.</p> + +<p>"Traitress! Traitress!" she almost hissed through her white lips. "It is +<i>her</i> fault. It is <i>her</i> fault. And I called her <i>friend</i>. Friend! +Treachery!"</p> + +<p>Then she sank upon her bed, exhausted by the outburst of passion, for it +took but little of this to exhaust Beth. She was not a passionate girl. +Perhaps, never in her life before had she passed through anything like +passion, and she lay there now still and white, her hands folded as in +death.</p> + +<p>In the meantime something else had happened at the Mayfair dwelling. She +had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in +the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in +the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the +same scene in the library. He paused but a moment before entering, but +even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the +hall to the half-open curtains of the library. Marie's face was still +drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently, +and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the +door-way.</p> + +<p>"Clarence Mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation. "Clarence +Mayfair, you dare to speak words of love to that woman at your side? +You! Beth Woodburn's promised husband?"</p> + +<p>"Arthur Grafton!" exclaimed Clarence, and Marie drew back through the +violet curtains.</p> + +<p>A firm hand grasped Clarence by the shoulder, and, white with fear, he +stood trembling before his accuser.</p> + +<p>"Wretch! unworthy wretch! And you claim <i>her</i> hand! Do you know her +worth?"</p> + +<p>"In the name of heaven, Grafton, don't alarm the house!" said Clarence, +in a terrified whisper. His lip trembled with emotion, and Arthur's dark +eyes flashed with fire. There was a shade of pitiful scorn in them, too. +After all, what a mere boy this delicate youth looked, he thought. +Perhaps he was too harsh. He had only heard a sentence or two outside +the window, and he might have judged too harshly.</p> + +<p>"I know it, I know I have wronged her," said Clarence, in a choked +voice; "but don't betray me!"</p> + +<p>There was a ring of true penitence and sorrow in the voice that touched +Arthur, and as he raised his face to that picture of the Crucifixion on +the wall, it softened gradually.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps I am severe. May God forgive you, Clarence. But it is +hard for a man to see another treat the woman he—well, there, I'll say +no more. Only promise me you will be true to her—more worthy of her."</p> + +<p>"I will try, Arthur. Heaven knows I have always meant to be honorable."</p> + +<p>"Then, good-bye, Clarence. Only you need not tell Beth you have seen me +to-night," said Arthur, as he turned to leave; "I shall be out of +Briarsfield before morning."</p> + +<p>Poor Arthur! Time had not yet healed his wound, but he was one of those +brave souls who can "suffer and be still." That night, as he was passing +through Briarsfield on the late train, a desire had seized him to go +back to the old place just once more, to walk up and down for a little +while before the home of the woman he loved. He did not care to speak to +her or to meet her face to face. She was another's promised wife. Only +to be near her home—to breathe one deep blessing upon her, and then to +leave before break of day, and she would never know he had been near. He +had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the +great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark +street toward the Mayfairs'. After a little while he had followed, even +approached the windows of Clarence Mayfair's home, hoping for one last +look. But he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only +seen what filled his heart with sorrow. A meaner man would have taken +advantage of the sight, and exposed his rival. But Arthur had anything +but a mean soul. He believed Beth loved Clarence, as he thought a woman +should love the man to whom she gives her life. He believed that God was +calling him to the mission-field alone. He had only caught a few words +that Clarence had said to Marie, and he fancied it may, after all, have +been mere nonsense. Surely he could not have ceased to love Beth! Surely +he could not be blind to her merits! Arthur saw only too truly how weak, +emotional and changeable Clarence was, but it was not his place to +interfere with those whom God had joined. So he argued to himself.</p> + +<p>But the night was passing, and Beth still lay there, no tear on her cold +white cheeks. The clock struck one, a knell-like sound in the night! +Beth lay there, her hands folded on her breast, the prayer unuttered by +her still lips—one for death. The rest were sleeping quietly in their +beds. They knew nothing of her suffering. They would never know. Oh, if +that silent messenger would but come now, and still her weary heart! +They would come in the morning to look at her. Yes; Clarence would come, +too. Perhaps he would love her just a little then. Perhaps he would +think of her tenderly when he saw her with the white roses in her hands. +Oh, was there a God in heaven who could look down on her sorrow +to-night, and not in pity call her home? She listened for the call that +would bear her far beyond this earthly strife, where all was such tangle +and confusion. She listened, but she heard it not, and the darkness +deepened, the moon grew pale and the stars faded away. The house was so +still! The whistle of a steam-engine broke the silence, and she saw the +red light as the train swept around the curve. It was bearing Arthur +away, and she did not know that one who loved her had been so near! Then +she saw a grey gleam in the east. Ah, no! she could not die. The day was +coming again, and she would have to face them all. She would sit in the +same place at the breakfast table. She would meet Clarence again, and +Marie—oh—oh, she could not bear the thought of it! She sat up on her +bedside with such a weary, anguished look in her eyes! Then she went to +kneel at the open window, where her mother had taught her to kneel long +years ago. Her sweet-faced, long-dead mother! When she raised her eyes +again the east was all aglow with the pink and purple dawn, and the +rooks were cawing in the pines across the meadow. She paced the floor +for a moment or two.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it must be done. I will do it," she thought. "He loves her. I will +not stand in the way of his happiness. No; I had rather die."</p> + +<p>And she took a sheet of note-paper, and wrote these simple words:</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Clarence</span>,—I do not believe you love me any more. I +can never be your wife. I know your secret. I know you love Marie. +I have seen it often in your eyes. Be happy with her, and forget +me. May you be very happy, always. Good-bye.</p> + +<p class='right'><span class="smcap">Beth</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>She took it herself to the Mayfair home, knowing that her father would +only think she had gone out for a morning walk. The smoke-wreaths were +curling upward from the kitchen chimneys as she passed down the street, +and Squire Mayfair looked a little surprised when she handed him her +note for Clarence, and turned to walk away.</p> + +<p>That sleepless, tearless night had told upon her, and she was not able +to come down to breakfast. Her father came in, and looked at her with a +professional air.</p> + +<p>"Just what I told you, Beth. You've worked too hard. You need rest. +That's just what's the matter," he said, in a brusque voice, as he put +some medicine on the table and left the room.</p> + +<p>Rest! Yes, she could rest now. Her work was done. She looked at the +sheet of manuscript that she had taken last night to show Clarence. Yes, +the work was done. She had reached the end of her story—the end of her +prospect of marriage. Ended her labor—ended her life-dream!</p> + +<p>As for Clarence, he read her note without any emotion.</p> + +<p>"Humph! I didn't think Grafton was the fellow to make mischief so +quickly. A tale-bearer! Well, it's all for the best. I made a mistake. I +do not love Beth Woodburn. I cannot understand her."</p> + +<p>Beth slept, and seemed much better in the afternoon, but she was still +quite pale when she went into her father's room after tea.</p> + +<p>"Dear old daddy," she said, putting her arms about his neck, "you were +always so kind. You never refuse me anything if you can help it. I wish +you would let me go away."</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, Beth, dear!" he said briskly. "Isn't that just what +I've been telling you? Stop writing all day in that hot room up-stairs. +Go off and have a frolic. Go and see your Aunt Margaret."</p> + +<p>And so it was settled that if Beth were well enough she should start for +Welland next afternoon. She did not see Clarence during the next +morning. It surprised her that he sought no explanation, and before +three o'clock Briarsfield was a mere speck in the distance.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>THE HEAVENLY CANAAN.</i></p> + + +<p>Nearly two months later Beth returned home. Marie had broken off her +visit abruptly, and Clarence had gone away. It was a rainy Saturday, and +Beth sat waiting for her father to finish his rounds. Her visit had +refreshed her, and she looked fairly well again. After all, she had so +many bright prospects! She was young and talented. Her novel was +finished. She would read it through at once, making minor corrections, +and then publish it. With all youth's hopefulness, she was sure of fame +and worldly success, perhaps of wealth too. She seemed to see a rich +harvest-field before her as she sat listening to the rain beat on the +roof that summer afternoon. But, after all, she was not happy. Somehow, +life was all so hollow! So much tangle and confusion! Her young feet +were weary. It was not simply that her love was unreturned. That pained +her far less than she would have thought. It was that her idol was +shattered. Only in the last few weeks had she begun to see Clarence +Mayfair as he really was. It was a wonderfully deep insight into human +nature that Beth had; but she had never applied it where Clarence was +concerned before, and now that she did, what was it she saw?—a weak, +wavering, fickle youth, with a good deal of fine sentiment, perhaps, but +without firm, manly strength; ambitious, it was true, but never likely +to fulfil his ambitions. The sight pained her. And yet this was the one +she had exalted so, and had believed a soaring genius. True, his mind +had fine fibre in it, but he who would soar must have strength as well +as wings. Beth saw clearly just what Clarence lacked, and what can pain +a woman more deeply than to know the object she has idealized is +unworthy?</p> + +<p>Beth had not told her father yet that all was at an end between her and +Clarence. She dreaded telling him that, but she knew he must have +learned it from the Mayfairs during her absence. She sighed as she +thought of it all, and just then Dr. Woodburn came in and sat down on +the couch beside her. They talked until the twilight of that rainy +afternoon began to deepen. Then they were silent for a while, and Beth +saw her father looking at her with a tender look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Beth, my dear child, what is wrong between you and Clarence?"</p> + +<p>She had believed she could tell him all with perfect calmness, but there +was something so very gentle in his look and voice that it disarmed her, +and she threw both arms about his neck, and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, dear, I could not marry him. It would not be right. He +loves Marie de Vere."</p> + +<p>Dr. Woodburn turned away his face, tenderly stroking her hair as she +leaned upon his breast. He spoke no word, but she knew what he felt.</p> + +<p>"Oh, daddy, dear, don't think anything about it," she said, giving him a +warm embrace as she looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "I'm +not unhappy. I have so many things to think of, and I have always you, +you dear old father. I love you better than anyone else on earth. I will +be your own little daughter always."</p> + +<p>She pressed her arms about him more tightly, and there were tears in his +eyes as he stooped to kiss her brow.</p> + +<p>Beth thought of all his tenderness that night as she lay in bed, and +then slept, with the rain beating on the roof overhead.</p> + +<p>It was a bright sunshiny Sabbath morning when she awoke. She remembered +with pleasure how much she had liked Mr. Perth, the new minister, that +Sunday. She had heard him before she went away. He had seemed such an +energetic, wide-awake, inspiring man! Beth liked that stamp of people. +She meant to be a progressive girl. She meant to labor much and to have +much success.</p> + +<p>She was quite early at church that morning, and interested herself by +looking at Mrs. Perth, whom she had never seen before. She was a fair, +slender, girlish creature—very youthful indeed for a married woman. She +had a great mass of light hair, drawn back plainly from a serenely fair +forehead. The fashion became her well, for, in fact, the most striking +thing about her face was its simplicity and purity. She was certainly +plain-looking, but Beth fancied her face looked like the white cup of a +lily. She had such beautiful blue eyes, too, and such a sweet smile.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall love her. I believe we shall be great friends," thought +Beth, after she had had an introduction to Mrs. Perth; and they did +become fast friends.</p> + +<p>Beth had seldom been at Sunday-school since she left home, but an +impulse seized her to go this afternoon. She was quite early, and she +sat down in a seat by herself to muse awhile. She gazed at the lilies +about the altar and the stained-glass windows above the organ. How long +it seemed to look back to that Sunday of two months ago! She shuddered +slightly, and tried to change her thoughts, but she could not help going +back to it. It seemed as though years had since passed. So it is always. +We go about our daily tasks, and the time passes swiftly or slowly, +according as our lives are active or monotonous. Then a crisis comes—an +upheaval—a turn in the current. It lasts but a moment, perhaps, but +when we look back, years seem to have intervened. Beth gave a half sigh, +and concluded she was a little weary, as the people poured into the +Bible-class. Mrs. Perth came and sat beside Beth. Is it not strange how, +in this world of formality and convention, we meet someone now and +again, and there is but a look, a word, a, smile, and we feel that we +have known them so long? There is something familiar in their face, and +we seem to have walked beside them all along the way. It was just so +with Beth and Mrs. Perth. Sweet May Perth! She soon learned to call her +that.</p> + +<p>Beth was never to forget that Sunday afternoon. Mr. Perth taught the +Bible-class. He was an enthusiastic man, reminding her somewhat of +Arthur. They were studying, that day, the approach of the Israelites to +Canaan, and as Mr. Perth grew more earnest, Beth's face wore a brighter +look of interest. Soon he laid aside historical retrospect, and talked +of the heavenly Canaan toward which Christ's people were journeying, a +bright land shining in the sunlight of God's love, joy in abundance, joy +overflowing! He looked so happy as he talked of that Divine love, +changeless throughout all time, throughout all eternity—a love that +never forsakes, that lulls the weary like a cradle-song, a love that +satisfies even the secret longings! Oh, that woman heart of hers, how it +yearned, yea, hungered for a love like that love, that could tread the +earth in humiliation, bearing the cross of others' guilt, dying there at +Calvary! She knew that old, old story well, but she drank it in like a +little wondering child to-day. What were those things He promised to +those who would tread the shining pathway? Life, peace, rest, hope, joy +of earth, joy of heaven! Oh, how she longed to go with them! The tears +were standing in her eyes, and her heart was beating faster. But this +one thing she must do, or turn aside from the promised land of God's +people. Down at the feet of Jesus she must lay her all. And what of that +novel she had written? Could she carry that over into this heavenly +Canaan? "The fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." Hers +would perish, she knew that well. Highly moral, highly refined and +scholarly, but what of its doubts, its shadows, its sorrows without +hope, its supernatural gloom? Beth was a master-artist in the field of +gloom. She knew how to make her readers shudder, but would that story of +hers bring more joy into the world? Would it sweeten life and warm human +hearts? Ah, no! And yet, could she destroy it now, before its +publication? Could she bear the thought of it? She loved it almost as a +mother loves her child. A look of indecision crossed her face. But, just +then, she seemed to hear the bells of heaven ringing forth their sweet +Gospel call. The bright sunshine and the angel voices of a higher life +seemed to break in on her soul. In a moment—she never knew how it +was—she became willing to surrender all. It was hardly a year since she +had said nay to Arthur, when he asked her to lay her life at the feet of +that same Jesus of Nazareth. She refused then, and even one hour ago +she would still have refused; but now she would have trudged the +highways, poverty-stricken, unknown and obscure, for His dear sake. She +would have gone forth, like St. Paul, to the uttermost ends of the +earth, she felt she loved Him so! There were tears in her eyes, and a +new joy seemed to throb in her heart. She felt so kindly to everyone +about her. Was it an impulse or what? She laid her hand softly on May +Perth's as she sat beside her, and May, looking into her eyes, seemed to +read her heart. She held her hand with a warm, loving pressure, and they +were friends from that hour.</p> + +<p>Even the sunlight looked more golden when Beth stepped out into it that +afternoon. Everything had caught a tint from the pearly gates, for that +hour had been a turning-point in her life. She had found the secret of +life—the secret of putting self utterly into the background and living +for others' happiness; and they who find that secret have the key to +their own happiness. The old tinge of gloom in her grey eyes passed +away, and, instead, there came into them the warmth and light of a new +life. They seemed to reach out over the whole world with tender +sympathy, like a deep, placid sea, with the sunlight gilding, its +depths.</p> + +<p>"Beth, you are growing beautiful," her father said to her one day; and +there were something so reverential in his look that it touched her too +deeply to make her vain.</p> + +<p>The four weeks that remained before the first of October, when she was +to return to college, passed quickly. Clarence did not return, and she +heard that he had gone to England, intending to take his degree at +Cambridge. The Ashleys, too, had left Briarsfield, as Mr. Ashley had +secured a principalship east of Toronto. Beth heard nothing more of +Marie, though she would so gladly have forgiven her now!</p> + +<p>Beth soon became quite absorbed in her new friend, May Perth. She told +her one day of her fancy that her face looked like a lily-cup. Mrs. +Perth only laughed and kissed her, in her sweet, unconscious way. Beth +always loved to kiss May Perth's brow; it was so calm and fair, it +reminded her of the white breast of a dove.</p> + +<p>Just three or four days before Beth was to go away, Aunt Prudence came +into her room at a time when she was alone.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see this picture that Arthur left in his room when he went +away last fall?" she asked. "I don't know whether he did it himself or +not."</p> + +<p>She placed it in the light and left the room. Beth recognized it almost +instantly.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's that poem of mine that Arthur liked best of all!" she +thought.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was the very same—the grey rocks rising one above another, the +broad white shore, and the lonely cottage, with the dark storm-clouds +lowering above it, and the fisherman's bride at the window, pale and +anxious, her sunny hair falling about her shoulders as she peered far +out across the sea—the black, storm-tossed sea—and far out among the +billows the tiny speck of sail that never reached the shore. Beth was no +connoisseur of art, but she knew the picture before her was intensely +beautiful, even sublime. There was something in it that made her <i>feel</i>. +It moved her to tears even as Arthur's music had done. No need to tell +her both came from the same hand. Besides, no one else had seen that +poem but Arthur. And Arthur could paint like this, and yet she had said +he had not an artist soul. She sighed faintly. Poor Arthur! Perhaps, +after all, she had been mistaken. And she laid the picture carefully +away among her treasures.</p> + +<p>Her last evening at home soon came. It was a clear, chilly night, and +they had a fire in the drawing-room grate. It was so cosy to sit there +with her father, resting her head on his shoulders, and watching the +coals glowing in the twilight.</p> + +<p>"Beth, my child, you look so much happier lately. Are you really so +happy?" he said, after they had been talking for a while.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think life is so very happy!" said Beth, in a buoyant tone. "And +when you love Jesus it is so much sweeter, and somehow I like everyone +so much and everybody is so kind. Oh, I think life is grand!"</p> + +<p>Dr. Woodburn was a godly man, and his daughter's words thrilled him +sweetly. He brushed away a tear she did not see, and stooped to kiss the +young cheek resting on his coat-sleeve. They were silent for a few +moments.</p> + +<p>"Beth, my dear," he said in a softer tone, "Do you know, I thought that +trouble last summer—over Clarence—was going to hurt you more. How is +it, Beth?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I really loved him, father," she said, in a quiet tone, +"I thought I did. I thought it was going to break my heart that night I +found out he loved Marie. But, somehow, I don't mind. I think it is far +better as it is. Oh, daddy, dear, it's so nice I can tell you things +like this. I don't believe all girls can talk to their fathers this +way. But I—I always wanted to be loved—and Clarence was different from +other people in Briarsfield, you know, and I suppose I thought we were +meant for each other."</p> + +<p>Dr. Woodburn did not answer at once.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you would have been happy with him, Beth," he said, after +a little. "All has been for the best. I was afraid you didn't know what +love meant when you became engaged to him. It was only a school-girl's +fancy."</p> + +<p>"Beth, I am going to tell you something," he said a moment later, as he +stroked her hair. "People believe that I always took a special interest +in Arthur Grafton because his father saved my life when we were boys, +but that was not the only reason I loved him. Years ago, down along the +Ottawa river, Lawrence Grafton was pastor in the town where I had my +first practice. He was a grand fellow, and we were the greatest friends. +I used to take him to see my patients often. He was just the one to +cheer them up. Poor fellow! Let's see, it's seventeen years this fall +since he died. It was the first summer I was there, and Lawrence had +driven out into the country with me to see a sick patient. When we were +coming back, he asked me to stop with him at a farm-house, where some +members of his church lived. I remember the place as if I had seen it +yesterday, an old red brick building, with honeysuckle climbing about +the porch and cherry-trees on the lawn. The front door was open, and +there was a flight of stairs right opposite, and while we waited for an +answer to the bell a beautiful woman, tall and graceful, paused at the +head of the stairs above us, and then came down. To my eyes she was the +most beautiful woman I had ever seen, Beth. She was dressed in white, +and had a basket of flowers on her arm. She smiled as she came towards +us. Her hair was glossy-black, parted in the middle, and falling in +waves about her smooth white forehead; but her eyes were her real +beauty, I never saw anything like them, Beth. They were such great, +dark, tender eyes. They seemed to have worlds in them. It was not long +before I loved Florence Waldon. I loved her." His voice had a strange, +deep pathos in it. "She was kind to me always, but I hardly dared to +hope, and one day I saw her bidding good-bye to Lawrence. It was only a +look and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me. I kept silent +about my love from that hour, and one evening Lawrence came to my rooms.</p> + +<p>"'Congratulate me, Arthur!' he cried, in a tone that bubbled over with +joy. I knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed my +face. 'Congratulate me, Arthur! I am going to marry Florence Waldon next +month, and you must be best man.'</p> + +<p>"I did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and I was best man +at the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him Arthur +after me. He is the Arthur Grafton you have known. But poor Lawrence! +Little Arthur was only a few months old when she took sick. They called +me in, and I did all I could to save her, but one night, as Lawrence and +I stood by her bedside—it was a wild March night, and the wind was +moaning through the shutters while she slept—suddenly she opened her +eyes with a bright look.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, Lawrence, listen, they are singing!' she cried, 'it is so +beautiful; I am going home—good-bye—take care of Arthur,' and she was +gone."</p> + +<p>Dr. Woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster.</p> + +<p>"After that I came to Briarsfield and met your mother, Beth. She seemed +to understand from my face that I had suffered, and after we had become +friends I told her that story, that I had never told to mortal before or +since till now. She was so very tender, and I saw in her face that she +loved me, and by-and-by I took her to wife, and she healed over the +wound with her gentle hands. She was a sweet woman, Beth. God bless her +memory. But the strange part of the story is, Florence Waldon's brother, +Garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of the +pine-wood. She had two other brothers, one a talented editor in the +States, the other a successful lawyer. Garth, too, was a bright, +original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up to +it. He was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor Lawrence +died he left little Arthur—he was three years old then—to him. The +dear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother. He used to come +and hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do you +remember a few years later, when your own sweet mother died, how he came +to comfort you and filled your lap with flowers?"</p> + +<p>Yes, Beth remembered it all, and the tears were running down her cheeks +as she drooped her head in silence. The door-bell broke the stillness +just then. Dr. Woodburn was wanted. Bidding Beth a hasty but tender +good-bye, he hurried off at the call of duty. Beth sat gazing at the +coal-fire in silence after her father left. Poor dear old father! What +a touching story it was! He must have suffered so, and yet he had buried +his sorrow and gone about his work with smiling face. Brave, heroic +soul! Beth fell to picturing it all over again with that brilliant +imagination of hers, until she seemed to see the tall woman, with her +beautiful dark eyes and hair, coming down the stairs, just as he had +seen her. She seemed to hear the March winds moan as he stepped out into +the night and left the beautiful young wife, pale in death. Then she +went to the window and looked out at the stars in the clear sky, and the +meadow tinged with the first frost of autumn; and the pine-wood to the +north, with the moon hanging like a crescent of silver above it. It was +there, at that window, Arthur had asked her to be his wife. Poor Arthur! +She was glad her father did not know. It would have pained him to think +she had refused the son of the woman he had loved.</p> + +<p>Beth lingered a little, gazing at the clear frosty scene before her, +then rose with a firm look on her face and went up to her room. There +was one thing more to be done before she left home to-morrow. She had +resolved upon it. It was dark in her room, but she needed no light to +recognize that roll of manuscript in her drawer. She hesitated a moment +as she touched it tenderly. Must she do it? Yes, ah, yes! She could not +publish that story now. Just then the picture of Arthur seemed to flash +through her mind, reading it and tossing it down with that cold, silent +look she had sometimes seen on his face. It was dark in the hall as she +carried it down to the drawing-room grate. She crouched down on the +hearth-rug before the coals, and a moment later the flames that played +among the closely-written sheets lighted her face. Nothing but a +blackened parchment now for all that proud dream of fame! The room grew +dark again, and only the coals cracking and snapping, and the steady +ticking of the old clock on the mantel piece above her head, broke the +stillness. It was done. She went to the window and knelt down.</p> + +<p>"Father, I have sacrificed it for Thee. Take this talent Thou hast given +me and use it for Thy honor, for I would serve Thee alone, Father."</p> + +<p>She slept that night with a smile on her lips. Yes, friend, it was a +hero's deed, and He who alone witnessed it hath sealed her brow with a +light such as martyrs wear in heaven. As for the world, oh, that every +book filled with dark doubts and drifting fears and shuddering gloom had +perished, too, in those flames!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>'VARSITY AGAIN.</i></p> + + +<p>In a few days Beth was settled again at Mrs. Owen's, on St. Mary's +Street, and tripping to her lectures as usual. Marie was not there, of +course, and Beth knew nothing of her whereabouts. In fact, there had +been a complete change of boarders. The house was filled with 'Varsity +girls this year, with the exception of Marie's old room, a change which +Beth appreciated. One of the girls was a special friend of hers, a +plump, dignified little creature whom most people called pretty. Hers +was certainly a jolly face, with those rosy cheeks and laughing brown +eyes, and no one could help loving Mabel Clayton. She belonged to the +Students' Volunteer Movement, and as this was her last year at college, +Beth thought sometimes a little sorrowfully of the following autumn when +she was to leave for India.</p> + +<p>Beth meant to have her spend a few days at Briarsfield with her next +summer. But a good many things were to happen to Beth before the next +summer passed. A Victoria student was occupying Marie's old room, but as +he took his meals out of the house Beth never even saw him. One of the +girls who saw him in the hall one day described him as "just too nice +looking for anything," but Beth's interest was not aroused in the +stranger.</p> + +<p>That was a golden autumn for Beth, the happiest by far she had ever +known. She was living life under that sweet plan of beginning every day +afresh, and thinking of some little act of kindness to be done. Beth +soon began to believe the girls of University College were the very +kindest in the world; but she would have been surprised, to hear how +often they remarked, "Beth Woodburn is always so kind!" There was +another treat that she was enjoying this year, and that was Dr. Tracy's +lectures.</p> + +<p>"I think he is an ideal man," she remarked once to Mabel Clayton. "I'm +not in love with him, but I think he's an ideal man."</p> + +<p>Mabel was an ardent admirer of Dr. Tracy's, too, but she could not help +laughing at Beth's statement.</p> + +<p>"You are such a hero-worshipper, Beth!" she said. "You put a person up +on a pedestal, and then endow him with all the virtues under the sun."</p> + +<p>A peculiar look crossed Beth's face. She remembered one whom she had +placed on the pedestal of genius, and the idol had fallen, shattered at +her feet.</p> + +<p>She was still the same emotional Beth. There were times when without any +outward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost +cried out, "Oh stay, happy moment, till I drink to the full my draught +of joy!"</p> + +<p>Arthur's painting hung above Beth's study table, and sometimes a shadow +crossed her face as she looked at it. She missed the old friendship, and +she wondered, too, that she never met him anywhere.</p> + +<p>Beth did not go home at Thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted +it the evening before. She was a little homesick for "daddy," and to +dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early. Her +head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of +music in the drawing-room down-stairs. She rose in bed to listen, it was +so like Arthur's music. She was not at all familiar with the piece, but +it thrilled her somehow. There was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes +at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was +bearing her very soul away! Then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold +and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her eyes! Clearer again, +and more triumphant! Her lips parted as she listened. One sweet +prolonged swell, and it died away. She listened for more, but all was +silent. She looked out of the window at the stars in the clear sky, and +the dark shadow of St. Michael's tower on the snow-covered college roof, +then fell back among the pillows to sleep and dream.</p> + +<p>She was walking again on the old path by the road-side at home, just as +she used to go every evening for the milk. The dusk was deepening and +she began to hurry, when she noticed a tall, dark figure ahead. As she +drew nearer she recognized Arthur's broad shoulders and well-set head. +Then a strange, indefinable fear seized her. She did not want to +overtake him, to meet him face to face. She tried to slacken her steps, +but a mysterious, resistless wind seemed to bear her forward against her +will. Not a leaf stirred. All was still around her, and yet that +uncanny, spirit-like wind urged her on. She struggled, and although +Arthur never looked back, she felt that he knew all about her struggles. +At last she made one mighty effort and tore herself free. She took the +path on the other side of the road. It was all quiet there, and she +walked on slowly. The darkness grew thicker, and she lost sight of +Arthur. Then the country became quite new to her. There were bridges +every little way—old rickety bridges, that creaked beneath her step, +with holes where she caught her feet, and she could hear the great wild +torrents rushing below in the darkness. She grew frightened. Oh, how she +wished Arthur were there! Then suddenly it grew lighter, and she saw +that her path was turning, and lo! there was Arthur! A moment more and +their paths would meet. He reached the spot a few steps before her, and +turning, looked at her just once, but she saw in his look that he knew +all that had passed in her heart. "Follow me," he said, with a tender +look; and she followed in silence where the path led between the steep, +high banks, where strange flowers were clinging in the dim light. She +was quite content now, not frightened any longer. Then the bank opened +by their pathway, and he led her into a strange, sandy, desert-looking +place. They entered a shadowy tent, and in the dim light she could see +strange faces, to whom Arthur was talking. No one noticed her, but she +did not feel slighted, for though he did not look at her, she felt that +he was thinking of her. Then suddenly the strange faces vanished, and +she was alone with Arthur. He came toward her with such a beautiful +smile, and there was something in his hand of bright gold—the brightest +gold she had ever seen. It was a golden spear with a tiny ring on one +end and a mass of chain hanging to it; but lo! when she looked around +her she saw it had filled the place with a beautiful mystic light, a +golden halo. Then he drew her nearer, nearer to his bosom, and in a +moment she felt the spear point touch her heart! An instant of pain, +then it pierced her with a deep, sweet thrill. She felt it even to her +finger tips. She awoke with a start, but she could almost feel that +thrill even after she was awake. She could not sleep again quickly, but +lay watching the stars and the moonlight growing paler on her book-case. +Sleep came at length, and when she awoke again it was at the sound of +Mr. Owen's jolly "Heigho! Everybody up! Everybody up!" This was a way he +had of waking the children in good time for breakfast, and it had the +merit of always arousing the boarders, too. Beth naturally supposed that +the musician she had heard the night before had been a caller, and so +made no enquiries.</p> + +<p>The following Sunday evening Beth went to church alone. It was only +three or four blocks up to the Central, and Beth was never timid. She +did not look around the church much, or she would have recognized a +familiar face on the east side. It was Clarence Mayfair's; he was paler +than usual, and his light curly hair looked almost artificial in the +gaslight. There was something sadder and more manly in his expression, +and his eyes were fixed on Beth with a reverent look. How pure she was, +he thought, how serene; her brow looked as though an angel-hand had +smoothed it in her slumber. She seemed to breathe a benediction on +everything around her; she reminded him of an image of an angel bending +in prayer, that he had seen in one of the old cathedral windows across +the sea. And yet, after knowing a woman like that, he had fancied he +could—even fancied he did—love Marie de Vere. What folly had blinded +him then, he wondered? Marie had her charms, to be sure, with those +dark, bewitching eyes of hers, so kind and sympathetic, so bright and +witty and entertaining. But there was something about Marie that was +fleeting, something about Beth that was abiding; Marie's charms +bewitched while she was present and were soon forgotten, but Beth's +lingered in the memory and deepened with the years. It was well, after +all, he thought, that Marie had refused his offer of marriage that +morning he received Beth's note, and went to her in the heat of his +passion. He was but a boy then, and yet it was only a few months ago. +What was it that had changed him from boyhood to manhood so suddenly? He +did not try to answer the question, but only felt conscious of the +change within. He realized now that he had never known what it meant to +love. Marie had shed her lustre on him as she passed; Beth he had never +fully comprehended. He had a dim feeling that she was somehow too high +for him. But would this reverence he felt for her ripen into love with +the maturer years of his manhood? We never can tell the changes that +time will weave in these hearts of ours. It is to be feared Clarence was +not a very attentive listener throughout the service that night. At the +close he waited for Beth in the moonlight outside, but she did not +notice him till he was right beside her.</p> + +<p>"Clarence!" she exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. "Why, I thought +you were in England."</p> + +<p>"So I was; but I am back, you see."</p> + +<p>"I thought you were going to take a year at Cambridge."</p> + +<p>"I did intend to, but I found it too expensive. Besides, I thought I +wouldn't bother finishing my course. I am doing some work along the +journalistic line at present. I just came to Toronto last night, and +intend to leave Tuesday or Wednesday."</p> + +<p>In the first moment of her surprise she had forgotten everything except +that Clarence was an old friend from home; but now, as he walked beside +her, it all came back like a flash—the memory of that night last summer +when she had seen him last. She grew suddenly silent and embarrassed. +She longed to ask him about Marie; she wondered if they were engaged, +and if so where she was, but she soon controlled herself and asked him +about his trip to England, about his mother, about his work, about Edith +and everything else of possible or impossible interest. She was +relieved, without knowing why, that it was only a few blocks to her +boarding-place. He lingered a moment as he said good-night, and +something in his look touched her a little. Only the stirring of old +memories. She hardly knew whether she was pleased or not to meet him +again; but as she entered her room in the darkness her dream seemed to +flash across her memory and a tender voice said, "Follow me."</p> + +<p>Clarence strolled a little way into the park, pondering on the past. He +had never asked Beth for an explanation of her farewell note. He +naturally supposed that Arthur Grafton had gone directly to her that +night and caused the rupture. He wondered if Arthur were in love with +her. Then he turned suddenly and walked back by St. Mary's Street to +Yonge. The street was almost deserted; there was only one figure in +sight, a tall man drawing nearer. There was No.——, where he had left +Beth at the door. He had just passed a few more doors when a familiar +voice startled him. It was Arthur Grafton! Clarence felt ill at ease for +a moment, but Arthur's tone was so kind it dispelled his embarrassment. +They talked for a few moments, then parted; and Clarence, looking back a +moment later, saw Arthur ring the bell at Beth's boarding-place. A +peculiar look, almost a sneer, crossed his face for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Ah, he is going in to spend the evening with his beloved," he thought.</p> + +<p>And Clarence resolved, then and there, not to call on Beth the following +day, as he had intended.</p> + +<p>But Arthur proceeded absently to the room Marie had formerly occupied, +without the slightest idea that Beth had lived in the house with him +nearly two months. It was strange, but though he had seen all the other +girls in the house he had never seen Beth. He had not enquired her +address the year before, not wishing to know. He wished to have nothing +to do with Clarence Mayfair's promised wife. She was nothing to him. +Should he encourage the love he felt for another's wife? No! He had +loved with all the strength of that love that comes but once to any +human heart, and he had suffered as only the strong and silent can +suffer; but he had resolved to bury his pain, and it had given his face +a sterner look. So he lay down to rest that night all unconscious that +Beth was in the room just overhead; that he had heard her footsteps +daily, even listened to her humming little airs to unrecognizable tunes; +but the sight of Clarence Mayfair had aroused the past, and he did not +sleep till late.</p> + +<p>The following afternoon, as Beth sat studying in her room after +lectures, she heard a faint tap at her door, a timid knock that in some +way seemed to appeal strangely to her. She opened the door—and there +stood Marie! In the first moment of her surprise Beth forgot everything +that had separated them, and threw both arms about her in the old +child-like way. She seated her in the rocker by the window and they +talked of various things for a while, but Beth noticed, now and then, +an uneasy look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"She has come to tell me she is going to marry Clarence, and she finds +it difficult, poor girl," thought Beth, with a heart full of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Beth," said Marie at last, "I have wronged you. I have come here to ask +you to forgive me."</p> + +<p>Beth belonged to the kind of people who are always silent in +emergencies, so she only looked at her with her great tender eyes, in +which there was no trace of resentment.</p> + +<p>"I came between you and Clarence Mayfair. He never loved me. It was only +a fancy. I amused and interested him, I suppose. That was all. He is +true to you in the depths of his heart, Beth. It was my fault—all my +fault. He never loved me. It was you he loved, but I encouraged him. It +was wrong, I know."</p> + +<p>Something seemed to choke her for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Will you forgive me, Beth? Can you ever forgive?"</p> + +<p>She was leaning forward gracefully, her fur cape falling back from her +shoulders and her dark eyes full of tears.</p> + +<p>Beth threw both arms about her old friend tenderly, forgetting all the +bitter thoughts she had once had.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marie, dear, I love you—I love you still. Of course I forgive +you."</p> + +<p>Then Beth told her all the story of the past, and of that night when she +had learned that Clarence did not love her, of her wounded vanity, her +mistaken belief in the genuineness of her own love for him, and her +gradual awakening to the fact that it was not love after all.</p> + +<p>"Then it wasn't Mr. Grafton at all who made the trouble?" interrupted +Marie.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grafton? Why, no! What could he have to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing. We thought, at least Clarence thought, he made the +trouble."</p> + +<p>Beth looked mystified, but Marie only continued in a softened tone:</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you don't know your own heart, dear Beth. You will come +together again, and all will be forgotten."</p> + +<p>"No, Marie, never! The past was folly. All is better as it is."</p> + +<p>A pained look that Beth could not fathom drifted across Marie's brow. +"You think so now, but you will change," she said.</p> + +<p>A knock at the door interrupted them just then, as Mrs. Owen announced a +friend of Beth's.</p> + +<p>Marie kissed her gently.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Beth," she said in her sweet low voice, and there was a +tender sadness in her dark eyes. Beth did not know its meaning at the +time, but a day was coming when she would know.</p> + +<p>Beth saw nothing more of Clarence during his few days in the city. She +wondered sometimes if Marie had seen him, but though they saw each other +occasionally during the rest of the winter, neither of them mentioned +his name.</p> + +<p>That week had seemed eventful in Beth's eyes, but it was more eventful +even than she thought. The following Saturday, after tea, as Beth and +Mabel Clayton were going back upstairs, Beth had seated Mabel by force +on the first step of the second flight to tell her some funny little +story. Beth was in one of her merry moods that night. Beth was not a +wit, but she had her vein of mirth, and the girls used to say she was +growing livelier every day. The gas was not lighted in the hall, but +Beth had left her door open and the light shone out on the head of the +stairs. A moment later they started up with their arms about each +other's waist.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Beth, I left that note-book down stairs. Wait, I'll bring it up to +you."</p> + +<p>Beth waited, standing in the light as her friend scampered down again. +She heard the door of Marie's old room open, and a tall man stepped into +the hall, but as it was dark below she could not see his face. She +wondered, though, why he stood so still, and she had a consciousness +that someone was looking at her.</p> + +<p>Arthur Grafton—for it was he—stood for a moment as if stunned. There +she was—Beth Woodburn! The woman he—hush! Clarence Mayfair's promised +wife! She looked even beautiful as she stood there in the light, with a +smile on her face and a pure white chrysanthemum at her throat.</p> + +<p>"You needn't hurry so, Mabel dear. I can wait," she said as her friend +approached.</p> + +<p>It was over a year since he had heard that voice, and he had tried to +believe his heart was deadened to its influence; but now to-night, at +the first sound, it thrilled him again with its old-time music. A moment +later she closed her door and the hall was dark, and his heart began to +beat faster now that he grasped the truth. He turned again to his room, +filled with the soft radiance of moonlight. He leaned back in his study +chair, his eyes closed; he could hear the students of St. Michael's +chanting an evening hymn, and an occasional cab rattled past in the +street below. He noted it as we note all little details in our moments +of high excitement. Then a smile gradually lighted up his face. Oh, +sweet love! For one moment it seemed to be mastering him. She was there. +Hark! Was that her footstep overhead? Oh, to be near her—to touch her +hand just once!</p> + +<p>Then a stern, dark frown settled on his brow. He rose and paced the room +with a sort of frenzied step. What is she to you—Clarence Mayfair's +promised wife? Arthur Grafton, what is she to you? Oh, that love, deep +and passionate, that comes to us but once! That heart-cry of a strong +soul for the one being it has enshrined! Sometimes it is gratified and +bears in after years its fruits, whether sweet or bitter; or again, it +is crushed—blighted in one moment, perhaps—and we go forth as usual +trying to smile, and the world never knows, never dreams. A few years +pass and our hearts grow numb to the pain, and we say we have +forgotten—that love can grow cold. Cold? Yes; but the cold ashes will +lie there in the heart—the dust of our dead ideal! Would such a fate be +Arthur's? No. There was no room in that great pulsing heart of his for +anything that was cold—no room for the chill of forgetfulness. Strive +as he might, he knew he could never forget. What then remained? Even in +that hour a holier radiance lighted his brow. Strong to bear the +burdens and sorrows of others, he had learned to cast all his care upon +One who had never forsaken him—even his unrequited love. He laid it on +the altar of his God, to bloom afresh, a beauteous flower transplanted +by the River of Life, beyond the blight of envy and of care—beyond, yet +near enough to earth to scatter its fragrance in blessings down upon the +head of her whom he—loved! Dare he say that word? Yes, in a sweeter, +holier sense than before, as one might love the beings of another world. +His face was quite calm as he turned on the light to resume his studies, +but before beginning his work he looked a little sadly around the room. +Yes, he had spent pleasant hours there, but he must leave, now. It was +better that the same roof should not shelter them both. He did not wish +to see Beth Woodburn again; and he just remembered that a friend of his +was going to vacate a room on the other side of the park. He would take +it early next week.</p> + +<p>It was a week later, one afternoon, just before tea, that Beth and Mabel +Clayton were sitting in the drawing-room with Mrs. Owen.</p> + +<p>"Do you know any of the girls over at the college who would like to get +a room, Miss Clayton?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I might find some one."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grafton has moved out of his room for some reason, I don't know +what."</p> + +<p>"Mr.—whom did you say?" asked Beth.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grafton. Did you know him? A tall, dark fellow! Goes to Victoria. +Quite good-looking!"</p> + +<p>"Why, surely, can it be Arthur Grafton! That's just who it is! Why, how +funny we never met each other coming in and out!"</p> + +<p>"Did you know him, Beth?" asked Mabel. "I met him once or twice in the +halls, but I didn't know you knew him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have known him ever since we were children."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then you have heard him play," said Mrs. Owens. "He played for us +Thanksgiving eve. He's a splendid musician."</p> + +<p>Beth felt just a tinge of disappointment that night as she passed the +closed door of the room Arthur had occupied. She wondered why he never +tried to find her. It was unkind of him to break the old friendship so +coldly. It was not her fault she could not love him, she thought. She +could never, never do that! In fact, she did not believe she would ever +love any man.</p> + +<p>"Some people are not made for marriage, and I think I'm one of them." +And Beth sighed faintly and fell asleep.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>DEATH.</i></p> + + +<p>Christmas eve, and Beth was home for her two weeks' holidays. It was +just after tea, and she and her father thought the parlor decidedly +cosy, with the curtains drawn and the candles flaming among the holly +over the mantel-piece. It seemed all the cosier because of the storm +that raged without. The sleet was beating against the pane, and the wind +came howling across the fields. Beth parted the curtains once, and +peeped out at the snow-wreaths whirling and circling round.</p> + +<p>"Dear! such a storm! I am glad you're not out to-night, daddy."</p> + +<p>Beth came back to the fire-side, and passed her father a plate of +fruit-cake she had made herself.</p> + +<p>"It's too fresh to be good, but you mustn't find any fault. Just eat +every bit of it down. Oh, Kitty, stop!"</p> + +<p>They had been cracking walnuts on the hearth-rug, and Beth's pet kitten +was amusing itself by scattering the shells over the carpet.</p> + +<p>Beth sat down on the footstool at her father's feet.</p> + +<p>"You look well after your fall's work, Beth; hard study doesn't seem to +hurt you."</p> + +<p>"I believe it agrees with me, father."</p> + +<p>"Did you see much of Arthur while you were in Toronto, Beth? I was +hoping you would bring him home for the Christmas holidays."</p> + +<p>"No, I never saw him once."</p> + +<p>"Never saw him once!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a little sternly.</p> + +<p>"Beth, what is the matter between you and Arthur?"</p> + +<p>Ding! The old door-bell sounded. Beth drooped her head, but the bell had +attracted her father's attention, and Aunt Prudence thrust her head into +the parlor in her unceremonious way.</p> + +<p>"Doctor, that Brown fellow, by the mill, is wuss, an' his wife's took +down, too. They think he's dyin'."</p> + +<p>"Oh, daddy, I can't let you go out into this dreadful storm. Let me go +with you."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, child! I must go. It's a matter of life and death, perhaps. +Help me on with my coat, daughter, please, I've been out in worse storms +than this."</p> + +<p>Beth thought her father looked so brave and noble in that big otter +overcoat, and his long white beard flowing down. She opened the door for +him, and the hall light shone out into the snow. She shuddered as she +saw him staggering in the wind and sleet, then went back into the +parlor. It seemed lonely there, and she went on to the kitchen, where +Aunt Prudence was elbow-deep in pastry. A kitchen is always a cheerful +place at Christmas time. Beth's fears seemed quieted, and she went back +to the parlor to fix another branch of holly about a picture. Ding! Was +any one else sick, she wondered, as she went to answer the bell. She +opened the door, and there stood Mrs. Perth! It was really she, looking +so frail and fair in her furs.</p> + +<p>"Why, May, dear! What are you doing out in this storm?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm nearly half dead, Beth." She tried to laugh, but the attempt +was not exactly a success.</p> + +<p>Beth took her in to the fire, removed her wraps, all matted with snow, +and called to Aunt Prudence for some hot tea.</p> + +<p>"Is your father out to-night, Beth?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he went away out to the Browns'. But wherever have you been?"</p> + +<p>"I've been taking some Christmas things to a poor family about two miles +out in the country, and I didn't think the storm so very bad when I +started; but I'm like the Irishman with his children, I've 'more'n I +want'—of sleet, at any rate. Walter is away to-night, you know."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Perth away! Where?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he went to Simcoe. He has two weddings. They are friends of ours, +and we didn't like to refuse. But it's mean, though," she continued, +with a sweet, affected little pout; "he'll not get back till afternoon, +and it's Christmas, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, May dear, you'll just stay right here with us to-night, and for +dinner to-morrow. Isn't that just fine!" Beth was dancing around her in +child-like glee. Mrs. Perth accepted, smiling at her pleasure; and they +sat on the couch, chatting.</p> + +<p>"Did you say Dr. Woodburn had gone to the Browns'."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Brown is sick, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't it dreadful? They're so poor, too. I don't believe they've a +decent bed in the house."</p> + +<p>"Eight! There, the clock just struck. Father ought to be back. It was +only a little after six when he went out."</p> + +<p>She looked anxiously at the drawn curtains, but the sleet beating harder +and harder upon the pane was her only answer.</p> + +<p>"There he is now!" she cried, as a step entered the hall, and she rushed +to meet him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, daddy, dear—why, father!"</p> + +<p>Her voice changed to wonder and fear. His overcoat was gone and he +seemed a mass of ice and snow. His beard was frozen together; his breath +came with a thick, husky, sound, and he looked so pale and exhausted. +She led him to the fire, and began removing his icy garments. She was +too frightened to be of much use, but May's thoughtful self was flitting +quietly around, preparing a hot drink and seeing that the bed was ready. +He could not speak for a few minutes, and then it was only brokenly.</p> + +<p>"Poor creatures! She had nothing over her but a thin quilt, and the snow +blowing through the cracks; and I just took off my coat—and put it over +her. I thought I could stand it."</p> + +<p>Beth understood it now. He had driven home, all that long way, facing +the storm, after taking off his warm fur overcoat, and he was just +recovering from a severe cough, too. She trembled for its effect upon +him. It went to her heart to hear his husky breathing as he sat there +trembling before the fire. They got him to bed soon, and Aunt Prudence +tramped through the storm for Dr. Mackay, the young doctor who had +started up on the other side of the town. He came at once, and looked +grave after he had made a careful examination. There had been some +trouble with the heart setting in, and the excitement of his adventure +in the storm had aggravated it. Beth remembered his having trouble of +that sort once before, and she thought she read danger in Dr. Mackay's +face.</p> + +<p>That was a long, strange night to Beth as she sat there alone by her +father's bedside. He did not sleep, his breathing seemed so difficult. +She had never seen him look like that before—so weak and helpless, his +silvery hair falling back from his brow, his cheeks flushed, but not +with health. He said nothing, but he looked at her with a pitying look +sometimes. What did it all mean? Where would it end? She gave him his +medicine from hour to hour. The sleet beat on the window and the heavy +ticking of the clock in the intervals of the storm sounded like +approaching footsteps. The wind roared, and the old shutter creaked +uneasily. The husky breathing continued by her side and the hours grew +longer. Oh, for the morning! What would the morrow bring? She had +promised May to awaken her at three o'clock, but she looked so serene +sleeping with a smile on her lips, that Beth only kissed her softly and +went back to her place. Her father had fallen asleep, and it was an hour +later that she heard a gentle step beside her, and May looked at her +reproachfully. She went to her room and left May to watch. There was a +box on her table that her father had left before he went out that +evening, and then she remembered that it was Christmas morning. +Christmas morning! There was a handsome leather-bound Bible and a gold +watch with a tiny diamond set in the back. She had a choked feeling as +she lay down, but she was so exhausted she soon slept. It was late in +the morning when she awoke, and May did not tell her of her father's +fainting spell. Aunt Prudence was to sit up that night. The dear old +housekeeper! How kind she was, Beth thought. She had often been amused +at the quaint, old-fashioned creature. But she was a kind old soul, in +spite of her occasional sharp words.</p> + +<p>Dr. Woodburn continued about the same all the following day, saving that +he slept more. The next day was Sunday, and Beth slept a little in the +afternoon. When she awakened she heard Dr. Mackay going down the hall, +and May came in to take her in her arms and kiss her. She sat down on +the bed beside Beth, with tears in her beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>"Beth, your father has been such a good man. He has done so much! If God +should call him home to his reward, would you—would you refuse to give +him up?"</p> + +<p>Beth laid her head on May's shoulder, sobbing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, May—is it—death?" she asked, in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>"I fear so, dear."</p> + +<p>Beth wept long, and May let her grief have its way for a while, then +drew her nearer to her heart.</p> + +<p>"If Jesus comes for him, will you say 'no'?"</p> + +<p>"His will be done," she answered, when she grew calmer.</p> + +<p>The next day lawyer Graham came and stayed with Dr. Woodburn some time, +and Beth knew that all hope was past, but she wore a cheerful smile in +her father's presence during the few days that followed—bright winter +days, with sunshine and deep snow. The jingle of sleigh-bells and the +sound of merry voices passed in the street below as she listened to the +labored breathing at her side. It was the last day of the year that he +raised his hand and smoothed her hair in his old-time way.</p> + +<p>"Beth, I am going home. You have been a good daughter—my one great +joy. God bless you, my child." He paused a moment. "You will have to +teach, and I think you had better go back to college soon. You'll not +miss me so much when you're working."</p> + +<p>Beth pressed back her tears as she kissed him silently, and he soon fell +asleep. She went to the window and looked out on it all—the clear, cold +night sky with its myriads of stars, the brightly lighted windows and +the snow-covered roofs of the town on the hill-slope, and the Erie, a +frozen line of ice in the distant moonlight. The town seemed unusually +bright with lights, for it was the gay season of the year. And, oh, if +she but dared to give vent to that sob rising in her throat! She turned +to the sleeper again; a little later he opened his eyes with a bright +smile.</p> + +<p>"In the everlasting arms," he whispered faintly, then pointed to a +picture of Arthur on the table. Beth brought it to him. He looked at it +tenderly, then gave it back to her. He tried to say something, and she +bent over him to catch the words, but all was silent there; his eyes +were closed, his lips set in a smile. Her head sank upon his breast. +"Papa!" she cried.</p> + +<p>No answer, not even the sound of heartbeats. There was a noiseless step +at her side, and she fell back, unconscious, into May's arms. When she +came to again she was in her own room, and Mr. Perth was by her side. +Then the sense of her loss swept over her, and he let her grief have its +way for a while.</p> + +<p>"My child," he said at last, bending over her. How those two words +soothed her! He talked to her tenderly for a little while, and she +looked much calmer when May came back.</p> + +<p>But the strain had been too much for her, and she was quite ill all the +next day. She lay listening to the strange footsteps coming and going in +the halls, for everyone came to take a last look at one whom all loved +and honored. There was the old woman whom he had helped and encouraged, +hobbling on her cane to give him a last look and blessing; there was the +poor man whose children he had attended free of charge, the hand of +whose dying boy he had held; there was the little ragged girl, who +looked up through her tears and said, "He was good to me." Then came the +saddest moment Beth had ever known, when they led her down for the last +time to his side. She scarcely saw the crowded room, the flowers that +were strewn everywhere.</p> + +<p>It was all over. The last words were said, and they led her out to the +carriage. The sun was low in the west that afternoon when the Perths +took her to the parsonage—"home to the parsonage," as she always said +after that. Aunt Prudence came to bid her good-bye before she went away +to live with her married son, and Beth never realized before how much +she loved the dear old creature who had watched over her from her +childhood. Just once before she returned to college she went back to +look at the old home, with its shutters closed and the snow-drifts on +its walks. She had thought her future was to be spent there, and now +where would her path be guided?</p> + +<p>"Thou knowest, Lord," she said faintly.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>LOVE.</i></p> + + +<p>In the soft flush of the following spring Beth returned to the parsonage +at Briarsfield. It was so nice to see the open country again after the +city streets. Mr. Perth met her at the station just as the sun was +setting, and there was a curious smile on his face. He was a little +silent on the way home, as if he had something on his mind; but +evidently it was nothing unpleasant. The parsonage seemed hidden among +the apple-blossoms, and Mrs. Perth came down the walk to meet them, +looking so fair and smiling, and why—she had something white in her +arms! Beth bounded forward to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Why, May, where did you—whose baby?" asked Beth, breathless and +smiling.</p> + +<p>"Who does she look like?"</p> + +<p>The likeness to May Perth on the little one-month-old face was +unmistakable.</p> + +<p>"You naughty puss, why didn't you tell me when you wrote?"</p> + +<p>"Been keeping it to surprise you," said Mr. Perth. "Handsome baby, isn't +it? Just like her mother!"</p> + +<p>"What are you going to call her?"</p> + +<p>"Beth." And May kissed her fondly as she led her in.</p> + +<p>What a pleasant week that was! Life may be somewhat desert-like, but +there is many a sweet little oasis where we can rest in the shade by the +rippling water, with the flowers and the birds about us.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Beth went out for a stroll by herself down toward the +lake, and past the old Mayfair home. The family were still in Europe, +and the place, she heard, was to be sold. The afternoon sunshine was +beating on the closed shutters, the grass was knee-deep on the lawn and +terraces, and the weeds grew tall in the flower-beds. Deserted and +silent! Silent as that past she had buried in her soul. Silent as those +first throbs of her child-heart that she had once fancied meant love.</p> + +<p>That evening she and May sat by the window watching the sunset cast its +glories over the lake, a great sheet of flame, softened by a wrapping of +thin purplish cloud, like some lives, struggling, fiery, triumphant, +but half hidden by this hazy veil of mortality.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to write another story, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I thought one out last fall. I shall write it as soon as I am +rested."</p> + +<p>"What is it—a love story?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's natural to me to write of love; and yet—I have never been +seriously in love."</p> + +<p>May laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I am beginning to long to love truly. I want to taste the +deep of life, even if it brings me pain."</p> + +<p>It was a momentary restlessness, and she recalled these words before +long.</p> + +<p>Mr. Perth joined them just then. He was going away for a week's holiday +on the following day.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have a supply for Sunday," said Mrs. Perth.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. I think he'll be a very good one. He's a volunteer +missionary."</p> + +<p>"Where is he going?" asked Beth.</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"I should like to meet him," and Beth paused before she continued, in a +quiet tone, "I am going to be a missionary myself."</p> + +<p>"Beth!" exclaimed Mrs. Perth.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were planning this," said Mr. Perth.</p> + +<p>"Thought so? How could you tell?" asked Beth.</p> + +<p>"I saw it working in your mind. You are easily read. Where are you +going?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't decided yet. I only just decided to go lately—one Sunday +afternoon this spring. I used to hate the idea."</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was this little talk that made her think of Arthur again that +night. Why had he never sent her one line, one word of sympathy in her +sorrow? He was very unkind, when her father had loved him so. Was that +what love meant?</p> + +<p>The supply did not stay at the parsonage, and Beth did not even ask his +name, as she supposed it would be unfamiliar to her. The old church +seemed so home-like that Sunday. The first sacred notes echoed softly +down the aisles; the choir took their places; then there was a moment's +solemn hush,—and Arthur! Why, that was Arthur going up into the pulpit! +She could hardly repress a cry of surprise. For the moment she forgot +all her coldness and indifference, and looked at him intently. He seemed +changed, somehow; he was a trifle paler, but there was a delicate +fineness about him she had never seen before, particularly in his eyes, +a mystery of pain and sweetness, blended and ripened into a more perfect +manhood. Was it because Arthur preached that sermon she thought it so +grand? No, everybody seemed touched. And this was the small boy who had +gone hazel-nutting with her, who had heard her geography, and, barefoot, +carried her through the brook. But that was long, long ago. They had +changed since then. Before she realized it, the service was over, and +the people were streaming through the door-way where Arthur stood +shaking hands with the acquaintances of his childhood. There was a +soothed, calm expression on Beth's brow, and her eyes met Arthur's as he +touched her hand. May thought she seemed a trifle subdued that day, +especially toward evening. Beth had a sort of feeling that night that +she would have been content to sit there at the church window for all +time. There was a border of white lilies about the altar, a sprinkling +of early stars in the evening sky; solemn hush and sacred music within, +and the cry of some stray night-bird without. There were gems of poetry +in that sermon, too; little gleanings from nature here and there. Then +she remembered how she had once said Arthur had not an artist-soul. Was +she mistaken? Was he one of those men who bury their sentiments under +the practical duties of every-day life? Perhaps so.</p> + +<p>The next day she and May sat talking on the sofa by the window.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think, May, I should make a mistake if I married a man who +had no taste for literature and art?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. I believe in the old German proverb, 'Let like and like mate +together.'"</p> + +<p>Was that a shadow crossed Beth's face?</p> + +<p>"But, whatever you do, Beth, don't marry a man who is all moonshine. A +man may be literary in his tastes and yet not be devoted to a literary +life. I think the greatest genius is sometimes silent; but, even when +silent, he inspires others to climb the heights that duty forbade him to +climb himself."</p> + +<p>"You've deep thoughts in your little head, May." And Beth bent over, in +lover-like fashion, to kiss the little white hand, but May had dropped +into one of her light-hearted, baby moods, and playfully withdrew it.</p> + +<p>"Don't go mooning like that, kissing my dirty little hands! One would +think you had been falling in love."</p> + +<p>Beth went for another stroll that evening. She walked past the dear old +house on the hill-top. The shutters were no longer closed; last summer's +flowers were blooming again by the pathway; strange children stopped +their play to look at her as she passed, and there were sounds of mirth +and music within. Yes, that was the old home—home no longer now! There +was her own old window, the white roses drooping about it in the early +dew.</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa! papa! look down on your little Beth!" These words were in her +eyes as she lifted them to the evening sky, her tears falling silently. +She was following the old path by the road-side, where she used to go +for the milk every evening, when a firm step startled her.</p> + +<p>"Arthur! Good evening. I'm so glad to see you again!"</p> + +<p>She looked beautiful for a moment, with the tears hanging from her +lashes, and the smile on her face.</p> + +<p>"I called to see you at the parsonage, but you were just going up the +street, so I thought I might be pardoned for coming too."</p> + +<p>They were silent for a few moments. It was so like old times to be +walking there together. The early stars shone faintly; but the clouds +were still pink in the west; not a leaf stirred, not a breath; no sound +save a night-bird calling to its mate in the pine-wood yonder, and the +bleat of lambs in the distance. Presently Arthur broke the silence with +sweet, tender words of sorrow for her loss.</p> + +<p>"I should have written to you if I had known, but I was sick in the +hospital, and I didn't—"</p> + +<p>"Sick in the hospital! Why, Arthur, have you been ill? What was the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"A light typhoid fever. I went to the Wesleyan College, at Montreal, +after that, so I didn't even know you had come back to college."</p> + +<p>"To the Wesleyan? I thought you were so attached to Victoria! Whatever +made you leave it, Arthur?"</p> + +<p>He flushed slightly, and evaded her question.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, it was so funny, Arthur, you roomed in the very house +where I boarded last fall, and I never knew a thing about it till +afterward? Wasn't it odd we didn't meet?"</p> + +<p>Again he made some evasive reply, and she had an odd sensation, as of +something cold passing between them. He suddenly became formal, and they +turned back again at the bridge where they used to sit fishing, and +where Beth never caught anything (just like a girl); they always went to +Arthur's hook. The two forgot their coldness as they walked back, and +Beth was disappointed that Arthur had an engagement and could not come +in. They lingered a moment at the gate as he bade her good-night. A +delicate thrill, a something sweet and new and strange, possessed her as +he pressed her hand! Their eyes met for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye for to-night, Beth."</p> + +<p>May was singing a soft lullaby as she came up the walk. Only a moment! +Yet what a revelation a moment may bring to these hearts of ours! A +look, a touch, and something live is throbbing within! We cannot speak +it. We dare not name it. For, oh, hush, 'tis a sacred hour in a woman's +life.</p> + +<p>Beth went straight to her room, and sat by the open window in the +star-light. Some boys were singing an old Scotch ballad as they passed +in the street below; the moon was rising silvery above the blue Erie; +the white petals of apple-blossoms floated downward in the night air, +and in it all she saw but one face—a face with great, dark, tender +eyes, that soothed her with their silence. Soothed? Ah, yes! She felt +like a babe to-night, cradled in the arms of something, she knew not +what—something holy, eternal and calm. And <i>this</i> was love. She had +craved it often—wondered how it would come to her—and it was just +Arthur, after all, her childhood's friend, Arthur—but yet how changed! +He was not the same. She felt it dimly. The Arthur of her girlhood was +gone. They were man and woman now. She had not known this Arthur as he +was now. A veil seemed to have been suddenly drawn from his face, and +she saw in him—her ideal. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed +heavenward. She had thought to journey to heathen lands alone, +single-handed to fight the battle, and now—"Arthur—Arthur!" she called +in a soft, sweet whisper as she drooped her smiling face. What mattered +all her blind shilly-shally fancies about his nature not being poetic? +There was more poetry buried in that heart of his than she had ever +dreamed. "I can never, never marry Arthur!" she had often told herself. +She laughed now as she thought of it, and it was late before she slept, +for she seemed to see those eyes looking at her in the darkness—so +familiar, yet so new and changed! She awoke for a moment in the grey +light just before dawn, and she could see him still; her hand yet +thrilled from his touch. She heard the hoarse whistle of a steamer on +the lake; the rooks were cawing in the elm-tree over the roof, and she +fell asleep again.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Rip Van Winkle," said May, when she entered the +breakfast-room.</p> + +<p>"Why, is that clock—just look at the time! I forgot to wind my watch +last night, and I hadn't the faintest idea what time it was when I got +up this morning!"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye for to-night, Beth," he had said, and he was going away +to-morrow morning, so he would surely come to-day. No wonder she went +about with an absent smile on her face, and did everything in the +craziest possible way. It was so precious, this newly-found secret of +hers! She knew her own heart now. There was no possibility of her +misunderstanding herself in the future. The afternoon was wearing away, +and she sat waiting and listening. Ding! No, that was only a +beggar-woman at the door. Ding, again! Yes, that was Arthur! Then she +grew frightened. How could she look into his eyes? He would read her +secret there. He sat down before her, and a formal coldness seemed to +paralyze them both.</p> + +<p>"I have come to bid you good-bye, Miss Woodburn!"</p> + +<p>Miss Woodburn! He had never called her that before. How cold his voice +sounded in her ears!</p> + +<p>"Are you going back to Victoria College?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, to the Wesleyan. Are you going to spend your summer in +Briarsfield?"</p> + +<p>"Most of it. I am going back to Toronto for a week or two before +'Varsity opens. My friend Miss de Vere is staying with some friends +there. She is ill and—"</p> + +<p>"Do you still call her your friend?" he interrupted, with a sarcastic +smile.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes!" she answered wonderingly, never dreaming that he had +witnessed that same scene in the Mayfair home.</p> + +<p>"You are faithful, Beth," he said, looking graver. Then he talked +steadily of things in which neither of them had any interest. How cold +and unnatural it all was! Beth longed to give way to tears. In a few +minutes he rose to go. He was going! Arthur was going! She dared not +look into his face as he touched her hand coldly.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Miss Woodburn. I wish you every success next winter."</p> + +<p>She went back to the parlor and watched him—under the apple trees, +white with blossom, through the gate, past the old church, around the +corner—he was gone! The clock ticked away in the long, silent parlor; +the sunshine slept on the grass outside; the butterflies were flitting +from flower to flower, and laughing voices passed in the street, but her +heart was strangely still. A numb, voiceless pain! What did it mean? +Had Arthur changed? Once he had loved her. "God have pity!" her white +lips murmured. And yet that look, that touch last night—what did it +mean? What folly after all! A touch, a smile, and she had woven her fond +hopes together. Foolish woman-heart, building her palace on the sands +for next day's tide to sweep away! Yet how happy she had been last +night! A thrill, a throb, a dream of bliss; crushed now, all but the +memory! The years might bury it all in silence, but she could never, +never forget. She had laid her plans for life, sweet, unselfish plans +for uplifting human lives. Strange lands, strange scenes, strange faces +would surround her. She would toil and smile on others, "but oh, Arthur, +Arthur—"</p> + +<p>All through the long hours of that night she lay watching; she could not +sleep. Arthur was still near, the same hills surrounding them both. The +stars were shining and the hoarse whistle of the steamers rent the +night. Perhaps they would never be so near again. Would they ever meet, +she wondered. Perhaps not! Another year, and he would be gone far across +the seas, and then, "Good-bye, Arthur! Good-bye! God be with you!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>FAREWELL.</i></p> + + +<p>Beth's summer at Briarsfield parsonage passed quietly and sweetly. She +had seemed a little sad at first, and May, with her woman's instinct, +read more of her story than she thought, but she said nothing, though +she doubled her little loving attentions. The love of woman for woman is +passing sweet.</p> + +<p>But let us look at Beth as she sits in the shadow of the trees in the +parsonage garden. It was late in August, and Beth was waiting for May to +come out. Do you remember the first time we saw her in the shadow of the +trees on the lawn at home? It is only a little over two years ago, but +yet how much she has changed! You would hardly recognize the immature +girl in that gentle, sweet-faced lady in her dark mourning dress. The +old gloom had drifted from her brow, and in its place was sunlight, not +the sunlight of one who had never known suffering, but the gentler, +sweeter light of one who had triumphed over it. It was a face that would +have attracted you, that would have attracted everyone, in fact, from +the black-gowned college professor to the small urchin shouting in the +street. To the rejoicing it said, "Let me laugh with you, for life is +sweet;" to the sorrowing, "I understand, I have suffered, too. I know +what you feel." Just then her sweet eyes were raised to heaven in holy +thought, "Dear heavenly Father, thou knowest everything—how I loved +him. Thy will be done. Oh, Jesus, my tender One, thou art so sweet! Thou +dost understand my woman's heart and satisfy even its sweet longings. +Resting in Thy sweet presence what matter life's sorrows!"</p> + +<p>She did not notice the lattice gate open and a slender, fair-haired man +pause just inside to watch her. It was Clarence Mayfair. There was a +touching expression on his face as he looked at her. Yes, she was +beautiful, he thought. It was not a dream, the face that he had carried +in his soul since that Sunday night last fall. Beth Woodburn was +beautiful. She was a woman now. She was only a child when they played +their little drama of love there in Briarsfield. The play was past now; +he loved her as a man can love but one woman. And now—a shadow crossed +his face—perhaps it was too late!</p> + +<p>"Clarence!" exclaimed Beth, as he advanced, "I'm glad to see you." And +she held out her hand with an air of graceful dignity.</p> + +<p>"You have come back to visit Briarsfield, I suppose. I was so surprised +to see you," she continued.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am staying at Mr. Graham's."</p> + +<p>She noticed as he talked that he looked healthier, stronger and more +manly. Altogether she thought him improved.</p> + +<p>"Your father and mother are still in England, I suppose," said she.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they intend to stay with their relatives this winter. As for me, I +shall go back to 'Varsity and finish my course."</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you going to teach?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; there's nothing else before me," he answered, in a discouraged +tone.</p> + +<p>She understood. She had heard of his father's losses, and, what grieved +her still more, she had heard that Clarence was turning out a literary +failure. He had talent, but he had not the fresh, original genius that +this age of competition demands. Poor Clarence! She was sorry for him.</p> + +<p>"You have been all summer in Briarsfield?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I am going to Toronto to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. Miss de Vere told me she had sent for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have seen her then!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw her yesterday. Poor girl, she'll not last long. Consumption +has killed all the family."</p> + +<p>Beth wondered if he loved Marie, and she looked at him, with her gentle, +sympathetic eyes. He caught her look and winced under it. She gazed away +at the glimpse of lake between the village roofs for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Beth, have you forgotten the past?" he asked, in a voice abrupt but +gentle.</p> + +<p>She started. She had never seen his face look so expressive. The tears +rose to her eyes as she drooped her flushing face.</p> + +<p>"No, I have not forgotten."</p> + +<p>"Beth, I did not love you then; I did not know what love meant—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't speak of it! It would have been a terrible mistake!"</p> + +<p>"But, Beth, can you never forgive the past? I love you <i>now</i>—I have +loved you since—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, Clarence! You <i>must</i> not speak of love!" And she buried her +face in her hands and sobbed a moment, then leaned forward slightly +toward him, a tender look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I love another," she said, in a low gentle voice.</p> + +<p>He shielded his eyes for a moment with his fair delicate hand. It was a +hard moment for them both.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry, Clarence. I know what you feel. I am sorry we ever met."</p> + +<p>He looked at her with a smile on his saddened face.</p> + +<p>"I feared it was so; but I had rather love you in vain than to win the +love of any other woman. Good-bye, Beth."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He lingered a moment as he touched her hand in farewell.</p> + +<p>"God bless you," she said, softly.</p> + +<p>He crossed the garden in the sunshine, and she sat watching the fleecy +clouds and snatches of lake between the roofs. Poor Clarence! Did love +mean to him what it meant to her? Ah, yes! she had seen the pain written +on his brow. Poor Clarence! That night she craved a blessing upon him as +she knelt beside her bed. Just then he was wandering about the +weed-grown lawns of his father's house, which looked more desolate than +ever in the light of the full moon. It was to be sold the following +spring, and he sighed as he walked on toward the lake-side. Right there +on that little cliff he had asked Beth Woodburn to be his wife, and but +for that fickle faithlessness of his, who knew what might have been? And +yet it was better so—better for <i>her</i>—God bless her. And the thought +of her drew him heavenward that night.</p> + +<p>The next day Beth was on her way to Toronto to see Marie. She was in a +pensive mood as she sat by the car window, gazing at the farm-lands +stretching far away, and the wooded hill-sides checkered by the sunlight +shining through their boughs. There is always a pleasant diversion in a +few hours' travel, and Beth found herself drawn from her thoughts by the +antics of a negro family at the other end of the car. A portly colored +woman presided over them; she had "leben chilen, four dead and gone to +glory," as she explained to everyone who questioned her.</p> + +<p>It was about two o'clock when Beth reached Toronto, and the whirr of +electric cars, the rattle of cabs and the mixed noises of the city +street would all have been pleasantly exciting to her young nerves but +for her thoughts of Marie. She wondered at her coming to the city to +spend her last days, but it was quiet on Grenville Street, where she was +staying with her friends, the Bartrams. Beth was, indeed, struck by the +change in her friend when she entered the room. She lay there so frail +and shadow-like among her pillows, her dark cheeks sunken, though +flushed; but her eyes had still their old brilliancy, and there was an +indefinable gentleness about her. Beth seemed almost to feel it as she +stooped to kiss her. The Bartrams were very considerate, and left them +alone together as much as possible, but Marie was not in a talking mood +that day. Her breath came with difficulty, and she seemed content to +hold Beth's hand and smile upon her, sometimes through tears that +gathered silently. Bright, sparkling Marie! They had not been wont to +associate tears with her in the past. It was a pleasant room she had, +suggestive of her taste—soft carpet and brightly-cushioned chairs, a +tall mirror reflecting the lilies on the stand, and a glimpse of Queen's +Park through the open window. The next day was Sunday, and Beth sat by +Marie while the others went to church. They listened quietly to the +bells peal forth their morning call together, and Beth noted with +pleasure that it seemed to soothe Marie as she lay with closed eyes and +a half smile on her lips.</p> + +<p>"Beth, you have been so much to me this summer. Your letters were so +sweet. You are a great, grand woman, Beth." And she stroked Beth's hair +softly with her frail, wasted hand.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember when I used to pride myself on my unbelief?" Her breath +failed her for a moment. "It is past now," she continued, with a smile. +"It was one Sunday; I had just read one of your letters, and I felt +somehow that Jesus had touched me. I am ready now. It was hard, so hard +at first, to give up life, but I have learned at last to say 'His will +be done.'"</p> + +<p>Beth could not speak for the sob she had checked in her throat.</p> + +<p>"Beth, I may not be here another Sunday. I want to talk to you, dear. +You remember the old days when that trouble came between you and—and +Clarence. I was a treacherous friend to you, Beth, to ever let him speak +of love to me. I was a traitor to—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush! Marie, darling, don't talk so," Beth pleaded in a sobbing +tone.</p> + +<p>"I <i>must</i> speak of it, Beth. I was treacherous to you. But when you know +what I suffered—" Her breath failed again for a moment. "I <i>loved</i> +him, Beth," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Marie!" There was silence for a moment, broken only by Marie's labored +breathing. "I loved him, but I knew he did not love me. It was only a +fancy of his. I had charmed him for the time, but I knew when I was gone +his heart would go back to you—and now, Beth, I am dying slowly, I ask +but one thing more. I have sent for Clarence. Let everything be +forgotten now; let me see you happy together just as it was before."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, Marie! It cannot be. It can never be. You know I told you +last fall that I did not love him."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but that is your pride, Beth; all your pride! Listen to me, Beth. +If I had ten years more to live, I would give them all to see you both +happy and united."</p> + +<p>Beth covered her face with her hands, as her tears flowed silently.</p> + +<p>"Marie, I must tell you all," she said, as she bent over her. "I love +another: I love Arthur!"</p> + +<p>"Arthur Grafton!" Marie exclaimed, and her breath came in quick, short +gasps, and there was a pained look about her closed eyes. Beth +understood she was grieved for the disappointment of the man she loved.</p> + +<p>"And you, Beth—are you happy? Does he—Arthur, I mean—love you?" she +asked, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"No. He loved me once, the summer before I came to college, but he is +changed now. He was in Briarsfield this summer for a few days, but I saw +he was changed. He was not like the same Arthur—so changed and cold." +She sat with a grave look in her grey eyes as Marie lay watching her. +"Only once I thought he loved me," she continued; "one night when he +looked at me and touched my hand. But the next day he was cold again, +and I knew then that he didn't love me any more."</p> + +<p>Marie lay for a few moments with a very thoughtful look in her eyes, but +she made no remark, and, after a while, she slept from weakness and +exhaustion.</p> + +<p>Beth went out for a few hours next morning, and found her very much +weaker when she returned. Mrs. Bartram said she had tired herself +writing a letter. She had a wide-awake air as if she were watching for +something, and her ear seemed to catch every step on the stair-way. It +was toward the close of day.</p> + +<p>"Hark! who's that?" she asked, starting.</p> + +<p>"Only Mrs. Bartram. Rest, dearest," said Beth.</p> + +<p>But the brilliant eyes were fixed on the door, and a moment later +Clarence entered the room. Marie still held Beth's hand, but her dark +eyes were fixed on Clarence with a look never to be forgotten.</p> + +<p>"You have come at last," she said, then fell back on her pillows +exhausted, but smiling, her eyes closed.</p> + +<p>He stood holding the frail hand she had stretched out to him, then the +dark eyes opened slowly, and she gazed on him with a yearning look.</p> + +<p>"Put your hand upon my forehead, I shall die happier," she said, softly. +"Oh, Clarence, I loved you! I loved you! It can do no harm to tell you +now. Kiss me just once. In a moment I shall be with my God."</p> + +<p>Beth had glided from the room, and left her alone with the man she +loved; but in a few minutes he called her and Mrs. Bartram to the +bed-side. Marie was almost past speaking, but she stretched forth her +arms to Beth and drew her young head down upon her breast. There was +silence for a few minutes, broken only by Marie's hoarse breathing.</p> + +<p>"Jesus, my Redeemer," her pale lips murmured faintly, then the +heart-throbs beneath Beth's ear were still; the slender hand fell +helpless on the counterpane; the brilliant eyes were closed; Marie was +gone!</p> + +<p>When Beth came to look at her again she lay smiling in her white, +flowing garment, a single lily in her clasped hands. Poor Marie! She had +loved and suffered, and now it was ended. Aye, but she had done more +than suffer. She had refused the man she loved for his sake and for the +sake of another. Her sacrifice had been in vain, but the love that +sacrificed itself—was that vain? Ah, no! Sweet, brave Marie!</p> + +<p>Her friends thought it a strange request of hers to be buried at +Briarsfield, but it was granted. Her vast wealth—as she had died +childless—went, by the provisions of her father's will, to a distant +cousin, but her jewels she left to Beth. The following afternoon Mr. +Perth read the funeral service, and they lowered the lovely burden in +the shadow of the pines at the corner of the Briarsfield church-yard. +There in that quiet village she had first seen him she loved. After all +her gay social life she sought its quiet at last, and the stars of that +summer night looked down on her new-made grave.</p> + +<p>The following day Mr. Perth laid a colored envelope from a large +publishing firm in Beth's lap. They had accepted her last story for a +good round sum, accompanied by most flattering words of encouragement. +As she read the commendatory words, she smiled at the thought of having +at least one talent to use in her Master's service. Yes, Beth Woodburn +of Briarsfield would be famous after all. It was no vain dream of her +childhood.</p> + +<p>Four weeks passed and Beth had finished her preparations for returning +to college in the fall. In a few weeks she would be leaving May and the +dear old parsonage, but she would be glad to be back at 'Varsity again. +There came a day of heavy rain, and she went out on an errand of charity +for May. When she returned, late in the afternoon, she heard Mr. Perth +talking to someone in the study, but that was nothing unusual. The rain +was just ceasing, and the sun suddenly broke through the clouds, filling +all the west with glory. Beth went down into the garden to drink in the +beauty. Rugged clouds stood out like hills of fire fringed with gold, +and the great sea of purple and crimson overhead died away in the soft +flush of the east, while the wet foliage of the trees and gardens shone +like gold beneath the clouds. It was glorious! She had never seen +anything like it before. Look! there were two clouds of flame parting +about the sunset like a gateway into the beyond, and within all looked +peaceful and golden. Somehow it made her think of Marie. Poor Marie! +Why had Clarence's love for her been unreal? Why could she not have +lived and they been happy together? Love and suffering! And what had +love brought to her? Only pain. She thought of Arthur, too. Perhaps he +was happiest of all. He seemed to have forgotten. But she—ah, she could +never forget! Yet, "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy +sight." And she pulled a bunch of fall flowers from the bush at her +side, careless of the rain-drops that shook on her bare head as she +touched the branches. She did not know that she was being observed from +the study window.</p> + +<p>"She is going to be a missionary, isn't she?" said the stranger who was +talking to Mr. Perth.</p> + +<p>"Yes; she hasn't decided her field yet, but she will make a grand one +wherever she goes. She's a noble girl; I honor her."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is very noble," said the stranger slowly, as he looked at her. +She would have recognized his voice if she had been within hearing, but +she only pulled another spray of blossoms, without heeding the sound of +the study door shutting and a step approaching her on the gravelled +walk.</p> + +<p>"Beth."</p> + +<p>"Arthur! Why, I—I thought you were in Montreal!"</p> + +<p>"So, I was. I just got there a few days ago, but I turned around and +came back to-day to scold you for getting your feet wet standing there +in the wet grass. I knew you didn't know how to take care of yourself." +There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Didn't I always take care +of you when you were little?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and a nice tyrant you were!" she said, laughing, when she had +recovered from her surprise, "always scolding and preaching at me."</p> + +<p>He seemed inclined to talk lightly at first, and then grew suddenly +silent as they went into the drawing-room. Beth felt as though he were +regarding her with a sort of protecting air. What did it mean? What had +brought him here so suddenly? She was growing embarrassed at his +silence, when she suddenly plunged into conversation about Montreal, the +Wesleyan College, and other topics that were farthest away from her +present thought and interest.</p> + +<p>"Beth," said Arthur suddenly, interrupting the flow of her remarks in a +gentle tone, "Beth, why did you not tell me last summer that you were +going to be a missionary?"</p> + +<p>She seemed startled for a moment, as he looked into her flushed face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. I—I meant to. I meant to tell you that afternoon you +came here before you went away, but I didn't know you were going so +soon, and I didn't tell you somehow. Who told you?"</p> + +<p>"Marie de Vere told me," he said, gently. "She wrote to me just a few +hours before she died; but I didn't get the letter till yesterday. She +left it with Clarence, and he couldn't find me at first."</p> + +<p>They looked at each other a moment in silence, and there was a tender +smile in his eyes. Then a sudden flush crimsoned her cheek. How much did +he know? Had Marie told him that she—</p> + +<p>"Beth, why did you not tell me before that you were free—that you were +not another's promised wife?" His voice was gentle, very gentle. Her +face drooped, and her hand trembled as it lay on her black dress. He +rose and bent over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. His touch +thrilled her, soothed her, but she dare not raise her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I—I—didn't know it mattered—that; you cared," she stammered.</p> + +<p>"Didn't know I cared!" he exclaimed; then, in a softer tone, "Beth, did +you think I had forgotten—that I could forget? I love you, Beth. Can +you ever love me enough to be my wife?"</p> + +<p>She could not speak, but in her upturned face he read her answer, and +his lips touched her brow reverently. Closer, closer to his breast he +drew her. Soul open to soul, heart beating against heart! The old clock +ticked in the stillness, and the crimson glow of the sunset was +reflected on the parlor wall. Oh, what joy was this suddenly breaking +through the clouds upon them! Beth was the first to break the silence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur, I love you so! I love you so!" she said, twining her arms +passionately about his neck, as her tears fell upon his breast. It was +the long pent-up cry of her loving womanhood.</p> + +<p>"But Arthur, why were you so cold and strange that day we parted last +summer?"</p> + +<p>"I thought you were another's intended wife. I tried to hide my love +from you." His voice shook slightly as he answered.</p> + +<p>One long, lingering look into each other's eyes, and, with one thought, +they knelt together beside the old couch and gave thanks to the +all-loving Father who had guided their paths together.</p> + +<p>That night Beth lay listening as the autumn wind shook the elm-tree +over the roof and drifted the clouds in dark masses across the starry +sky. But the winds might rage without—aye, the storms might beat down, +if they would, what did it matter? Arthur was near, and the Divine +presence was bending over her with its shielding love. "Oh, God, Thou +art good!" She was happy—oh, so happy! And she fell asleep with a smile +on her face.</p> + +<p>The autumn passed—such a gloriously happy autumn—and Christmas eve had +come. The snow lay white and cold on the fields and hills about +Briarsfield, but in the old church all was warmth and light. A group of +villagers were gathered inside, most of them from curiosity, and before +the altar Arthur and Beth were standing side by side. Beth looked very +beautiful as she stood there in her white bridal robes. The church was +still, sacredly still, but for the sound of Mr. Perth's earnest voice; +and in the rear of the crowd was one face, deadly pale, but calm. It was +Clarence. How pure she looked, he thought. Pure as the lilies hanging in +clusters above her head! Was she of the earth—clay, like these others +about her? The very tone of her voice seemed to have caught a note from +above. No, he had never been worthy of her! Weak, fickle, wave-tossed +soul that he was! A look of humiliation crossed his face, then a look of +hope. If he had never been worthy of her hand he would be worthy at +least to have loved her in vain. He would be what she would have had him +be. It was over; the last words were said; the music broke forth, and +the little gold band gleamed on Beth's fair hand as it lay on Arthur's +arm. He led her down the aisle, smiling and happy. Oh, joy! joy +everlasting! joy linking earth to heaven! They rested that night in +Beth's old room at the parsonage, and as the door closed behind them +they knelt together—man and wife. Sacred hour!</p> + +<p>Out beneath the stars of that still Christmas eve was one who saw the +light shine from their window as he passed and blessed them. He carried +a bunch of lilies in his hand as he made his way to a long white mound +in the church-yard. Poor Marie! He stooped and laid them in the snow, +the pure white snow—pure as the dead whose grave it covered! pure as +the vows he had heard breathed that night!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Seven years have passed, and Beth sits leaning back in a rocker by the +window, in the soft bright moonlight of Palestine. And what have the +years brought to Beth? She is famous now. Her novels are among the most +successful of the day. She has marked out a new line of work, and the +dark-eyed Jewish characters in her stories have broadened the sympathies +of her world of readers. But the years have brought her something +besides literary fame and success in the mission-field. By her side is a +little white cot, and a little rosy-cheeked boy lies asleep upon the +pillow, one hand, thrown back over his dark curls—her little Arthur.</p> + +<p>There is a step beside her, and her husband bends over her with a loving +look.</p> + +<p>"It is seven years to-night since we were married, Beth."</p> + +<p>There are tears in her smiling eyes as she looks up into his face.</p> + +<p>"And you have never regretted?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur! How could I?" and she hides her face on his breast.</p> + +<p>"My wife! my joy!" he whispers, as he draws her closer.</p> + +<p>"Arthur, do you remember what a silly, silly girl I used to be when I +thought you had not enough of the artist-soul to understand my nature? +And here, if I hadn't had you to criticise and encourage me, I'd never +have succeeded as well as I have."</p> + +<p>He only kisses her for reply, and they look out over the flat-roofed +city in the moonlight. Peace! peace! sweet peace! "Not as the world +giveth, give I unto you." And the stars are shining down upon them in +their love. And so, dear Beth, farewell!</p> + +<p>The evening shadows lengthen as I write, but there is another to whom we +must bid farewell. It is Clarence. Father and mother are both dead, and +in one of the quiet parts of Toronto he lives, unmarried, in his +comfortable rooms. The years have brought him a greater measure of +success than once he had hoped. The sorrow he has so bravely hidden has +perhaps enabled him to touch some chord in the human hearts of his +readers. At any rate, he has a good round income now. Edith's children +come often to twine their arms about his neck; but there are other +children who love him, too. Down in the dark, narrow streets of the city +there is many a bare, desolate home that he has cheered with warmth and +comfort, many a humble fireside where the little ones listen for his +step, many little hands and feet protected from the cold by his +benefactions. But no matter how lowly the house, he always leaves behind +some trace of his artistic nature—a picture or a bunch of flowers, +something suggestive of the beautiful, the ideal. Sometimes, when the +little ones playing about him lisp their childish praises, a softness +fills his eyes and he thinks of one who is far away. Blessed be her +footsteps! But he is not sad long. No, he is the genial, jolly bachelor, +whom everybody loves, so unlike the Clarence of long ago; and so +farewell, brave heart—fare thee well!</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beth Woodburn, by Maud Petitt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETH WOODBURN *** + +***** This file should be named 16343-h.htm or 16343-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/4/16343/ + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, +Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Beth Woodburn + +Author: Maud Petitt + +Release Date: July 22, 2005 [EBook #16343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETH WOODBURN *** + + + + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, +Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +BETH WOODBURN. + +BY + +MAUD PETITT. + +TORONTO: +WILLIAM BRIGGS, +29-33 RICHMOND STREET WEST. +MONTREAL: C.W. COATES. HALIFAX: S.F. HUESTIS. +1897. + + + + +ENTERED according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one +thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the +Department of Agriculture. + + + + +To my mother + + +THIS MY FIRST BOOK + +IS LOVINGLY + +DEDICATED. + + + + + + CONTENTS. + + CHAPTER I. PAGE + Beth at Eighteen 9 + + CHAPTER II. + A Dream of Life 21 + + CHAPTER III. + Whither, Beth? 30 + + CHAPTER IV. + Marie 42 + + CHAPTER V. + "For I Love You, Beth" 47 + + CHAPTER VI. + 'Varsity 55 + + CHAPTER VII. + Ended 64 + + CHAPTER VIII. + The Heavenly Canaan 78 + + CHAPTER IX. + 'Varsity Again 95 + + CHAPTER X. + Death 113 + + CHAPTER XI. + Love 124 + + CHAPTER XII. + Farewell 137 + + + + +BETH WOODBURN. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +_BETH AT EIGHTEEN._ + + +In the good old county of Norfolk, close to the shore of Lake Erie, lies +the pretty village of Briarsfield. A village I call it, though in truth +it has now advanced almost to the size and dignity of a town. Here, on +the brow of the hill to the north of the village (rather a retired spot, +one would say, for so busy a man), at the time of which my story treats, +stood the residence of Dr. Woodburn. + +It was a long, old-fashioned rough-cast house facing the east, with +great wide windows on each side of the door and a veranda all the way +across the front. The big lawn was quite uneven, and broken here and +there by birch trees, spruces, and crazy clumps of rose-bushes, all in +bloom. Altogether it was a sweet, home-like old place. The view to the +south showed, over the village roofs on the hill-side, the blue of Lake +Erie outlined against the sky, while to the north stretched the open, +undulating country, so often seen in Western Ontario. + +One warm June afternoon Beth, the doctor's only daughter, was lounging +in an attitude more careless than graceful under a birch tree. She, her +father and Mrs. Margin, the housekeeper--familiarly known as Aunt +Prudence--formed the whole household. Beth was a little above the +average height, a girlish figure, with a trifle of that awkwardness one +sometimes meets in an immature girl of eighteen; a face, not what most +people would call pretty, but still having a fair share of beauty. Her +features were, perhaps, a little too strongly outlined, but the brow was +fair as a lily, and from it the great mass of dark hair was drawn back +in a pleasing way. But her eyes--those earnest, grey eyes--were the most +impressive of all in her unusually impressive face. They were such +searching eyes, as though she had stood on the brink scanning the very +Infinite, and yet with a certain baffled look in them as of one who had +gazed far out, but failed to pierce the gloom--a beaten, longing look. +But a careless observer might have dwelt longer on the affectionate +expression about her lips--a half-childish, half-womanly tenderness. + +Beth was in one of her dreamy moods that afternoon. She was gazing away +towards the north, her favorite view. She sometimes said it was prettier +than the lake view. The hill on which their house stood sloped abruptly +down, and a meadow, pink with clover, stretched far away to rise again +in a smaller hill skirted with a bluish line of pines. There was a +single cottage on the opposite side of the meadow, with white blinds and +a row of sun-flowers along the wall; but Beth was not absorbed in the +view, and gave no heed to the book beside her. She was dreaming. She had +just been reading the life of George Eliot, her favorite author, and the +book lay open at her picture. She had begun to love George Eliot like a +personal friend; she was her ideal, her model, for Beth had some repute +as a literary character in Briarsfield. Not a teacher in the village +school but had marked her strong literary powers, and she was not at all +slow to believe all the hopeful compliments paid her. From a child her +stories had filled columns in the Briarsfield _Echo_, and now she was +eighteen she told herself she was ready to reach out into the great +literary world--a nestling longing to soar. Yes, she would be +famous--Beth Woodburn, of Briarsfield. She was sure of it. She would +write novels; oh, such grand novels! She would drink from the very +depths of nature and human life. The stars, the daisies, sunsets, +rippling waters, love and sorrow, and all the infinite chords that +vibrate in the human soul--she would weave them all with warp of gold. +Oh, the world would see what was in her soul! She would be the bright +particular star of Canadian literature; and then wealth would flow in, +too, and she would fix up the old home. Dear old "daddy" should retire +and have everything he wanted: and Aunt Prudence, on sweeping days, +wouldn't mind moving "the trash," as she called her manuscripts. Daddy +wouldn't make her go to bed at ten o'clock then; she would write all +night if she choose; she would have a little room on purpose, and +visitors at Briarsfield would pass by the old rough-cast house and point +it out as Beth Woodburn's home, and--well, this is enough for a sample +of Beth's daydreams. They were very exaggerated, perhaps, and a little +selfish, too; but she was not a fully-developed woman yet, and the years +were to bring sweeter fruit. She had, undoubtedly, the soul of genius, +but genius takes years to unfold itself. + +Then a soft expression crossed the face of the dreamer. She leaned +back, her eyes closed and a light smile played about her lips. She was +thinking of one who had encouraged her so earnestly--a tall, slender +youth, with light curly hair, blue eyes and a fair, almost girlish, +face--too fair and delicate for the ideal of most girls: but Beth +admired its paleness and delicate features, and Clarence Mayfair had +come to be often in her thoughts. She remembered quite well when the +Mayfairs had moved into the neighborhood and taken possession of the +fine old manor beside the lake, and she had become friends with the only +daughter, Edith, at school, and then with Clarence. Clarence wrote such +pretty little poems, too. This had been the foundation of their +friendship, and, since their tastes and ambitions were so much alike, +what if-- + +Her eyes grew brighter, and she almost fancied he was looking down into +her face. Oh, those eyes--hush, maiden heart, be still. She smiled at +the white cloud drifting westward--a little boat-shaped cloud, with two +white figures in it, sailing in the summer blue. The breeze ruffled her +dark hair. There fell a long shadow on the grass beside her. + +"Clarence--Mr. Mayfair! I didn't see you coming. When did you get home?" + +"Last night. I stayed in Toronto till the report of our 'exams' came +out." + +"I see you have been successful," she replied. "Allow me to congratulate +you." + +"Thank you. I hear you are coming to 'Varsity this fall, Miss Woodburn. +Don't you think it quite an undertaking? I'm sure I wish you joy of the +hard work." + +"Why, I hope you are not wearying of your course in the middle of it, +Mr. Mayfair. It is only two years till you will have your B.A." + +"Two years' hard work, though; and, to tell the truth, a B.A. has lost +its charms for me. I long to devote my life more fully to literature. +That is my first ambition, you know, and I seem to be wasting so much +time." + +"You can hardly call time spent that way wasted," she answered. "You +will write all the better for it by and by." + +Then they plunged into one of their old-time literary talks of authors +and books and ambitions. Beth loved these talks. There was no one else +in Briarsfield she could discuss these matters with like Clarence. She +was noticing meanwhile how much paler he looked than when she saw him +last, but she admired him all the more. There are some women who love a +man all the more for being delicate. It gives them better opportunities +to display their womanly tenderness. Beth was one of these. + +"By the way, I mustn't forget my errand," Clarence exclaimed after a +long chat. + +He handed her a dainty little note, an invitation to tea from his sister +Edith. Beth accepted with pleasure. She blushed as he pressed her hand +in farewell, and their eyes met. That look and touch of his went very +deep--deeper than they should have gone, perhaps; but the years will +tell their tale. She watched him going down the hill-side in the +afternoon sunshine, then fell to dreaming again. What if, after all, she +should not always stay alone with daddy? If someone else should +come--And she began to picture another study where she should not have +to write alone, but there should be two desks by the broad windows +looking out on the lake, and somebody should-- + +"Beth! Beth! come and set the tea-table. My hands is full with them +cherries." + +Beth's dream was a little rudely broken by Mrs. Martin's voice, but she +complacently rose and went into the house. + +Mrs. Martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim, +good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of +Canadian life. She had been Dr. Woodburn's housekeeper ever since Beth +could remember, and they had always called her "Aunt Prudence." + +"What did that gander-shanks of a Mayfair want?" asked the old lady with +a funny smile, as Beth was bustling about. + +"Oh, just come to bring an invitation to tea from Edith." + +Dr. Woodburn entered as soon as tea was ready. He was the ideal father +one meets in books, and if there was one thing on earth Beth was proud +of it was "dear daddy." He was a fine, broad-browed man, strikingly like +Beth, but with hair silvery long before its time. His eyes were like +hers, too, though Beth's face had a little shadow of gloom that did not +belong to the doctor's genial countenance. + +It was a pleasant little tea-table to which they sat down. Mrs Martin +always took tea with them, and as she talked over Briarsfield gossip to +the doctor, Beth, as was her custom, looked silently out of the window +upon the green sloping lawn. + +"Well, Beth, dear," said Dr. Woodburn, "has Mrs. Martin told you that +young Arthur Grafton is coming to spend his holidays with us?" + +"Arthur Grafton! Why, no!" said Beth with pleased surprise. + +"He is coming. He may drop in any day. He graduated this spring, you +know. He's a fine young man, I'm told." + +"Oh! Beth ain't got time to think about anything but that slim young +Mayfair, now-a-days," put in Mrs. Martin. "He's been out there with her +most of the afternoon, and me with all them cherries to tend to." + +Beth saw a faint shadow cross her father's face, but put it aside as +fancy only and began to think of Arthur. He was an old play-fellow of +hers. An orphan at an early age, he had spent his childhood on his +uncle's farm, just beyond the pine wood to the north of her home. Her +father had always taken a deep interest in him, and when the death of +his uncle and aunt left him alone in the world, Dr. Woodburn had taken +him into his home for a couple of years until he had gone away to +school. Arthur had written once or twice, but Beth was staying with her +Aunt Margaret, near Welland, that summer, and she had seen fit, for +unexplained reasons, to stop the correspondence: so the friendship had +ended there. It was five years now since she had seen her old +play-fellow, and she found herself wondering if he would be greatly +changed. + +After tea Beth took out her books, as usual, for an hour or two; then, +about eight o'clock, with her tin-pail on her arm, started up the road +for the milk. This was one of her childhood's tasks that she still took +pleasure in performing. She sauntered along in the sweet June twilight +past the fragrant clover meadow and through the pine wood, with the +fire-flies darting beneath the boughs. Some girls would have been +frightened, but Beth was not timid. She loved the still sweet solitude +of her evening walk. The old picket gate clicked behind her at the Birch +Farm, and she went up the path with its borders of four-o'clocks. It was +Arthur's old home, where he had passed his childhood at his uncle's--a +great cheery old farm-house, with morning-glory vines clinging to the +windows, and sun-flowers thrusting their great yellow faces over the +kitchen wall. + +The door was open, but the kitchen empty, and she surmised that Mrs. +Birch had not finished milking; so Beth sat down on the rough bench +beneath the crab-apple tree and began to dream of the olden days. There +was the old chain swing where Arthur used to swing her, and the +cherry-trees where he filled her apron. She was seven and he was +ten--but such a man in her eyes, that sun-browned, dark-eyed boy. And +what a hero he was to her when she fell over the bridge, and he rescued +her! He used to get angry though sometimes. Dear, how he thrashed +Sammie Jones for calling her a "little snip." Arthur was good, though, +very good. He used to sit in that very bench where she was sitting, and +explain the Sunday-school lesson to her, and say such good things. Her +father had told her two or three years ago of Arthur's decision to be a +missionary. He was going away off to Palestine. "I wonder how he can do +it," she thought. "He has his B.A. now, too, and he was always so +clever. He must be a hero. I'm not good like that; I--I don't think I +want to be so good. Clarence isn't as good as that. But Clarence must be +good. His poetry shows it. I wonder if Arthur will like Clarence?" + +Mrs. Birch, with a pail of fresh milk on each arm, interrupted her +reverie. + +Beth enjoyed her walk home that night. The moon had just risen, and the +pale stars peeped through the patches of white cloud that to her fancy +looked like the foot-prints of angels here and there on the path of the +infinite. As she neared home a sound of music thrilled her. It was only +an old familiar tune, but she stopped as if in a trance. The touch +seemed to fill her very soul. It was so brave and yet so tender. The +music ceased; some sheep were bleating in the distance, the stars were +growing brighter, and she went on toward home. + +She was surprised as she crossed the yard to see a tall dark-haired +stranger talking to her father in the parlor. She was just passing the +parlor door when he came toward her. + +"Well, Beth, my old play-mate!" + +"Arthur!" + +They would have made a subject for an artist as they stood with clasped +hands, the handsome dark-eyed man, the girl, in her white dress, her +milk-pail on her arm, and her wondering grey eyes upturned to his. + +"Why, Beth, you look at me as if I were a spectre." + +"But, Arthur, you're so changed! Why, you're a man, now!" at which he +laughed a merry laugh that echoed clear to the kitchen. + +Beth joined her father and Arthur in the parlor, and they talked the old +days over again before they retired to rest. Beth took out her pale blue +dress again before she went to sleep. Yes, she would wear that to the +Mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room +window that would just match. So thinking she laid it carefully away and +slept her girl's sleep that night. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_A DREAM OF LIFE._ + + +It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror +fastening the moss roses in her belt. Arthur had gone away with her +father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the +evening. Aunt Prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying +late and Beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. It was a +delightful day. The homes all looked so cheery, and the children were +playing at the gates as she went down the street. There was one her eye +dwelt on more than the rest. The pigeons were strutting on the sloping +roof, the cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls +were swinging under the cherry-tree. Yes, marriage and home must be +sweet after all. Beth had always said she never would marry. She wanted +to write stories and not have other cares. But school girls change +their views sometimes. + +It was only a few minutes' walk to the Mayfair residence beside the +lake. Beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great +old lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain +yonder, the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue Erie +stretching far away. + +Edith Mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired, winsome +creature, several years older than Beth. But she looked even younger. +Hers was such a child-like face! It was pretty to see the way she twined +her arm about Beth. They had loved each other ever since the Mayfairs +had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair were +sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs. Mayfair; she was such +a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. Mr. +Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To Beth's literary mind there +was something about the Mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. They +were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in +Briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment. + +It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into--a pleasing +confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying +on the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's +attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High +School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had +become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their +names. Beth looked up and saw Edith watching her with a smiling, +blushing face. The next minute she threw both arms about Beth. + +"Can't you guess what I was going to tell you, Beth, dear?" + +"Why, Edith, are you and Mr. Ashley--" + +"Yes, dear. I thought you would guess." + +Beth only hugged her by way of congratulation, and Edith laughed a +little hysterically. Beth was used to these emotional fits of Edith's. +Then she began to question-- + +"When is it to be?" + +"September. And you will be my bridesmaid, won't you, dear?" + +Beth promised. + +"Oh, Beth, I think marriage is the grandest institution God ever made." + +Beth had a strange dream-like look in her eyes, and the tea-bell broke +their reverie. + +Mr. Ashley had dropped in for tea, and Clarence sat beside Beth, with +Edith and her betrothed opposite. It was so pleasant and home-like, +with the pink cluster of roses smiling in at the window. + +After tea, Edith and Mr. Ashley seemed prepared for a _tete-a-tete_, in +which Mrs. Mayfair was also interested; and Clarence took Beth around to +the conservatory to see a night-blooming cirius. It was not out yet, and +so they went for a promenade through the long grounds toward the lake. +Beth never forgot that walk in all her life to come. Somehow she did not +seem herself. All her ambition and struggle seemed at rest. She was a +child, a careless child, and the flowers bloomed around her, and +Clarence was at her side. The lake was very calm when they reached it; +the stars were shining faintly, and they could see Long Point Island +like a long dark line in the distant water. + +"Arthur is going to take me over to the island this week," said Beth. + +They had just reached a little cliff jutting out over the water. It was, +perhaps, one of the most picturesque scenes on the shores of Lake Erie. + +"Wouldn't it be grand to be on this cliff and watch a thunderstorm +coming up over the lake?" said Beth. + +"You are very daring Beth--Miss Woodburn. Edith would rather hide her +head under the blankets." + +"Do you know, I really love thunderstorms," continued Beth. "It is such +a nice safe feeling to lie quiet and sheltered in bed and hear the +thunder crash and the storm beat outside. Somehow, I always feel more +deeply that God is great and powerful, and that the world has a live +ruler." She stopped rather suddenly. Clarence never touched on religious +subjects in conversation-- + +"Dear, what a ducking Arthur and I got in a thunderstorm one time. We +were out hazel-nutting and--" + +"Do you always call Mr. Grafton Arthur?" interrupted Clarence, a little +impatiently. + +"Oh, yes! Why, how funny it would seem to call Arthur Mr. Grafton!" + +"Beth"--he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,--"Beth, do you love +Arthur Grafton?" + +"Love Arthur! Why, dear, no! I never thought of it. He's just like my +brother. Besides," she continued after a pause, "Arthur is going away +off somewhere to be a missionary, and I don't think I could be happy if +I married a man who wasn't a writer." + +That was very naive of Beth. She forgot Clarence's literary +pretensions. + +"Then can you love me, Beth? Don't you see that I love you?" + +There was a moment's silence. Their eyes met in a long, earnest look. An +impulse of tenderness came over her, and she threw both arms about his +neck as he clasped her to his breast. The stars were shining above and +the water breaking at their feet. They understood each other without +words. + +"Oh, Clarence, I am so happy, so very happy!" + +The night air wafted the fragrance of roses about them like incense. +They walked on along the shore, happy lovers, weaving their life-dreams +under the soft sky of that summer night. + +"I wonder if anyone else is as happy as we are, Beth!" + +"Oh, Clarence, how good we ought to be! I mean to always be kinder and +to try and make other people happy, too." + +"You are good, Beth. May God bless our lives." + +She had never seen Clarence so earnest and manly before. Yes, she was +very much in love, she told herself. + +They talked much on the way back to the house. He told her that his +father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be +several years before he himself could marry. But Beth's brow was not +clouded. She wanted her college course, and somehow Clarence seemed so +much more manly with a few difficulties to face. + +A faint sound of music greeted them as they reached the house. Edith was +playing her guitar. Mrs. Mayfair met them on the veranda. + +"Why, Clarence, how late you've kept the child out," said Mrs. Mayfair +with a motherly air. "I'm afraid you will catch cold, Miss Woodburn; +there is such a heavy dew!" + +Clarence went up to his mother and said something in a low tone. A +pleased look lighted her face. + +"I am so glad, dear Beth, my daughter. I shall have another daughter in +place of the one I am giving away." + +She drew the girl to her breast with tender affection. Beth had been +motherless all her life, and the caress was sweet and soothing to her. +Edith fastened her cape and kissed her fondly when she was going home. +Clarence went with her, and somehow everything was so dream-like and +unreal that even the old rough-cast home looked strange and shadowy in +the moon-light. It was perhaps a relief that her father had not yet +returned. + +She was smiling and happy, but even her own little room seemed strangely +unnatural that night. She stopped just inside the door and looked at it, +the moonlight streaming through the open window upon her bed. Was she +really the same Beth Woodburn that had rested there last night and +thought about the roses. She took them out of her belt now. A sweetly +solemn feeling stole over her, and she crossed over and knelt at the +window, the withered roses in her hand, her face upturned to heaven. +Sacred thoughts filled her mind. She had longed for love, someone to +love, someone who loved her; but was she worthy, she asked herself, pure +enough, good enough? She felt to-night that she was kneeling at an +unseen shrine, a bride, to be decked by the holy angels in robes whiter +than mortal ever saw. + +Waves of sweet music aroused her. She started up as from a dream, +recognizing at once the touch of the same hand that she had heard in the +distance the night before, and it was coming from their own parlor +window, right beneath hers! She held her breath almost as she stole out +and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the parlor. Why, it was +Arthur! Was it possible he could play like that? She made a striking +picture as she stood there on the stairs, her great grey eyes drinking +in the music: but she was relieved somehow when it ceased. It was +bright, quick, inspiring; but it seemed to make her forget her new-born +joy while it lasted. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +_WHITHER, BETH?_ + + +Beth was lying in the hammock, watching the white clouds chase each +other over the sky. Her face was quite unclouded, though the morning had +not passed just as she had hoped. It was the next afternoon after she +had taken tea at the Mayfair's, and Clarence had come to see her father +that morning. They had had a long talk in the study, and Beth had sat in +her room anxiously pulling to pieces the roses that grew at her window. +After a little while she was called down. Clarence was gone, and she +thought her father did not look quite satisfied, though he smiled as she +sat down beside him. + +"Beth, I am sorry you are engaged so young," he said gently. "Are you +sure you love him, Beth?" + +"Oh, yes, papa, dear. You don't understand," and she put both arms +about his neck. "I am in love, truly. Believe me, I shall be happy." + +"Clarence is delicate, too," said her father with a grave look. + +They were both silent for a few minutes. + +"But, after all, he cannot marry for three or four years to come, and +you must take your college course, Beth." + +They were silent again for a moment. + +"Well, God bless you, Beth, my darling child." There were tears in his +eyes, and his voice was very gentle. He kissed her and went out to his +office. + +What a dear old father he was! Only Beth wished he had looked more +hopeful and enthusiastic over the change in her life. Aunt Prudence had +been told before dinner, and she had taken it in a provokingly quiet +fashion that perplexed Beth. What was the matter with them all? Did they +think Clarence the pale-faced boy that he looked? They were quite +mistaken. Clarence was a man. + +So Miss Beth reasoned, and the cloud passed off her brow, for, after +all, matters were about as they were before. The morning had been rather +pleasant, too. Arthur had played some of his sweet old pieces, and then +asked as a return favor to see some of her writing. She had given him +several copies of the Briarsfield _Echo_, and he was still reading. In +spite of her thoughts of Clarence, she wondered now and again what +Arthur would think of her. Would he be proud of his old play-mate? He +came across the lawn at last and drew one of the chairs up beside the +hammock. + +"I have read them all, Beth, and I suppose I should be proud of you. You +are talented--indeed, you are more than talented: you are a genius, I +believe. But do you know, Beth, I do not like your writings?" + +He looked at her as if it pained him to utter these words. + +"They are too gloomy. There is a sentimental gloom about everything you +write. I don't know what the years since we parted have brought you, +Beth, but your writings don't seem to come from a full heart, +overflowing with happiness. It seems to me that with your command of +language and flowing style you might bring before your reader such sweet +little homes and bright faces and sunny hearts, and that is the sweetest +mission a writer has, I believe." + +Beth watched him silently. She had not expected this from Arthur. She +thought he would overwhelm her with praise; and, instead, he sat there +like a judge laying all her faults before her. Stern critic! Somehow he +didn't seem just like the old Arthur. + +"I don't like him any more," she thought. "He isn't like his old self." + +But somehow she could not help respecting him as she looked at him +sitting there with that great wave of dark hair brushed back from his +brow, and his soulful eyes fixed on something in space. He looked a +little sad, too. + +"Still, he isn't a writer like Clarence," she thought, "and he doesn't +know how to praise like Clarence does." + +"But Arthur," she said, finally speaking her thoughts aloud; "you speak +as though I could change my way of writing merely by resolving to. I can +write only as nature allows." + +"That's too sentimental, Beth; just like your writing. You are a little +bit visionary." + +"But there are gloomy and visionary writers as well as cheerful ones. +Both have their place." + +"I do not believe, Beth, that gloom has a place in this bright earth of +ours. Sadness and sorrow will come, but there is sweetness in the cup as +well. The clouds drift by with the hours, Beth, but the blue sky stands +firm throughout all time." + +She caught sight of Clarence coming as he was speaking, and scarcely +heeded his last words, but nevertheless they fastened themselves in her +mind, and in after years she recalled them. + +Clarence and Arthur had never met before face to face, and somehow there +was something striking about the two as they did so. Arthur was only a +few years older, but he looked so manly and mature beside Clarence. They +smiled kindly when Beth introduced them, and she felt sure that they +approved of each other. Arthur withdrew soon, and Beth wondered if he +had any suspicion of the truth. + +Once alone with her, Clarence drew her to his heart in true lover-like +fashion. + +"Oh, Clarence, don't! People will see you." + +"Suppose they do. You are mine." + +"But you mustn't tell it, Clarence. You won't, will you?" + +He yielded to her in a pleasant teasing fashion. + +"Have you had a talk with your father, Beth?" + +"Yes," she answered seriously, "and I rather hoped he would take it +differently." + +"I had hoped so, too; but, still, he doesn't oppose us, and he will +become more reconciled after a while, you know, when he sees what it is +to have a son. Of course, he thinks us very young; but still I think we +are more mature than many young people of our age." + +Beth's face looked changed in the last twenty-four hours. She had a more +satisfied, womanly look. Perhaps that love-craving heart of hers had +been too empty. + +"I have been looking at the upstair rooms at home," said Clarence. +"There will have to be some alterations before our marriage." + +"Why, Clarence!" she exclaimed, laughing; "you talk as though we were +going off to Gretna Green to be married next week." + +"Sure enough, the time is a long way off, but it's well to be looking +ahead. There are two nice sunny rooms on the south side. One of them +would be so nice for study and writing. It has a window looking south +toward the lake, and another west. You were always fond of watching the +sun set, Beth. But you must come and look at them. Let's see, to-day's +Saturday. Come early next week; I shall be away over Sunday, you know." + +"Yes, you told me so last night." + +"Did I tell you of our expected guest?" he asked, after a pause. "Miss +Marie de Vere, the daughter of an old friend of my mother's. Her father +was a Frenchman, an aristocrat, quite wealthy, and Marie is the only +child, an orphan. My mother has asked her here for a few weeks." + +"Isn't it a striking name?" said Beth, "Marie de Vere, pretty, too. I +wonder what she will be like." + +"I hope you will like her, Beth. She makes her home in Toronto, and it +would be nice if you became friends. You will be a stranger in Toronto, +you know, next winter. How nice it will be to have you there while I am +there, Beth. I can see you quite often then. Only I hate to have you +study so hard." + +"Oh, but then it won't hurt my brain, you know. Thoughts of you will +interrupt my studies so often" she said, with a coquettish smile. + +Clarence told her some amusing anecdotes of 'Varsity life, then went +away early, as he was going to leave the village for a day or two. + +Beth hurried off to the kitchen to help Aunt Prudence. It was unusual +for her to give any attention to housework, but a new interest in +domestic affairs seemed to have aroused within her to-day. + +The next day was Sunday, and somehow it seemed unusually sacred to Beth. +The Woodburn household was at church quite early, and Beth sat gazing +out of the window at the parsonage across the road. It was so +home-like--a great square old brick, with a group of hollyhocks beside +the study window. + +The services that day seemed unusually sweet, particularly the +Sunday-school hour. Beth's attention wandered from the lesson once or +twice, and she noticed Arthur in the opposite corner teaching a class of +little girls--little tots in white dresses. He looked so pleased and +self-forgetful. Beth had never seen him look like that before; and the +children were open-eyed. She saw him again at the close of the +Sunday-school, a little light-haired creature in his arms. + +"Why, Arthur, I didn't think you were so fond of children." + +"Oh, yes, I'm quite a grandfather, only minus the grey hair." + +It was beautiful walking home that afternoon in the light June breeze. +She wondered what Clarence was doing just then. Home looked so sweet and +pleasant, too, as she opened the gate, and she thought how sorry she +should be to leave it to go to college in the fall. + +Beth stayed in her room a little while, and then came down stairs. +Arthur was alone in the parlor, sitting by the north window, and Beth +sat down near. The wind had ceased, the sun was slowly sinking in the +west, a flock of sheep were resting in the shadow of the elms on the +distant hill-slope, and the white clouds paused in the blue as if moored +by unseen hands. Who has not been moved by the peace and beauty of the +closing hours of a summer Sabbath? Arthur and Beth were slow to begin +conversation, for silence seemed more pleasing. + +"Arthur, when are you going out as a missionary?" asked Beth, at last. + +"Not for three or four years yet." + +"Where are you going, do you know?" + +"To the Jews, at Jerusalem." + +"Are you sure you will be sent just where you want to go?" + +"Yes, for I am going to pay my own expenses. A bachelor uncle of mine +died, leaving me an annuity." + +"Don't you dread going, though?" + +"Dread it! No, I rejoice in it!" he said, with a radiant smile. "One has +so many opportunities of doing good in a work like that." + +"Do you always think of what you can do for others?" + +"That is the best way to live," he answered, a sweet smile in the depths +of his dark eyes. + +"But don't you dread the loneliness?" + +"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." + +"Oh, Arthur!"--she buried her face for a moment in the cushions, and +then looked up at him with those searching grey eyes of hers--"you are +brave; you are good; I wish I were, too." + +He looked down upon her tenderly for a moment. + +"But, Beth, isn't your life a consecrated one--one of service?" + +"It is all consecrated but one thing, and I can't consecrate that." + +"You will never be happy till you do. Beth, I am afraid you are not +perfectly happy," he said, after a pause. "You do not look to be." + +"Oh, yes, I am quite happy, very happy, and I shall be happier still by +and by," she said, thinking of Clarence. "But, Arthur, there is one +thing I can't consecrate. I am a Christian, and I do mean to be good, +only I can't consecrate my literary hopes and work." + +"Oh, why not, Beth? That is the very thing you should consecrate. That's +the widest field you have for work. But why not surrender that, too, +Beth?" + +"Oh, I don't know. I couldn't write like 'Pansy' does, it isn't natural +to me." + +"You don't need to write like 'Pansy.' She has done splendid work, +though, and I don't believe there is a good home where she isn't loved. +But it may not be your place to be just like 'Pansy.'" + +"No; I want to be like George Eliot." + +A graver look crossed his face. + +"That is right to a certain extent. George Eliot certainly had a grand +intellect, but if she had only been a consecrated Christian woman how +infinitely greater she might have been. With such talent as hers +undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of +heaven. Beth, don't you see what grand possibilities are yours, with +your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?" + +"Ah, yes. Arthur, but then--I am drifting somehow. Life is bearing me +another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be famous, and +perhaps wealthy, too, but I am drifting with the years." + +"But it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, Beth. +You will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. Do +you not see there are two paths before you? Which will you choose, Beth? +'For self?' or 'for Jesus?' The one will bring you fame and wealth, +perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not be +satisfied. The other--oh, it would make you so much happier! Your books +would be read at every fire-side, and Beth Woodburn would be a name to +be loved. You are drifting--but whither, Beth?" + +His voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was +something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget those +last words. + +The moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her dreams, +and she and Clarence were alone together in a lovely island garden. It +was so very beautiful--a grand temple of nature, its aisles carpeted +with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a star-strewn sea +all round! No mortal artist could have planned that mysteriously +beautiful profusion of flowers--lily and violet, rose and oleander, +palm-tree and passion-vine, and the olive branches and orange blossoms +interlacing in the moon-light above them. Arthur was watering the tall +white lilies by the water-side and all was still with a hallowed silence +they dared not break. Suddenly a wild blast swept where they stood. All +was desolate and bare, and Clarence was gone. In a moment the bare rocks +where she had stood were overwhelmed, and she was drifting far out to +sea--alone! Stars in the sky above--stars in the deep all round and the +winds and the waters were still! And she was drifting--but whither? + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_MARIE._ + + +"Isn't she pretty?" + +"She's picturesque looking." + +"Pretty? picturesque? I think she's ugly!" + +These were the varied opinions of a group of Briarsfield girls who were +at the station when the evening train stopped. The object of their +remarks was a slender girl whom the Mayfairs received with warmth. It +was Marie de Vere--graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and +daintily dressed brown hair. This was the girl that Beth and Arthur were +introduced to when they went to the Mayfairs to tea a few days later. +Beth recalled the last evening she was there to tea. Only a few days had +since passed, and yet how all was changed! + +"Do you like Miss de Vere?" asked Clarence, after Beth had enjoyed a +long conversation with her. + +"Oh, yes! I'm just delighted with her! She has such kind eyes, and she +seems to understand one so well!" + +"You have fallen in love at first sight. The pleasure on your face makes +up for the long time I have waited to get you alone. Only I wish you +would look at me like you looked at Miss de Vere just now," he said, +trying to look dejected. + +She laughed. Those little affectionate expressions always pleased her, +for she wondered sometimes if Clarence could be a cold and unresponsive +husband. He was not a very ardent lover, and grey-eyed, intellectual +Beth Woodburn had a love-hungering heart, though few people knew it. + +"Do you know," said Beth, "Miss de Vere has told me that there is a +vacant room at her boarding-house. She is quite sure she can get it for +me this winter. Isn't she kind? I believe we shall be great friends." + +"Yes, you will enjoy her friendship. She is a clever artist and +musician, you know. Edith says she lives a sort of Bohemian life in +Toronto. Her rooms are littered with music and painting and literature." + +"How nice! Her face looks as if she had a story, too. There's something +sad in her eyes." + +"She struck me as being remarkably lively," said Clarence. + +"Oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret sorrows. Look, +there she is walking with Arthur toward the lake." + +Clarence smiled for a moment. + +"Perhaps fate may see fit to link them together," he said. + +"Oh, no, I don't think so! I can't imagine it." + +"Grafton's a fine fellow, isn't he?" + +"I'm glad you like him so well, Clarence. He's just like my brother, you +know. We had such an earnest talk Sunday night. He made me feel, oh, I +don't know how. But do you know, my life isn't consecrated to God, +Clarence; is yours?" + +They were walking under the stars of the open night, and Clarence looked +thoughtful for a moment, then answered unhesitatingly: + +"No, Beth. I settled that long ago. I don't think we need to be +consecrated. So long as we are Christians and live fairly consistent +lives, I think that suffices. Of course, with people like Arthur Grafton +it is different. But as for us we are consecrated to art, you know, in +the shape of writing. Let us make the utmost of our talents." + +"Yes, we are consecrated to art," said Beth with a sigh of relief, and +began talking of Marie. + +Since Beth was to leave home in the fall, she did not go away during the +summer, and consequently saw much of Marie during the few weeks she +stayed at Briarsfield. It is strange how every life we come in contact +with leaves its impress upon ourselves! It was certainly so with Marie +and Beth. Marie had seen so much of the world and of human life, and +Beth had always lived so quietly there in her own village, that now a +restlessness took possession of her to get away far beyond the horizon +of Briarsfield. + +The days passed on as days will pass. Clarence was home most of the +time, and he and Beth had many walks together in the twilight, and +sometimes in the morning. What delightful walks they were in the cool of +the early summer morning! There was one especially pretty spot where +they used to rest along the country road-side. It was a little hill-top, +with the ground sloping down on either side, then rising again in great +forest-crowned hills. Two oak trees, side by side, shaded them as they +watched the little clouds sailing over the harvest fields. + +Arthur was with them a great deal of the summer, and Beth was occupied +with preparations for leaving home. She used to talk to Arthur about +Marie sometimes, but he disappointed her by his coldness. She fancied +that he did not altogether approve of Marie. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +_"FOR I LOVE YOU, BETH."_ + + +It came soon, her last Sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in the +west. Beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. Do you remember +that last Sabbath before you left home? Everything, the hills outside, +the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you in +mute farewell. Beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through the +open door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leaping +up in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. She had +always liked that stove with its cheery fire. Then she turned her eyes +to the window and noted that the early September frost had browned her +favorite meadow where the clover bloomed last June, and that the maples +along the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now all +decked in crimson and yellow. + +Her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked around +she saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. Poor father! He +would miss her, she knew, though he tried not to let her see how much. +Aunt Prudence, too, dear old soul, seemed sorry to have her go, but she +had her own peculiar way of expressing it, namely, by getting crosser +every day. She did not approve of so much "larnin'" for girls, +especially when Beth was "goin' to be married to that puny Mayfair." +Aunt Prudence always said her "say," as she expressed it, but she meant +well and Beth understood. + +Beth was not to go until Friday, and Clarence was to meet her at the +station. He had been called away to the city with his father on business +more than a week before. Arthur was with them to-day, but he was to +leave on the early morning train to join a college mate. He was to be at +Victoria University that winter and Beth expected to see him often. + +They had an early supper, and the September sunset streamed through the +open window on the old-fashioned china tea-set. Beth was disappointed +after tea when her father's services were required immediately by a +patient several miles away. Arthur and she sat down by that same old +parlor window in the hush of the coming night; a few white clouds were +spread like angel wings above and the early stars were shining in the +west. They were silent for a while. Arthur and Beth were often silent +when together, but the silence was a pleasing, not an embarrassing one. + +"Are you sorry to leave home, Beth?" asked Arthur. + +"Yes, I am; and would you believe it, I thought I'd be so glad to have a +change, and yet it makes me sad now the time is drawing near." + +They were silent again for a while. + +"Arthur, do you know, I think it seems so hard for you to go away so far +and be a missionary when you are so fond of home and home life." + +He smiled tenderly upon her, but she did not know the meaning of that +smile then as she knew a little later. + +"It is my Father's will," he said with a sweeter, graver smile. + +"Beth, do you not see how your talent could be used in the mission +field?" + +"He does not know I am going to marry Clarence," she thought with a +smile, "and he is going to map out a life work for a maiden lady." + +"No, I don't see how," she answered. + +"You know there is a large proportion of the world that never read such +a thing as a missionary book, and that if more such books were read, +missions would be better supported. Now, if someone with bright talents +were to write fascinating stories of Arabian life or life in Palestine, +see how much interest would be aroused. But then you would need to live +among the people and know their lives, and who would know them so well +as a missionary?" + +Beth smiled at his earnestness. + +"Oh, no, Arthur; I couldn't do that." + +His eyes filled in a moment with a sad, pleading look. + +"Beth, can you refuse longer to surrender your life and your life's +toil? Look, Beth," he said, pointing upward to the picture of Christ +upon the wall, "can you refuse Him--can you refuse, Beth?" + +"Oh, Arthur, don't," she said drooping her face. + +"But I _must_, Beth! Will you enter your Father's service? Once again I +ask you." + +Her eyes were turned away and she answered nothing. + +"Beth," he said softly, "I have a more selfish reason for urging +you--for I love you, Beth. I have loved you since we were children +together. Will you be my own--my wife? It is a holy service I ask you to +share. Are you ready, Beth?" + +Her pale face was hidden in her hands. He touched her hair reverently. +Tick! tick! tick! from the old clock in the silence. Then a crimson +flush, and she rose with sudden violence. + +"Oh, Arthur, what _can_ you mean? I thought--you seemed my brother +almost--I thought you would always be that. Oh, Arthur! Arthur! how can +you--how dare you talk so? I am Clarence Mayfair's promised wife." + +"Clarence Mayfair's--" The words died away on his white lips. He leaned +upon the mantel-piece, and Beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. His face +was so deathly white. His eyes were shaded by his hand, and his brow +bore the marks of strong agony. Oh, he was wounded! Those moments were +awful in their silence. The darkness deepened in the old parlor. There +was a sound of voices passing in the street. The church bell broke the +stillness. Softly the old calm crept over his brow, and he raised his +face and looked at her with those great dark eyes--eyes of unfathomable +tenderness and impenetrable fire, and she felt that her very soul stood +naked before him. She trembled and sank on the couch at her side. His +look was infinitely tender as he came toward her. + +"I have hurt you--forgive me," he said gently, and he laid his hand on +her head so reverently for a moment. His white lips murmured something, +but she only caught the last words, "God bless you--forever. Good-bye, +Beth--little Beth." + +He smiled back upon her as he left the room, but she would rather he had +looked sad. That smile--she could never forget it, with its wonderful +sweetness and sorrow. + +She sat motionless for a while after he left the room. She felt thrilled +and numbed. There are moments in life when souls stand forth from their +clayey frames and touch each other, forgetful of time and space. It was +one of those experiences that Beth had just passed through. She went to +her room and crouched down at her window beneath the stars of that +autumn night. Poor Arthur! She was so sad over it all. And he had loved +her! How strange! How could it have been? Loved her since they were +children, he had said. She had never thought of love coming like that. +And they had played together upon that meadow out there. They had grown +up together, and he had even lived in her home those few years before he +went to college. No, she had never dreamed of marrying Arthur! But oh, +he was wounded so! She had never seen him look like that before. And he +had hoped that she would share his life and his labor. She thought how +he had pictured her far away under the burning sun of Palestine, bathing +his heated brow and cheering him for fresh effort. He had pictured, +perhaps, a little humble home, quiet and peaceful, somewhere amid the +snow-crested mountains of the East, where he would walk with her in the +cool of night-fall, under the bright stars and clear sky of that distant +land. Poor, mistaken Arthur! She was not fitted for such a life, she +thought. They were never made for each other. Their ambitions were not +the same. She had found her counterpart in Clarence, and he understood +her as Arthur never could have done. Arthur was a grand, good, practical +man, but there was nothing of the artist-soul in him, she thought. But +she had hoped that he would always be her own and Clarence's friend. He +was such a noble friend! And now her hope was crushed. She could never +be the same to him again, she knew, and he had said farewell. + +"Good-bye, Beth--little Beth," he had said, and she lingered over the +last two words, "little Beth." Yes, she would be "little Beth" to him, +forever now, the little Beth that he had loved and roamed with over +meadow and woodland and wayside, in the sunny, bygone days. + +"Good-bye, Beth--little Beth." Poor Arthur! + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_'VARSITY._ + + +Friday morning came, the last day of September, and the train whistled +sharply as it steamed around the curve from Briarsfield with Beth at one +of the car-windows. It had almost choked her to say good-bye to her +father at the station, and she was still straining her eyes to catch the +last glimpse of home. She could see the two poplars at the gate almost +last of all, as the train bore her out into the open country. She looked +through her tears at the fields and hills, the stretches of woodland and +the old farm-houses, with the vines clambering over their porches, and +the tomatoes ripening in the kitchen window-sills. Gradually the tears +dried, for there is pleasure always in travelling through Western +Ontario, particularly on the lake-side, between Hamilton and Toronto. + +Almost the first one Beth saw, as the train entered Toronto station, +was Clarence, scanning the car-windows eagerly for her face. Her eyes +beamed as he came toward her. She felt as if at home again. Marie had +secured her room for her, and Beth looked around with a pleased air when +the cab stopped on St. Mary's street. It was a row of three-storey brick +houses, all alike, but a cheery, not monotonous, row, with the maples in +front, and Victoria University at the end of the street. A plump, cheery +landlady saw Beth to her room, and, once alone, she did just what +hundreds of other girls have done in her place--sat down on that big +trunk and wept, and wondered what "dear old daddy" was doing. But she +soon controlled herself, and looked around the room. It was a very +pretty room, with rocker and table, and a book-shelf in the corner. +There was a large window, too, opening to the south, with a view of St. +Michael's College and St. Basil's Church. Beth realized that this room +was to be her home for the coming months, and, kneeling down, she asked +that the presence of Christ might hallow it. + +She was not a very close follower of Christ, but the weakest child of +God never breathed a prayer unheard. + +It was such a pleasant treat when Marie tapped at the door just before +tea. It would be nice to have Marie there all winter. Beth looked around +the tea-table at the new faces: Mrs. Owen, at one end of the table, +decidedly stout; Mr. Owen, at the other end, decidedly lean. There were +two sweet-faced children, a handsome, gloomy-browed lawyer, and Marie at +her side. + +The next day, Clarence took Beth over to 'Varsity--as Toronto University +is popularly called--and she never forgot that bright autumn morning +when she passed under the arch of carved stone into the University +halls, those long halls thronged with students. Clarence left her in the +care of a gentle fourth-year girl. Beth was taken from lecturer to +lecturer until the registering was done, and then she stopped by one of +the windows in the ladies' dressing-room to gaze at the beautiful autumn +scenery around--the ravine, with its dark pines, and the Parliament +buildings beyond. Beth was beginning to love the place. + +We must not pause long over that first year that Beth spent at 'Varsity. +It passed like a flash to her, the days were so constantly occupied. But +her memory was being stored with scenes she never forgot. It was so +refreshing on the brisk, autumn mornings to walk to lectures through +the crimson and yellow leaves of Queen's Park: and, later in the year, +when the snow was falling she liked to listen to the rooks cawing among +the pines behind the library. Sometimes, too, she walked home alone in +the weird, winter twilight from the Modern Language Club, or from a late +lecture, her mind all aglow with new thoughts. Then there were the +social evenings in the gymnasium, with its red, blue and white +decorations, palms and promenades, and music of the orchestra, and hum +of strange voices. It was all new to Beth; she had seen so little of the +world. There was the reception the Y.W.C.A. gave to the +"freshettes"--she enjoyed that, too. What kind girls they were! Beth was +not slow to decide that the "'Varsity maid" would make a model wife, so +gentle and kindly and with such a broad, progressive mind. Still Beth +made hardly any friendships worthy of the name that first year. She was +peculiar in this respect. In a crowd of girls she was apt to like all, +but to love none truly. When she did make friends she came upon them +suddenly, by a sort of instinct, as in the case of Marie, and became so +absorbed in them she forgot everyone else. This friendship with Marie +was another feature of her present life that pleased her. She had +dropped out of Sunday-school work. She thought city Sunday-schools +chilly, and she spent many a Sunday afternoon in Marie's room. She liked +to sit there in the rocker by the grate fire, and listen to Marie talk +as she reclined in the cushions, with her dark, picturesque face. They +talked of love and life and books and music, and the world and its ways, +for Marie was clever and thoughtful. In after years Beth looked back on +those Sunday afternoons with a shadow of regret, for her feet found a +sweeter, holier path. Marie prided herself on a little tinge of +scepticism, but they rarely touched on that ground. The twilight shadows +gathered about the old piano in the corner, and the pictures grew dimmer +on the wall, and Marie would play soft love-songs on her guitar, and +sometime Beth would recite one of her poems. + +"Have you finished the novel you were writing last summer, Beth?" asked +Marie, one day. + +"No, there are just three more chapters, and I am going to leave them +till holidays, next summer, so I can give them my full time and +attention." + +"Tell me the story." + +Then Beth sat by the fire with a dreamy look on her face and told the +plot of her story. Marie leaned forward, a bright, delighted sparkle in +her dark eyes. Beth had never interested her like that before. She felt +encouraged, and Marie was in raptures when she had finished. + +"It's just splendid! Oh, Beth, how clever you are; you will be famous +soon. I shall be proud of your friendship." + +Beth did not enjoy as much of the company of Clarence as she had hoped +during these days, though he always brought her home from church on +Sunday evening. Marie was always with them. Beth never thought of +leaving her, and Clarence, too, seemed to enjoy her company. Beth was +pleased at this; she liked to have Clarence appreciate her friends. +Then, they three often went to the musical concerts; Beth liked those +concerts so much, and Marie's face would fairly sparkle sometimes, and +change with every wave of music. + +"Just look! Isn't Marie's face grand?" said Clarence one night in a +concert. + +Beth only smiled. That night she sat in the rocker opposite her mirror +and looked at her own reflection. + +"What a grave, grey-eyed face it is!" she thought. She loved music and +beautiful things, and yet she wondered why her eyes never sparkled and +glowed like Marie's. She wished they had more expression. And yet Marie +was not a pretty girl: no one would have thought for a moment of +calling her pretty. + +But what of Arthur? Beth was surprised that during all this time she had +seen him but once, though she lived so near to Victoria. That once was +in the University hall. She had studied late one afternoon, in the +reading-room, after the other girls were gone, and it was just where the +two corridors met that she came face to face with Arthur. He stopped, +and inquired about her studies and her health, and his eyes rested +kindly upon her for a moment; but he did not speak to her just like the +old Arthur. "Good-bye, Beth--little Beth." She recalled the words as she +passed down the long, deserted hall, with its row of lights on either +side. + +There was another thing that touched Beth. It was when Marie left them +just before the examinations in the spring; she was going to visit some +friends. Sweet Marie! How she would miss her. She sat by the +drawing-room window waiting to bid her good-bye. It was a bright April +day, with soft clouds and a mild breeze playing through the budding +trees. Marie came down looking so picturesque under her broad-brimmed +hat, and lifted her veil to receive Beth's farewell kiss. Beth watched +her as she crossed the lawn to the cab. Clarence came hurrying up to +clasp her hand at the gate. He looked paler, Beth thought; she hoped he +would come in, but he turned without looking at her window and hurried +away. Beth felt a little sad at heart; she looked at the long, empty +drawing-room, and sighed faintly, then went back upstairs to her books. + +And what had that winter brought to Beth? She had grown; she felt it +within herself. Her mind had stretched out over the great wide world +with its millions, and even over the worlds of the sky at night, and at +times she had been overwhelmed at the glory of earth's Creator. Yes, she +had grown; but with her growth had come a restlessness; she felt as +though something were giving way beneath her feet like an iceberg +melting in mild waters. There was one particular night that this +restlessness had been strong. She had been to the Modern Language Club, +and listened to a lecture on Walt Whitman, by Dr. Needler. She had never +read any of Whitman's poetry before, she did not even like it. But there +were phrases and sentences here and there, sometimes of Whitman's, +sometimes of Dr. Needler's, that awakened a strange incoherent music in +her soul--a new chord was struck. It was almost dark when she reached +her room, at the close of a stormy winter day. She stood at her window +watching the crimson and black drifts of cloud piled upon each other in +the west. Strife and glory she seemed to read in that sky. She thought +of Whitman's rugged manliness, of the way he had mingled with all +classes of men--mingled with them to do them good. And Beth's heart +cried out within her, only to do something in this great, weary +world--something to uplift, to ennoble men, to raise the lowly, to feed +and to clothe the uncared for, to brighten the millions of homes, to +lift men--she knew not where. This cry in Beth's heart was often heard +after that--to be great, to do something for others. She was growing +weary of the narrow boundaries of self. She would do good, but she knew +not how. She heard a hungry world crying at her feet, but she had not +the bread they craved. Poor, blinded bird, beating against the bars of +heaven! Clarence never seemed to understand her in those moods: he had +no sympathy with them. Alas, he had never known Beth Woodburn; he had +understood her intellectual nature, but he had never sounded the depths +of her womanly soul. He did not know she had a heart large enough to +embrace the whole world, when once it was opened. Poor, weak, blinded +Clarence! She was as much stronger than he, as the star is greater than +the moth that flutters towards it. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_ENDED._ + + +June was almost over, and Beth had been home a full month on that long +four months' vacation that university students are privileged to enjoy. +She was very ambitious when she came home that first vacation. She had +conceived a fresh ideal of womanhood, a woman not only brilliantly +educated and accomplished, but also a gentle queen of the home, one who +thoroughly understood the work of her home. Clarence was quite pleased +when she began to extol cooking as an art, and Dr. Woodburn looked +through the open kitchen-door with a smile at his daughter hidden behind +a clean white apron and absorbed in the mysteries of the pastry board. +Aunt Prudence was a little astonished, but she never would approve of +Beth's way of doing things--"didn't see the sense of a note-book and +lead-pencil." But Beth knew what she was doing in that respect. + +Then there were so many books that Beth intended to read in that +vacation! Marie had come to the Mayfair's, too, and helped her to pass +some pleasant hours. But there was something else that was holding +Beth's attention. It was Saturday evening, and that story was almost +finished, that story on which she had built so many hopes. She sat in +her room with the great pile of written sheets before her, almost +finished; but her head was weary, and she did not feel equal to writing +the closing scene that night. She wanted it to be the most touching +scene of all, and so it had to be rolled up for another week. Just then +the door-bell rang and Mrs. Ashley was announced, our old friend Edith +Mayfair, the same sweet, fair girl under another name. + +They sat down by the window and had a long chat. + +"Have you seen the new minister and his wife yet?" asked Edith. + +"No; I heard he was going to preach to-morrow." + +The Rev. Mr. Perth, as the new Methodist minister, was just now +occupying the attention of Briarsfield. + +"It's interesting to have new people come to town. I wonder if they +will be very nice. Are they young?" asked Beth. + +"Yes. They haven't been married so very long." + +"Edith"--Beth hesitated before she finished the quietly eager +enquiry--"do you still think marriage the best thing in the world?" + +Edith gave her friend a warm embrace in reply. "Yes, Beth, I think it +the very best thing, if God dwell in your home." + +"That sounds like Arthur," said Beth. + +"Do you ever hear of him. Where is he?" + +"I don't know where he is," said Beth, with a half sigh. + +Clarence walked home with Beth to dinner, after church, the next +morning. + +"How do you like the new minister?" Beth asked. + +"Oh, I think he's a clever little fellow." + +"So do I," said Beth. "He seems to be a man of progressive ideas. I +think we shall have bright, interesting sermons." + +Marie was slightly ill that Sunday, and did not come out. Clarence and +Beth took a stroll in the moonlight. The world looked bright and +beautiful beneath the stars, but Clarence was quieter even than usual, +and Beth sighed faintly. Clarence was growing strangely quiet and +unconfidential. He was certainly not a demonstrative lover. Perhaps, +after all, love was not all she had dreamed. She had painted her +dreamland too bright. She did not acknowledge this thought, even to her +own soul; but her heart was a little hungry that summer night. Poor +Beth! Before another Sabbath she was to know a greater pain than mere +weariness. The flames were being kindled that were to scorch that poor +heart of hers. + +It was about ten o'clock the next night when she finished her novel. +Somehow it gave her a grave feeling. Aunt Prudence was in bed, and Dr. +Woodburn had gone out into the country to a patient, and would not +return till midnight. The house was so still, and the sky and the stars +so beautiful; the curtains of her open window just moved in the night +air! It was all ended now--that dreamland which she had lived and loved +and gave expression to on those sheets of paper. Ended! And she was +sitting there with her pen in her hand, her work finished, bending over +it as a mother does over her child. She almost dreaded to resign it to a +publisher, to cast it upon the world. And yet it would return to her, +bringing her fame! She was sure of that. The last scene alone would make +her famous. She could almost see the sweet earnest-eyed woman in her +white robes at the altar; she could hear the sound of voices and the +tread of feet; she was even conscious of the fragrance of the flowers. +It was all so vivid to her! + +Then a sudden impulse seized her. She would like so much to show it to +Clarence, to talk to him, and feel his sympathy. He never retired much +before midnight, and it was scarcely ten minutes' walk. She would get +back before her father returned, and no one would know. Seizing her hat, +she went quietly out. It was a freak, but then Beth had freaks now and +then. A great black cloud drifted over the moon, and made everything +quite dark. A timid girl would have been frightened, but Beth was not +timid. + +She knew Clarence was likely to be in the library, and so went around to +the south side. The library window was quite close to the door of the +side hall, and as Beth came up the terrace, through the open window a +picture met her eyes that held her spell-bound. + +Clarence and Marie were sitting side by side on the sofa, a few feet +from the window. Marie's dark face was drooping slightly, her cheeks +flushed, and her lips just parted in a smile. There was a picture of the +Crucifixion on the wall above them, and rich violet curtains hanging to +one side. One of Marie's slender olive hands rested on the crimson +cushions at her side, the other Clarence was stroking with a tender +touch. Both were silent for a moment. Then Clarence spoke in a soft, low +tone: + +"Marie, I want to tell you something." + +"Do you? Then tell me." + +"I don't like to say it," he answered. + +"Yes, do. Tell me." + +"If I were not an engaged man,"--his voice seemed to tremble faintly, +and his face grew paler--"I should try and win you for my wife." + +Beth drew back a step, her young cheek colorless as death. No cry +escaped her white lips, but her heart almost ceased its beating. It was +only a moment she stood there, but it seemed like years. The dark, +blushing girl, the weak, fair-haired youth in whom she had placed her +trust, the pictures, the cushions, the curtains, every detail of the +scene, seemed printed with fire upon her soul. She was stung. She had +put her lips to the cup of bitterness, and her face looked wild and +haggard as she turned away. + +Only the stars above and the night wind sighing in the leaves, and a +heart benumbed with pain! A tall man passed her in the shadow of the +trees as she was crossing the lawn, but she paid no heed. The lights in +the village homes were going out one by one as she returned up the dark, +deserted street. The moon emerged from the clouds, and filled her room +with a flood of unnatural light just as she entered. She threw herself +upon her pillow, and a cry of pain went up from her wounded heart. She +started the next instant in fear lest some one had heard. But no, there +was no one near here, save that loving One who hears every moan; and +Beth had not learned yet that He can lull every sufferer to rest in His +bosom. The house was perfectly still, and she lay there in the darkness +and silence, no line changing in the rigid marble of her face. She heard +her father's step pass by in the hall; then the old clock struck out the +midnight hour, and still she lay in that stupor with drops of cold +perspiration on her brow. + +Suddenly a change came over her. Her cheeks grew paler still, but her +eyes burned. She rose and paced the room, with quick, agitated steps. + +"Traitress! Traitress!" she almost hissed through her white lips. "It is +_her_ fault. It is _her_ fault. And I called her _friend_. Friend! +Treachery!" + +Then she sank upon her bed, exhausted by the outburst of passion, for it +took but little of this to exhaust Beth. She was not a passionate girl. +Perhaps, never in her life before had she passed through anything like +passion, and she lay there now still and white, her hands folded as in +death. + +In the meantime something else had happened at the Mayfair dwelling. She +had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in +the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in +the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the +same scene in the library. He paused but a moment before entering, but +even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the +hall to the half-open curtains of the library. Marie's face was still +drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently, +and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the +door-way. + +"Clarence Mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation. "Clarence +Mayfair, you dare to speak words of love to that woman at your side? +You! Beth Woodburn's promised husband?" + +"Arthur Grafton!" exclaimed Clarence, and Marie drew back through the +violet curtains. + +A firm hand grasped Clarence by the shoulder, and, white with fear, he +stood trembling before his accuser. + +"Wretch! unworthy wretch! And you claim _her_ hand! Do you know her +worth?" + +"In the name of heaven, Grafton, don't alarm the house!" said Clarence, +in a terrified whisper. His lip trembled with emotion, and Arthur's dark +eyes flashed with fire. There was a shade of pitiful scorn in them, too. +After all, what a mere boy this delicate youth looked, he thought. +Perhaps he was too harsh. He had only heard a sentence or two outside +the window, and he might have judged too harshly. + +"I know it, I know I have wronged her," said Clarence, in a choked +voice; "but don't betray me!" + +There was a ring of true penitence and sorrow in the voice that touched +Arthur, and as he raised his face to that picture of the Crucifixion on +the wall, it softened gradually. + +"Well, perhaps I am severe. May God forgive you, Clarence. But it is +hard for a man to see another treat the woman he--well, there, I'll say +no more. Only promise me you will be true to her--more worthy of her." + +"I will try, Arthur. Heaven knows I have always meant to be honorable." + +"Then, good-bye, Clarence. Only you need not tell Beth you have seen me +to-night," said Arthur, as he turned to leave; "I shall be out of +Briarsfield before morning." + +Poor Arthur! Time had not yet healed his wound, but he was one of those +brave souls who can "suffer and be still." That night, as he was passing +through Briarsfield on the late train, a desire had seized him to go +back to the old place just once more, to walk up and down for a little +while before the home of the woman he loved. He did not care to speak to +her or to meet her face to face. She was another's promised wife. Only +to be near her home--to breathe one deep blessing upon her, and then to +leave before break of day, and she would never know he had been near. He +had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the +great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark +street toward the Mayfairs'. After a little while he had followed, even +approached the windows of Clarence Mayfair's home, hoping for one last +look. But he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only +seen what filled his heart with sorrow. A meaner man would have taken +advantage of the sight, and exposed his rival. But Arthur had anything +but a mean soul. He believed Beth loved Clarence, as he thought a woman +should love the man to whom she gives her life. He believed that God was +calling him to the mission-field alone. He had only caught a few words +that Clarence had said to Marie, and he fancied it may, after all, have +been mere nonsense. Surely he could not have ceased to love Beth! Surely +he could not be blind to her merits! Arthur saw only too truly how weak, +emotional and changeable Clarence was, but it was not his place to +interfere with those whom God had joined. So he argued to himself. + +But the night was passing, and Beth still lay there, no tear on her cold +white cheeks. The clock struck one, a knell-like sound in the night! +Beth lay there, her hands folded on her breast, the prayer unuttered by +her still lips--one for death. The rest were sleeping quietly in their +beds. They knew nothing of her suffering. They would never know. Oh, if +that silent messenger would but come now, and still her weary heart! +They would come in the morning to look at her. Yes; Clarence would come, +too. Perhaps he would love her just a little then. Perhaps he would +think of her tenderly when he saw her with the white roses in her hands. +Oh, was there a God in heaven who could look down on her sorrow +to-night, and not in pity call her home? She listened for the call that +would bear her far beyond this earthly strife, where all was such tangle +and confusion. She listened, but she heard it not, and the darkness +deepened, the moon grew pale and the stars faded away. The house was so +still! The whistle of a steam-engine broke the silence, and she saw the +red light as the train swept around the curve. It was bearing Arthur +away, and she did not know that one who loved her had been so near! Then +she saw a grey gleam in the east. Ah, no! she could not die. The day was +coming again, and she would have to face them all. She would sit in the +same place at the breakfast table. She would meet Clarence again, and +Marie--oh--oh, she could not bear the thought of it! She sat up on her +bedside with such a weary, anguished look in her eyes! Then she went to +kneel at the open window, where her mother had taught her to kneel long +years ago. Her sweet-faced, long-dead mother! When she raised her eyes +again the east was all aglow with the pink and purple dawn, and the +rooks were cawing in the pines across the meadow. She paced the floor +for a moment or two. + +"Yes, it must be done. I will do it," she thought. "He loves her. I will +not stand in the way of his happiness. No; I had rather die." + +And she took a sheet of note-paper, and wrote these simple words: + + "DEAR CLARENCE,--I do not believe you love me any more. I can never + be your wife. I know your secret. I know you love Marie. I have + seen it often in your eyes. Be happy with her, and forget me. May + you be very happy, always. Good-bye. BETH." + +She took it herself to the Mayfair home, knowing that her father would +only think she had gone out for a morning walk. The smoke-wreaths were +curling upward from the kitchen chimneys as she passed down the street, +and Squire Mayfair looked a little surprised when she handed him her +note for Clarence, and turned to walk away. + +That sleepless, tearless night had told upon her, and she was not able +to come down to breakfast. Her father came in, and looked at her with a +professional air. + +"Just what I told you, Beth. You've worked too hard. You need rest. +That's just what's the matter," he said, in a brusque voice, as he put +some medicine on the table and left the room. + +Rest! Yes, she could rest now. Her work was done. She looked at the +sheet of manuscript that she had taken last night to show Clarence. Yes, +the work was done. She had reached the end of her story--the end of her +prospect of marriage. Ended her labor--ended her life-dream! + +As for Clarence, he read her note without any emotion. + +"Humph! I didn't think Grafton was the fellow to make mischief so +quickly. A tale-bearer! Well, it's all for the best. I made a mistake. I +do not love Beth Woodburn. I cannot understand her." + +Beth slept, and seemed much better in the afternoon, but she was still +quite pale when she went into her father's room after tea. + +"Dear old daddy," she said, putting her arms about his neck, "you were +always so kind. You never refuse me anything if you can help it. I wish +you would let me go away." + +"Why, certainly, Beth, dear!" he said briskly. "Isn't that just what +I've been telling you? Stop writing all day in that hot room up-stairs. +Go off and have a frolic. Go and see your Aunt Margaret." + +And so it was settled that if Beth were well enough she should start for +Welland next afternoon. She did not see Clarence during the next +morning. It surprised her that he sought no explanation, and before +three o'clock Briarsfield was a mere speck in the distance. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_THE HEAVENLY CANAAN._ + + +Nearly two months later Beth returned home. Marie had broken off her +visit abruptly, and Clarence had gone away. It was a rainy Saturday, and +Beth sat waiting for her father to finish his rounds. Her visit had +refreshed her, and she looked fairly well again. After all, she had so +many bright prospects! She was young and talented. Her novel was +finished. She would read it through at once, making minor corrections, +and then publish it. With all youth's hopefulness, she was sure of fame +and worldly success, perhaps of wealth too. She seemed to see a rich +harvest-field before her as she sat listening to the rain beat on the +roof that summer afternoon. But, after all, she was not happy. Somehow, +life was all so hollow! So much tangle and confusion! Her young feet +were weary. It was not simply that her love was unreturned. That pained +her far less than she would have thought. It was that her idol was +shattered. Only in the last few weeks had she begun to see Clarence +Mayfair as he really was. It was a wonderfully deep insight into human +nature that Beth had; but she had never applied it where Clarence was +concerned before, and now that she did, what was it she saw?--a weak, +wavering, fickle youth, with a good deal of fine sentiment, perhaps, but +without firm, manly strength; ambitious, it was true, but never likely +to fulfil his ambitions. The sight pained her. And yet this was the one +she had exalted so, and had believed a soaring genius. True, his mind +had fine fibre in it, but he who would soar must have strength as well +as wings. Beth saw clearly just what Clarence lacked, and what can pain +a woman more deeply than to know the object she has idealized is +unworthy? + +Beth had not told her father yet that all was at an end between her and +Clarence. She dreaded telling him that, but she knew he must have +learned it from the Mayfairs during her absence. She sighed as she +thought of it all, and just then Dr. Woodburn came in and sat down on +the couch beside her. They talked until the twilight of that rainy +afternoon began to deepen. Then they were silent for a while, and Beth +saw her father looking at her with a tender look in his eyes. + +"Beth, my dear child, what is wrong between you and Clarence?" + +She had believed she could tell him all with perfect calmness, but there +was something so very gentle in his look and voice that it disarmed her, +and she threw both arms about his neck, and burst into tears. + +"Oh, father, dear, I could not marry him. It would not be right. He +loves Marie de Vere." + +Dr. Woodburn turned away his face, tenderly stroking her hair as she +leaned upon his breast. He spoke no word, but she knew what he felt. + +"Oh, daddy, dear, don't think anything about it," she said, giving him a +warm embrace as she looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "I'm +not unhappy. I have so many things to think of, and I have always you, +you dear old father. I love you better than anyone else on earth. I will +be your own little daughter always." + +She pressed her arms about him more tightly, and there were tears in his +eyes as he stooped to kiss her brow. + +Beth thought of all his tenderness that night as she lay in bed, and +then slept, with the rain beating on the roof overhead. + +It was a bright sunshiny Sabbath morning when she awoke. She remembered +with pleasure how much she had liked Mr. Perth, the new minister, that +Sunday. She had heard him before she went away. He had seemed such an +energetic, wide-awake, inspiring man! Beth liked that stamp of people. +She meant to be a progressive girl. She meant to labor much and to have +much success. + +She was quite early at church that morning, and interested herself by +looking at Mrs. Perth, whom she had never seen before. She was a fair, +slender, girlish creature--very youthful indeed for a married woman. She +had a great mass of light hair, drawn back plainly from a serenely fair +forehead. The fashion became her well, for, in fact, the most striking +thing about her face was its simplicity and purity. She was certainly +plain-looking, but Beth fancied her face looked like the white cup of a +lily. She had such beautiful blue eyes, too, and such a sweet smile. + +"I think I shall love her. I believe we shall be great friends," thought +Beth, after she had had an introduction to Mrs. Perth; and they did +become fast friends. + +Beth had seldom been at Sunday-school since she left home, but an +impulse seized her to go this afternoon. She was quite early, and she +sat down in a seat by herself to muse awhile. She gazed at the lilies +about the altar and the stained-glass windows above the organ. How long +it seemed to look back to that Sunday of two months ago! She shuddered +slightly, and tried to change her thoughts, but she could not help going +back to it. It seemed as though years had since passed. So it is always. +We go about our daily tasks, and the time passes swiftly or slowly, +according as our lives are active or monotonous. Then a crisis comes--an +upheaval--a turn in the current. It lasts but a moment, perhaps, but +when we look back, years seem to have intervened. Beth gave a half sigh, +and concluded she was a little weary, as the people poured into the +Bible-class. Mrs. Perth came and sat beside Beth. Is it not strange how, +in this world of formality and convention, we meet someone now and +again, and there is but a look, a word, a, smile, and we feel that we +have known them so long? There is something familiar in their face, and +we seem to have walked beside them all along the way. It was just so +with Beth and Mrs. Perth. Sweet May Perth! She soon learned to call her +that. + +Beth was never to forget that Sunday afternoon. Mr. Perth taught the +Bible-class. He was an enthusiastic man, reminding her somewhat of +Arthur. They were studying, that day, the approach of the Israelites to +Canaan, and as Mr. Perth grew more earnest, Beth's face wore a brighter +look of interest. Soon he laid aside historical retrospect, and talked +of the heavenly Canaan toward which Christ's people were journeying, a +bright land shining in the sunlight of God's love, joy in abundance, joy +overflowing! He looked so happy as he talked of that Divine love, +changeless throughout all time, throughout all eternity--a love that +never forsakes, that lulls the weary like a cradle-song, a love that +satisfies even the secret longings! Oh, that woman heart of hers, how it +yearned, yea, hungered for a love like that love, that could tread the +earth in humiliation, bearing the cross of others' guilt, dying there at +Calvary! She knew that old, old story well, but she drank it in like a +little wondering child to-day. What were those things He promised to +those who would tread the shining pathway? Life, peace, rest, hope, joy +of earth, joy of heaven! Oh, how she longed to go with them! The tears +were standing in her eyes, and her heart was beating faster. But this +one thing she must do, or turn aside from the promised land of God's +people. Down at the feet of Jesus she must lay her all. And what of that +novel she had written? Could she carry that over into this heavenly +Canaan? "The fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." Hers +would perish, she knew that well. Highly moral, highly refined and +scholarly, but what of its doubts, its shadows, its sorrows without +hope, its supernatural gloom? Beth was a master-artist in the field of +gloom. She knew how to make her readers shudder, but would that story of +hers bring more joy into the world? Would it sweeten life and warm human +hearts? Ah, no! And yet, could she destroy it now, before its +publication? Could she bear the thought of it? She loved it almost as a +mother loves her child. A look of indecision crossed her face. But, just +then, she seemed to hear the bells of heaven ringing forth their sweet +Gospel call. The bright sunshine and the angel voices of a higher life +seemed to break in on her soul. In a moment--she never knew how it +was--she became willing to surrender all. It was hardly a year since she +had said nay to Arthur, when he asked her to lay her life at the feet of +that same Jesus of Nazareth. She refused then, and even one hour ago +she would still have refused; but now she would have trudged the +highways, poverty-stricken, unknown and obscure, for His dear sake. She +would have gone forth, like St. Paul, to the uttermost ends of the +earth, she felt she loved Him so! There were tears in her eyes, and a +new joy seemed to throb in her heart. She felt so kindly to everyone +about her. Was it an impulse or what? She laid her hand softly on May +Perth's as she sat beside her, and May, looking into her eyes, seemed to +read her heart. She held her hand with a warm, loving pressure, and they +were friends from that hour. + +Even the sunlight looked more golden when Beth stepped out into it that +afternoon. Everything had caught a tint from the pearly gates, for that +hour had been a turning-point in her life. She had found the secret of +life--the secret of putting self utterly into the background and living +for others' happiness; and they who find that secret have the key to +their own happiness. The old tinge of gloom in her grey eyes passed +away, and, instead, there came into them the warmth and light of a new +life. They seemed to reach out over the whole world with tender +sympathy, like a deep, placid sea, with the sunlight gilding, its +depths. + +"Beth, you are growing beautiful," her father said to her one day; and +there were something so reverential in his look that it touched her too +deeply to make her vain. + +The four weeks that remained before the first of October, when she was +to return to college, passed quickly. Clarence did not return, and she +heard that he had gone to England, intending to take his degree at +Cambridge. The Ashleys, too, had left Briarsfield, as Mr. Ashley had +secured a principalship east of Toronto. Beth heard nothing more of +Marie, though she would so gladly have forgiven her now! + +Beth soon became quite absorbed in her new friend, May Perth. She told +her one day of her fancy that her face looked like a lily-cup. Mrs. +Perth only laughed and kissed her, in her sweet, unconscious way. Beth +always loved to kiss May Perth's brow; it was so calm and fair, it +reminded her of the white breast of a dove. + +Just three or four days before Beth was to go away, Aunt Prudence came +into her room at a time when she was alone. + +"Did you ever see this picture that Arthur left in his room when he went +away last fall?" she asked. "I don't know whether he did it himself or +not." + +She placed it in the light and left the room. Beth recognized it almost +instantly. + +"Why, it's that poem of mine that Arthur liked best of all!" she +thought. + +Yes, it was the very same--the grey rocks rising one above another, the +broad white shore, and the lonely cottage, with the dark storm-clouds +lowering above it, and the fisherman's bride at the window, pale and +anxious, her sunny hair falling about her shoulders as she peered far +out across the sea--the black, storm-tossed sea--and far out among the +billows the tiny speck of sail that never reached the shore. Beth was no +connoisseur of art, but she knew the picture before her was intensely +beautiful, even sublime. There was something in it that made her _feel_. +It moved her to tears even as Arthur's music had done. No need to tell +her both came from the same hand. Besides, no one else had seen that +poem but Arthur. And Arthur could paint like this, and yet she had said +he had not an artist soul. She sighed faintly. Poor Arthur! Perhaps, +after all, she had been mistaken. And she laid the picture carefully +away among her treasures. + +Her last evening at home soon came. It was a clear, chilly night, and +they had a fire in the drawing-room grate. It was so cosy to sit there +with her father, resting her head on his shoulders, and watching the +coals glowing in the twilight. + +"Beth, my child, you look so much happier lately. Are you really so +happy?" he said, after they had been talking for a while. + +"Oh, I think life is so very happy!" said Beth, in a buoyant tone. "And +when you love Jesus it is so much sweeter, and somehow I like everyone +so much and everybody is so kind. Oh, I think life is grand!" + +Dr. Woodburn was a godly man, and his daughter's words thrilled him +sweetly. He brushed away a tear she did not see, and stooped to kiss the +young cheek resting on his coat-sleeve. They were silent for a few +moments. + +"Beth, my dear," he said in a softer tone, "Do you know, I thought that +trouble last summer--over Clarence--was going to hurt you more. How is +it, Beth?" + +She hesitated a moment. + +"I don't believe I really loved him, father," she said, in a quiet tone, +"I thought I did. I thought it was going to break my heart that night I +found out he loved Marie. But, somehow, I don't mind. I think it is far +better as it is. Oh, daddy, dear, it's so nice I can tell you things +like this. I don't believe all girls can talk to their fathers this +way. But I--I always wanted to be loved--and Clarence was different from +other people in Briarsfield, you know, and I suppose I thought we were +meant for each other." + +Dr. Woodburn did not answer at once. + +"I don't think you would have been happy with him, Beth," he said, after +a little. "All has been for the best. I was afraid you didn't know what +love meant when you became engaged to him. It was only a school-girl's +fancy." + +"Beth, I am going to tell you something," he said a moment later, as he +stroked her hair. "People believe that I always took a special interest +in Arthur Grafton because his father saved my life when we were boys, +but that was not the only reason I loved him. Years ago, down along the +Ottawa river, Lawrence Grafton was pastor in the town where I had my +first practice. He was a grand fellow, and we were the greatest friends. +I used to take him to see my patients often. He was just the one to +cheer them up. Poor fellow! Let's see, it's seventeen years this fall +since he died. It was the first summer I was there, and Lawrence had +driven out into the country with me to see a sick patient. When we were +coming back, he asked me to stop with him at a farm-house, where some +members of his church lived. I remember the place as if I had seen it +yesterday, an old red brick building, with honeysuckle climbing about +the porch and cherry-trees on the lawn. The front door was open, and +there was a flight of stairs right opposite, and while we waited for an +answer to the bell a beautiful woman, tall and graceful, paused at the +head of the stairs above us, and then came down. To my eyes she was the +most beautiful woman I had ever seen, Beth. She was dressed in white, +and had a basket of flowers on her arm. She smiled as she came towards +us. Her hair was glossy-black, parted in the middle, and falling in +waves about her smooth white forehead; but her eyes were her real +beauty, I never saw anything like them, Beth. They were such great, +dark, tender eyes. They seemed to have worlds in them. It was not long +before I loved Florence Waldon. I loved her." His voice had a strange, +deep pathos in it. "She was kind to me always, but I hardly dared to +hope, and one day I saw her bidding good-bye to Lawrence. It was only a +look and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me. I kept silent +about my love from that hour, and one evening Lawrence came to my rooms. + +"'Congratulate me, Arthur!' he cried, in a tone that bubbled over with +joy. I knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed my +face. 'Congratulate me, Arthur! I am going to marry Florence Waldon next +month, and you must be best man.' + +"I did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and I was best man +at the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him Arthur +after me. He is the Arthur Grafton you have known. But poor Lawrence! +Little Arthur was only a few months old when she took sick. They called +me in, and I did all I could to save her, but one night, as Lawrence and +I stood by her bedside--it was a wild March night, and the wind was +moaning through the shutters while she slept--suddenly she opened her +eyes with a bright look. + +"'Oh, Lawrence, listen, they are singing!' she cried, 'it is so +beautiful; I am going home--good-bye--take care of Arthur,' and she was +gone." + +Dr. Woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster. + +"After that I came to Briarsfield and met your mother, Beth. She seemed +to understand from my face that I had suffered, and after we had become +friends I told her that story, that I had never told to mortal before or +since till now. She was so very tender, and I saw in her face that she +loved me, and by-and-by I took her to wife, and she healed over the +wound with her gentle hands. She was a sweet woman, Beth. God bless her +memory. But the strange part of the story is, Florence Waldon's brother, +Garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of the +pine-wood. She had two other brothers, one a talented editor in the +States, the other a successful lawyer. Garth, too, was a bright, +original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up to +it. He was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor Lawrence +died he left little Arthur--he was three years old then--to him. The +dear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother. He used to come +and hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do you +remember a few years later, when your own sweet mother died, how he came +to comfort you and filled your lap with flowers?" + +Yes, Beth remembered it all, and the tears were running down her cheeks +as she drooped her head in silence. The door-bell broke the stillness +just then. Dr. Woodburn was wanted. Bidding Beth a hasty but tender +good-bye, he hurried off at the call of duty. Beth sat gazing at the +coal-fire in silence after her father left. Poor dear old father! What +a touching story it was! He must have suffered so, and yet he had buried +his sorrow and gone about his work with smiling face. Brave, heroic +soul! Beth fell to picturing it all over again with that brilliant +imagination of hers, until she seemed to see the tall woman, with her +beautiful dark eyes and hair, coming down the stairs, just as he had +seen her. She seemed to hear the March winds moan as he stepped out into +the night and left the beautiful young wife, pale in death. Then she +went to the window and looked out at the stars in the clear sky, and the +meadow tinged with the first frost of autumn; and the pine-wood to the +north, with the moon hanging like a crescent of silver above it. It was +there, at that window, Arthur had asked her to be his wife. Poor Arthur! +She was glad her father did not know. It would have pained him to think +she had refused the son of the woman he had loved. + +Beth lingered a little, gazing at the clear frosty scene before her, +then rose with a firm look on her face and went up to her room. There +was one thing more to be done before she left home to-morrow. She had +resolved upon it. It was dark in her room, but she needed no light to +recognize that roll of manuscript in her drawer. She hesitated a moment +as she touched it tenderly. Must she do it? Yes, ah, yes! She could not +publish that story now. Just then the picture of Arthur seemed to flash +through her mind, reading it and tossing it down with that cold, silent +look she had sometimes seen on his face. It was dark in the hall as she +carried it down to the drawing-room grate. She crouched down on the +hearth-rug before the coals, and a moment later the flames that played +among the closely-written sheets lighted her face. Nothing but a +blackened parchment now for all that proud dream of fame! The room grew +dark again, and only the coals cracking and snapping, and the steady +ticking of the old clock on the mantel piece above her head, broke the +stillness. It was done. She went to the window and knelt down. + +"Father, I have sacrificed it for Thee. Take this talent Thou hast given +me and use it for Thy honor, for I would serve Thee alone, Father." + +She slept that night with a smile on her lips. Yes, friend, it was a +hero's deed, and He who alone witnessed it hath sealed her brow with a +light such as martyrs wear in heaven. As for the world, oh, that every +book filled with dark doubts and drifting fears and shuddering gloom had +perished, too, in those flames! + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_'VARSITY AGAIN._ + + +In a few days Beth was settled again at Mrs. Owen's, on St. Mary's +Street, and tripping to her lectures as usual. Marie was not there, of +course, and Beth knew nothing of her whereabouts. In fact, there had +been a complete change of boarders. The house was filled with 'Varsity +girls this year, with the exception of Marie's old room, a change which +Beth appreciated. One of the girls was a special friend of hers, a +plump, dignified little creature whom most people called pretty. Hers +was certainly a jolly face, with those rosy cheeks and laughing brown +eyes, and no one could help loving Mabel Clayton. She belonged to the +Students' Volunteer Movement, and as this was her last year at college, +Beth thought sometimes a little sorrowfully of the following autumn when +she was to leave for India. + +Beth meant to have her spend a few days at Briarsfield with her next +summer. But a good many things were to happen to Beth before the next +summer passed. A Victoria student was occupying Marie's old room, but as +he took his meals out of the house Beth never even saw him. One of the +girls who saw him in the hall one day described him as "just too nice +looking for anything," but Beth's interest was not aroused in the +stranger. + +That was a golden autumn for Beth, the happiest by far she had ever +known. She was living life under that sweet plan of beginning every day +afresh, and thinking of some little act of kindness to be done. Beth +soon began to believe the girls of University College were the very +kindest in the world; but she would have been surprised, to hear how +often they remarked, "Beth Woodburn is always so kind!" There was +another treat that she was enjoying this year, and that was Dr. Tracy's +lectures. + +"I think he is an ideal man," she remarked once to Mabel Clayton. "I'm +not in love with him, but I think he's an ideal man." + +Mabel was an ardent admirer of Dr. Tracy's, too, but she could not help +laughing at Beth's statement. + +"You are such a hero-worshipper, Beth!" she said. "You put a person up +on a pedestal, and then endow him with all the virtues under the sun." + +A peculiar look crossed Beth's face. She remembered one whom she had +placed on the pedestal of genius, and the idol had fallen, shattered at +her feet. + +She was still the same emotional Beth. There were times when without any +outward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost +cried out, "Oh stay, happy moment, till I drink to the full my draught +of joy!" + +Arthur's painting hung above Beth's study table, and sometimes a shadow +crossed her face as she looked at it. She missed the old friendship, and +she wondered, too, that she never met him anywhere. + +Beth did not go home at Thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted +it the evening before. She was a little homesick for "daddy," and to +dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early. Her +head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of +music in the drawing-room down-stairs. She rose in bed to listen, it was +so like Arthur's music. She was not at all familiar with the piece, but +it thrilled her somehow. There was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes +at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was +bearing her very soul away! Then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold +and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her eyes! Clearer again, +and more triumphant! Her lips parted as she listened. One sweet +prolonged swell, and it died away. She listened for more, but all was +silent. She looked out of the window at the stars in the clear sky, and +the dark shadow of St. Michael's tower on the snow-covered college roof, +then fell back among the pillows to sleep and dream. + +She was walking again on the old path by the road-side at home, just as +she used to go every evening for the milk. The dusk was deepening and +she began to hurry, when she noticed a tall, dark figure ahead. As she +drew nearer she recognized Arthur's broad shoulders and well-set head. +Then a strange, indefinable fear seized her. She did not want to +overtake him, to meet him face to face. She tried to slacken her steps, +but a mysterious, resistless wind seemed to bear her forward against her +will. Not a leaf stirred. All was still around her, and yet that +uncanny, spirit-like wind urged her on. She struggled, and although +Arthur never looked back, she felt that he knew all about her struggles. +At last she made one mighty effort and tore herself free. She took the +path on the other side of the road. It was all quiet there, and she +walked on slowly. The darkness grew thicker, and she lost sight of +Arthur. Then the country became quite new to her. There were bridges +every little way--old rickety bridges, that creaked beneath her step, +with holes where she caught her feet, and she could hear the great wild +torrents rushing below in the darkness. She grew frightened. Oh, how she +wished Arthur were there! Then suddenly it grew lighter, and she saw +that her path was turning, and lo! there was Arthur! A moment more and +their paths would meet. He reached the spot a few steps before her, and +turning, looked at her just once, but she saw in his look that he knew +all that had passed in her heart. "Follow me," he said, with a tender +look; and she followed in silence where the path led between the steep, +high banks, where strange flowers were clinging in the dim light. She +was quite content now, not frightened any longer. Then the bank opened +by their pathway, and he led her into a strange, sandy, desert-looking +place. They entered a shadowy tent, and in the dim light she could see +strange faces, to whom Arthur was talking. No one noticed her, but she +did not feel slighted, for though he did not look at her, she felt that +he was thinking of her. Then suddenly the strange faces vanished, and +she was alone with Arthur. He came toward her with such a beautiful +smile, and there was something in his hand of bright gold--the brightest +gold she had ever seen. It was a golden spear with a tiny ring on one +end and a mass of chain hanging to it; but lo! when she looked around +her she saw it had filled the place with a beautiful mystic light, a +golden halo. Then he drew her nearer, nearer to his bosom, and in a +moment she felt the spear point touch her heart! An instant of pain, +then it pierced her with a deep, sweet thrill. She felt it even to her +finger tips. She awoke with a start, but she could almost feel that +thrill even after she was awake. She could not sleep again quickly, but +lay watching the stars and the moonlight growing paler on her book-case. +Sleep came at length, and when she awoke again it was at the sound of +Mr. Owen's jolly "Heigho! Everybody up! Everybody up!" This was a way he +had of waking the children in good time for breakfast, and it had the +merit of always arousing the boarders, too. Beth naturally supposed that +the musician she had heard the night before had been a caller, and so +made no enquiries. + +The following Sunday evening Beth went to church alone. It was only +three or four blocks up to the Central, and Beth was never timid. She +did not look around the church much, or she would have recognized a +familiar face on the east side. It was Clarence Mayfair's; he was paler +than usual, and his light curly hair looked almost artificial in the +gaslight. There was something sadder and more manly in his expression, +and his eyes were fixed on Beth with a reverent look. How pure she was, +he thought, how serene; her brow looked as though an angel-hand had +smoothed it in her slumber. She seemed to breathe a benediction on +everything around her; she reminded him of an image of an angel bending +in prayer, that he had seen in one of the old cathedral windows across +the sea. And yet, after knowing a woman like that, he had fancied he +could--even fancied he did--love Marie de Vere. What folly had blinded +him then, he wondered? Marie had her charms, to be sure, with those +dark, bewitching eyes of hers, so kind and sympathetic, so bright and +witty and entertaining. But there was something about Marie that was +fleeting, something about Beth that was abiding; Marie's charms +bewitched while she was present and were soon forgotten, but Beth's +lingered in the memory and deepened with the years. It was well, after +all, he thought, that Marie had refused his offer of marriage that +morning he received Beth's note, and went to her in the heat of his +passion. He was but a boy then, and yet it was only a few months ago. +What was it that had changed him from boyhood to manhood so suddenly? He +did not try to answer the question, but only felt conscious of the +change within. He realized now that he had never known what it meant to +love. Marie had shed her lustre on him as she passed; Beth he had never +fully comprehended. He had a dim feeling that she was somehow too high +for him. But would this reverence he felt for her ripen into love with +the maturer years of his manhood? We never can tell the changes that +time will weave in these hearts of ours. It is to be feared Clarence was +not a very attentive listener throughout the service that night. At the +close he waited for Beth in the moonlight outside, but she did not +notice him till he was right beside her. + +"Clarence!" she exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. "Why, I thought +you were in England." + +"So I was; but I am back, you see." + +"I thought you were going to take a year at Cambridge." + +"I did intend to, but I found it too expensive. Besides, I thought I +wouldn't bother finishing my course. I am doing some work along the +journalistic line at present. I just came to Toronto last night, and +intend to leave Tuesday or Wednesday." + +In the first moment of her surprise she had forgotten everything except +that Clarence was an old friend from home; but now, as he walked beside +her, it all came back like a flash--the memory of that night last summer +when she had seen him last. She grew suddenly silent and embarrassed. +She longed to ask him about Marie; she wondered if they were engaged, +and if so where she was, but she soon controlled herself and asked him +about his trip to England, about his mother, about his work, about Edith +and everything else of possible or impossible interest. She was +relieved, without knowing why, that it was only a few blocks to her +boarding-place. He lingered a moment as he said good-night, and +something in his look touched her a little. Only the stirring of old +memories. She hardly knew whether she was pleased or not to meet him +again; but as she entered her room in the darkness her dream seemed to +flash across her memory and a tender voice said, "Follow me." + +Clarence strolled a little way into the park, pondering on the past. He +had never asked Beth for an explanation of her farewell note. He +naturally supposed that Arthur Grafton had gone directly to her that +night and caused the rupture. He wondered if Arthur were in love with +her. Then he turned suddenly and walked back by St. Mary's Street to +Yonge. The street was almost deserted; there was only one figure in +sight, a tall man drawing nearer. There was No.----, where he had left +Beth at the door. He had just passed a few more doors when a familiar +voice startled him. It was Arthur Grafton! Clarence felt ill at ease for +a moment, but Arthur's tone was so kind it dispelled his embarrassment. +They talked for a few moments, then parted; and Clarence, looking back a +moment later, saw Arthur ring the bell at Beth's boarding-place. A +peculiar look, almost a sneer, crossed his face for a moment. + +"Ah, he is going in to spend the evening with his beloved," he thought. + +And Clarence resolved, then and there, not to call on Beth the following +day, as he had intended. + +But Arthur proceeded absently to the room Marie had formerly occupied, +without the slightest idea that Beth had lived in the house with him +nearly two months. It was strange, but though he had seen all the other +girls in the house he had never seen Beth. He had not enquired her +address the year before, not wishing to know. He wished to have nothing +to do with Clarence Mayfair's promised wife. She was nothing to him. +Should he encourage the love he felt for another's wife? No! He had +loved with all the strength of that love that comes but once to any +human heart, and he had suffered as only the strong and silent can +suffer; but he had resolved to bury his pain, and it had given his face +a sterner look. So he lay down to rest that night all unconscious that +Beth was in the room just overhead; that he had heard her footsteps +daily, even listened to her humming little airs to unrecognizable tunes; +but the sight of Clarence Mayfair had aroused the past, and he did not +sleep till late. + +The following afternoon, as Beth sat studying in her room after +lectures, she heard a faint tap at her door, a timid knock that in some +way seemed to appeal strangely to her. She opened the door--and there +stood Marie! In the first moment of her surprise Beth forgot everything +that had separated them, and threw both arms about her in the old +child-like way. She seated her in the rocker by the window and they +talked of various things for a while, but Beth noticed, now and then, +an uneasy look in her eyes. + +"She has come to tell me she is going to marry Clarence, and she finds +it difficult, poor girl," thought Beth, with a heart full of sympathy. + +"Beth," said Marie at last, "I have wronged you. I have come here to ask +you to forgive me." + +Beth belonged to the kind of people who are always silent in +emergencies, so she only looked at her with her great tender eyes, in +which there was no trace of resentment. + +"I came between you and Clarence Mayfair. He never loved me. It was only +a fancy. I amused and interested him, I suppose. That was all. He is +true to you in the depths of his heart, Beth. It was my fault--all my +fault. He never loved me. It was you he loved, but I encouraged him. It +was wrong, I know." + +Something seemed to choke her for a moment. + +"Will you forgive me, Beth? Can you ever forgive?" + +She was leaning forward gracefully, her fur cape falling back from her +shoulders and her dark eyes full of tears. + +Beth threw both arms about her old friend tenderly, forgetting all the +bitter thoughts she had once had. + +"Oh, Marie, dear, I love you--I love you still. Of course I forgive +you." + +Then Beth told her all the story of the past, and of that night when she +had learned that Clarence did not love her, of her wounded vanity, her +mistaken belief in the genuineness of her own love for him, and her +gradual awakening to the fact that it was not love after all. + +"Then it wasn't Mr. Grafton at all who made the trouble?" interrupted +Marie. + +"Mr. Grafton? Why, no! What could he have to do with it?" + +"Oh, nothing. We thought, at least Clarence thought, he made the +trouble." + +Beth looked mystified, but Marie only continued in a softened tone: + +"I am afraid you don't know your own heart, dear Beth. You will come +together again, and all will be forgotten." + +"No, Marie, never! The past was folly. All is better as it is." + +A pained look that Beth could not fathom drifted across Marie's brow. +"You think so now, but you will change," she said. + +A knock at the door interrupted them just then, as Mrs. Owen announced a +friend of Beth's. + +Marie kissed her gently. + +"Good-bye, Beth," she said in her sweet low voice, and there was a +tender sadness in her dark eyes. Beth did not know its meaning at the +time, but a day was coming when she would know. + +Beth saw nothing more of Clarence during his few days in the city. She +wondered sometimes if Marie had seen him, but though they saw each other +occasionally during the rest of the winter, neither of them mentioned +his name. + +That week had seemed eventful in Beth's eyes, but it was more eventful +even than she thought. The following Saturday, after tea, as Beth and +Mabel Clayton were going back upstairs, Beth had seated Mabel by force +on the first step of the second flight to tell her some funny little +story. Beth was in one of her merry moods that night. Beth was not a +wit, but she had her vein of mirth, and the girls used to say she was +growing livelier every day. The gas was not lighted in the hall, but +Beth had left her door open and the light shone out on the head of the +stairs. A moment later they started up with their arms about each +other's waist. + +"Oh, Beth, I left that note-book down stairs. Wait, I'll bring it up to +you." + +Beth waited, standing in the light as her friend scampered down again. +She heard the door of Marie's old room open, and a tall man stepped into +the hall, but as it was dark below she could not see his face. She +wondered, though, why he stood so still, and she had a consciousness +that someone was looking at her. + +Arthur Grafton--for it was he--stood for a moment as if stunned. There +she was--Beth Woodburn! The woman he--hush! Clarence Mayfair's promised +wife! She looked even beautiful as she stood there in the light, with a +smile on her face and a pure white chrysanthemum at her throat. + +"You needn't hurry so, Mabel dear. I can wait," she said as her friend +approached. + +It was over a year since he had heard that voice, and he had tried to +believe his heart was deadened to its influence; but now to-night, at +the first sound, it thrilled him again with its old-time music. A moment +later she closed her door and the hall was dark, and his heart began to +beat faster now that he grasped the truth. He turned again to his room, +filled with the soft radiance of moonlight. He leaned back in his study +chair, his eyes closed; he could hear the students of St. Michael's +chanting an evening hymn, and an occasional cab rattled past in the +street below. He noted it as we note all little details in our moments +of high excitement. Then a smile gradually lighted up his face. Oh, +sweet love! For one moment it seemed to be mastering him. She was there. +Hark! Was that her footstep overhead? Oh, to be near her--to touch her +hand just once! + +Then a stern, dark frown settled on his brow. He rose and paced the room +with a sort of frenzied step. What is she to you--Clarence Mayfair's +promised wife? Arthur Grafton, what is she to you? Oh, that love, deep +and passionate, that comes to us but once! That heart-cry of a strong +soul for the one being it has enshrined! Sometimes it is gratified and +bears in after years its fruits, whether sweet or bitter; or again, it +is crushed--blighted in one moment, perhaps--and we go forth as usual +trying to smile, and the world never knows, never dreams. A few years +pass and our hearts grow numb to the pain, and we say we have +forgotten--that love can grow cold. Cold? Yes; but the cold ashes will +lie there in the heart--the dust of our dead ideal! Would such a fate be +Arthur's? No. There was no room in that great pulsing heart of his for +anything that was cold--no room for the chill of forgetfulness. Strive +as he might, he knew he could never forget. What then remained? Even in +that hour a holier radiance lighted his brow. Strong to bear the +burdens and sorrows of others, he had learned to cast all his care upon +One who had never forsaken him--even his unrequited love. He laid it on +the altar of his God, to bloom afresh, a beauteous flower transplanted +by the River of Life, beyond the blight of envy and of care--beyond, yet +near enough to earth to scatter its fragrance in blessings down upon the +head of her whom he--loved! Dare he say that word? Yes, in a sweeter, +holier sense than before, as one might love the beings of another world. +His face was quite calm as he turned on the light to resume his studies, +but before beginning his work he looked a little sadly around the room. +Yes, he had spent pleasant hours there, but he must leave, now. It was +better that the same roof should not shelter them both. He did not wish +to see Beth Woodburn again; and he just remembered that a friend of his +was going to vacate a room on the other side of the park. He would take +it early next week. + +It was a week later, one afternoon, just before tea, that Beth and Mabel +Clayton were sitting in the drawing-room with Mrs. Owen. + +"Do you know any of the girls over at the college who would like to get +a room, Miss Clayton?" + +"No, but I might find some one." + +"Mr. Grafton has moved out of his room for some reason, I don't know +what." + +"Mr.--whom did you say?" asked Beth. + +"Mr. Grafton. Did you know him? A tall, dark fellow! Goes to Victoria. +Quite good-looking!" + +"Why, surely, can it be Arthur Grafton! That's just who it is! Why, how +funny we never met each other coming in and out!" + +"Did you know him, Beth?" asked Mabel. "I met him once or twice in the +halls, but I didn't know you knew him." + +"Yes, I have known him ever since we were children." + +"Oh, then you have heard him play," said Mrs. Owens. "He played for us +Thanksgiving eve. He's a splendid musician." + +Beth felt just a tinge of disappointment that night as she passed the +closed door of the room Arthur had occupied. She wondered why he never +tried to find her. It was unkind of him to break the old friendship so +coldly. It was not her fault she could not love him, she thought. She +could never, never do that! In fact, she did not believe she would ever +love any man. + +"Some people are not made for marriage, and I think I'm one of them." +And Beth sighed faintly and fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +_DEATH._ + + +Christmas eve, and Beth was home for her two weeks' holidays. It was +just after tea, and she and her father thought the parlor decidedly +cosy, with the curtains drawn and the candles flaming among the holly +over the mantel-piece. It seemed all the cosier because of the storm +that raged without. The sleet was beating against the pane, and the wind +came howling across the fields. Beth parted the curtains once, and +peeped out at the snow-wreaths whirling and circling round. + +"Dear! such a storm! I am glad you're not out to-night, daddy." + +Beth came back to the fire-side, and passed her father a plate of +fruit-cake she had made herself. + +"It's too fresh to be good, but you mustn't find any fault. Just eat +every bit of it down. Oh, Kitty, stop!" + +They had been cracking walnuts on the hearth-rug, and Beth's pet kitten +was amusing itself by scattering the shells over the carpet. + +Beth sat down on the footstool at her father's feet. + +"You look well after your fall's work, Beth; hard study doesn't seem to +hurt you." + +"I believe it agrees with me, father." + +"Did you see much of Arthur while you were in Toronto, Beth? I was +hoping you would bring him home for the Christmas holidays." + +"No, I never saw him once." + +"Never saw him once!" + +He looked at her a little sternly. + +"Beth, what is the matter between you and Arthur?" + +Ding! The old door-bell sounded. Beth drooped her head, but the bell had +attracted her father's attention, and Aunt Prudence thrust her head into +the parlor in her unceremonious way. + +"Doctor, that Brown fellow, by the mill, is wuss, an' his wife's took +down, too. They think he's dyin'." + +"Oh, daddy, I can't let you go out into this dreadful storm. Let me go +with you." + +"Nonsense, child! I must go. It's a matter of life and death, perhaps. +Help me on with my coat, daughter, please, I've been out in worse storms +than this." + +Beth thought her father looked so brave and noble in that big otter +overcoat, and his long white beard flowing down. She opened the door for +him, and the hall light shone out into the snow. She shuddered as she +saw him staggering in the wind and sleet, then went back into the +parlor. It seemed lonely there, and she went on to the kitchen, where +Aunt Prudence was elbow-deep in pastry. A kitchen is always a cheerful +place at Christmas time. Beth's fears seemed quieted, and she went back +to the parlor to fix another branch of holly about a picture. Ding! Was +any one else sick, she wondered, as she went to answer the bell. She +opened the door, and there stood Mrs. Perth! It was really she, looking +so frail and fair in her furs. + +"Why, May, dear! What are you doing out in this storm?" + +"Oh, I'm nearly half dead, Beth." She tried to laugh, but the attempt +was not exactly a success. + +Beth took her in to the fire, removed her wraps, all matted with snow, +and called to Aunt Prudence for some hot tea. + +"Is your father out to-night, Beth?" asked May. + +"Yes, he went away out to the Browns'. But wherever have you been?" + +"I've been taking some Christmas things to a poor family about two miles +out in the country, and I didn't think the storm so very bad when I +started; but I'm like the Irishman with his children, I've 'more'n I +want'--of sleet, at any rate. Walter is away to-night, you know." + +"Mr. Perth away! Where?" + +"Oh, he went to Simcoe. He has two weddings. They are friends of ours, +and we didn't like to refuse. But it's mean, though," she continued, +with a sweet, affected little pout; "he'll not get back till afternoon, +and it's Christmas, too." + +"Oh, May dear, you'll just stay right here with us to-night, and for +dinner to-morrow. Isn't that just fine!" Beth was dancing around her in +child-like glee. Mrs. Perth accepted, smiling at her pleasure; and they +sat on the couch, chatting. + +"Did you say Dr. Woodburn had gone to the Browns'." + +"Yes, Mrs. Brown is sick, too." + +"Oh, isn't it dreadful? They're so poor, too. I don't believe they've a +decent bed in the house." + +"Eight! There, the clock just struck. Father ought to be back. It was +only a little after six when he went out." + +She looked anxiously at the drawn curtains, but the sleet beating harder +and harder upon the pane was her only answer. + +"There he is now!" she cried, as a step entered the hall, and she rushed +to meet him. + +"Oh, daddy, dear--why, father!" + +Her voice changed to wonder and fear. His overcoat was gone and he +seemed a mass of ice and snow. His beard was frozen together; his breath +came with a thick, husky, sound, and he looked so pale and exhausted. +She led him to the fire, and began removing his icy garments. She was +too frightened to be of much use, but May's thoughtful self was flitting +quietly around, preparing a hot drink and seeing that the bed was ready. +He could not speak for a few minutes, and then it was only brokenly. + +"Poor creatures! She had nothing over her but a thin quilt, and the snow +blowing through the cracks; and I just took off my coat--and put it over +her. I thought I could stand it." + +Beth understood it now. He had driven home, all that long way, facing +the storm, after taking off his warm fur overcoat, and he was just +recovering from a severe cough, too. She trembled for its effect upon +him. It went to her heart to hear his husky breathing as he sat there +trembling before the fire. They got him to bed soon, and Aunt Prudence +tramped through the storm for Dr. Mackay, the young doctor who had +started up on the other side of the town. He came at once, and looked +grave after he had made a careful examination. There had been some +trouble with the heart setting in, and the excitement of his adventure +in the storm had aggravated it. Beth remembered his having trouble of +that sort once before, and she thought she read danger in Dr. Mackay's +face. + +That was a long, strange night to Beth as she sat there alone by her +father's bedside. He did not sleep, his breathing seemed so difficult. +She had never seen him look like that before--so weak and helpless, his +silvery hair falling back from his brow, his cheeks flushed, but not +with health. He said nothing, but he looked at her with a pitying look +sometimes. What did it all mean? Where would it end? She gave him his +medicine from hour to hour. The sleet beat on the window and the heavy +ticking of the clock in the intervals of the storm sounded like +approaching footsteps. The wind roared, and the old shutter creaked +uneasily. The husky breathing continued by her side and the hours grew +longer. Oh, for the morning! What would the morrow bring? She had +promised May to awaken her at three o'clock, but she looked so serene +sleeping with a smile on her lips, that Beth only kissed her softly and +went back to her place. Her father had fallen asleep, and it was an hour +later that she heard a gentle step beside her, and May looked at her +reproachfully. She went to her room and left May to watch. There was a +box on her table that her father had left before he went out that +evening, and then she remembered that it was Christmas morning. +Christmas morning! There was a handsome leather-bound Bible and a gold +watch with a tiny diamond set in the back. She had a choked feeling as +she lay down, but she was so exhausted she soon slept. It was late in +the morning when she awoke, and May did not tell her of her father's +fainting spell. Aunt Prudence was to sit up that night. The dear old +housekeeper! How kind she was, Beth thought. She had often been amused +at the quaint, old-fashioned creature. But she was a kind old soul, in +spite of her occasional sharp words. + +Dr. Woodburn continued about the same all the following day, saving that +he slept more. The next day was Sunday, and Beth slept a little in the +afternoon. When she awakened she heard Dr. Mackay going down the hall, +and May came in to take her in her arms and kiss her. She sat down on +the bed beside Beth, with tears in her beautiful eyes. + +"Beth, your father has been such a good man. He has done so much! If God +should call him home to his reward, would you--would you refuse to give +him up?" + +Beth laid her head on May's shoulder, sobbing. + +"Oh, May--is it--death?" she asked, in a hoarse whisper. + +"I fear so, dear." + +Beth wept long, and May let her grief have its way for a while, then +drew her nearer to her heart. + +"If Jesus comes for him, will you say 'no'?" + +"His will be done," she answered, when she grew calmer. + +The next day lawyer Graham came and stayed with Dr. Woodburn some time, +and Beth knew that all hope was past, but she wore a cheerful smile in +her father's presence during the few days that followed--bright winter +days, with sunshine and deep snow. The jingle of sleigh-bells and the +sound of merry voices passed in the street below as she listened to the +labored breathing at her side. It was the last day of the year that he +raised his hand and smoothed her hair in his old-time way. + +"Beth, I am going home. You have been a good daughter--my one great +joy. God bless you, my child." He paused a moment. "You will have to +teach, and I think you had better go back to college soon. You'll not +miss me so much when you're working." + +Beth pressed back her tears as she kissed him silently, and he soon fell +asleep. She went to the window and looked out on it all--the clear, cold +night sky with its myriads of stars, the brightly lighted windows and +the snow-covered roofs of the town on the hill-slope, and the Erie, a +frozen line of ice in the distant moonlight. The town seemed unusually +bright with lights, for it was the gay season of the year. And, oh, if +she but dared to give vent to that sob rising in her throat! She turned +to the sleeper again; a little later he opened his eyes with a bright +smile. + +"In the everlasting arms," he whispered faintly, then pointed to a +picture of Arthur on the table. Beth brought it to him. He looked at it +tenderly, then gave it back to her. He tried to say something, and she +bent over him to catch the words, but all was silent there; his eyes +were closed, his lips set in a smile. Her head sank upon his breast. +"Papa!" she cried. + +No answer, not even the sound of heartbeats. There was a noiseless step +at her side, and she fell back, unconscious, into May's arms. When she +came to again she was in her own room, and Mr. Perth was by her side. +Then the sense of her loss swept over her, and he let her grief have its +way for a while. + +"My child," he said at last, bending over her. How those two words +soothed her! He talked to her tenderly for a little while, and she +looked much calmer when May came back. + +But the strain had been too much for her, and she was quite ill all the +next day. She lay listening to the strange footsteps coming and going in +the halls, for everyone came to take a last look at one whom all loved +and honored. There was the old woman whom he had helped and encouraged, +hobbling on her cane to give him a last look and blessing; there was the +poor man whose children he had attended free of charge, the hand of +whose dying boy he had held; there was the little ragged girl, who +looked up through her tears and said, "He was good to me." Then came the +saddest moment Beth had ever known, when they led her down for the last +time to his side. She scarcely saw the crowded room, the flowers that +were strewn everywhere. + +It was all over. The last words were said, and they led her out to the +carriage. The sun was low in the west that afternoon when the Perths +took her to the parsonage--"home to the parsonage," as she always said +after that. Aunt Prudence came to bid her good-bye before she went away +to live with her married son, and Beth never realized before how much +she loved the dear old creature who had watched over her from her +childhood. Just once before she returned to college she went back to +look at the old home, with its shutters closed and the snow-drifts on +its walks. She had thought her future was to be spent there, and now +where would her path be guided? + +"Thou knowest, Lord," she said faintly. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +_LOVE._ + + +In the soft flush of the following spring Beth returned to the parsonage +at Briarsfield. It was so nice to see the open country again after the +city streets. Mr. Perth met her at the station just as the sun was +setting, and there was a curious smile on his face. He was a little +silent on the way home, as if he had something on his mind; but +evidently it was nothing unpleasant. The parsonage seemed hidden among +the apple-blossoms, and Mrs. Perth came down the walk to meet them, +looking so fair and smiling, and why--she had something white in her +arms! Beth bounded forward to meet her. + +"Why, May, where did you--whose baby?" asked Beth, breathless and +smiling. + +"Who does she look like?" + +The likeness to May Perth on the little one-month-old face was +unmistakable. + +"You naughty puss, why didn't you tell me when you wrote?" + +"Been keeping it to surprise you," said Mr. Perth. "Handsome baby, isn't +it? Just like her mother!" + +"What are you going to call her?" + +"Beth." And May kissed her fondly as she led her in. + +What a pleasant week that was! Life may be somewhat desert-like, but +there is many a sweet little oasis where we can rest in the shade by the +rippling water, with the flowers and the birds about us. + +One afternoon Beth went out for a stroll by herself down toward the +lake, and past the old Mayfair home. The family were still in Europe, +and the place, she heard, was to be sold. The afternoon sunshine was +beating on the closed shutters, the grass was knee-deep on the lawn and +terraces, and the weeds grew tall in the flower-beds. Deserted and +silent! Silent as that past she had buried in her soul. Silent as those +first throbs of her child-heart that she had once fancied meant love. + +That evening she and May sat by the window watching the sunset cast its +glories over the lake, a great sheet of flame, softened by a wrapping of +thin purplish cloud, like some lives, struggling, fiery, triumphant, +but half hidden by this hazy veil of mortality. + +"Are you going to write another story, Beth?" + +"Yes, I thought one out last fall. I shall write it as soon as I am +rested." + +"What is it--a love story?" + +"Yes, it's natural to me to write of love; and yet--I have never been +seriously in love." + +May laughed softly. + +"Do you know, I am beginning to long to love truly. I want to taste the +deep of life, even if it brings me pain." + +It was a momentary restlessness, and she recalled these words before +long. + +Mr. Perth joined them just then. He was going away for a week's holiday +on the following day. + +"I suppose you have a supply for Sunday," said Mrs. Perth. + +"Yes, I have. I think he'll be a very good one. He's a volunteer +missionary." + +"Where is he going?" asked Beth. + +"I don't know." + +"I should like to meet him," and Beth paused before she continued, in a +quiet tone, "I am going to be a missionary myself." + +"Beth!" exclaimed Mrs. Perth. + +"I thought you were planning this," said Mr. Perth. + +"Thought so? How could you tell?" asked Beth. + +"I saw it working in your mind. You are easily read. Where are you +going?" + +"I haven't decided yet. I only just decided to go lately--one Sunday +afternoon this spring. I used to hate the idea." + +Perhaps it was this little talk that made her think of Arthur again that +night. Why had he never sent her one line, one word of sympathy in her +sorrow? He was very unkind, when her father had loved him so. Was that +what love meant? + +The supply did not stay at the parsonage, and Beth did not even ask his +name, as she supposed it would be unfamiliar to her. The old church +seemed so home-like that Sunday. The first sacred notes echoed softly +down the aisles; the choir took their places; then there was a moment's +solemn hush,--and Arthur! Why, that was Arthur going up into the pulpit! +She could hardly repress a cry of surprise. For the moment she forgot +all her coldness and indifference, and looked at him intently. He seemed +changed, somehow; he was a trifle paler, but there was a delicate +fineness about him she had never seen before, particularly in his eyes, +a mystery of pain and sweetness, blended and ripened into a more perfect +manhood. Was it because Arthur preached that sermon she thought it so +grand? No, everybody seemed touched. And this was the small boy who had +gone hazel-nutting with her, who had heard her geography, and, barefoot, +carried her through the brook. But that was long, long ago. They had +changed since then. Before she realized it, the service was over, and +the people were streaming through the door-way where Arthur stood +shaking hands with the acquaintances of his childhood. There was a +soothed, calm expression on Beth's brow, and her eyes met Arthur's as he +touched her hand. May thought she seemed a trifle subdued that day, +especially toward evening. Beth had a sort of feeling that night that +she would have been content to sit there at the church window for all +time. There was a border of white lilies about the altar, a sprinkling +of early stars in the evening sky; solemn hush and sacred music within, +and the cry of some stray night-bird without. There were gems of poetry +in that sermon, too; little gleanings from nature here and there. Then +she remembered how she had once said Arthur had not an artist-soul. Was +she mistaken? Was he one of those men who bury their sentiments under +the practical duties of every-day life? Perhaps so. + +The next day she and May sat talking on the sofa by the window. + +"Don't you think, May, I should make a mistake if I married a man who +had no taste for literature and art?" + +"Yes, I do. I believe in the old German proverb, 'Let like and like mate +together.'" + +Was that a shadow crossed Beth's face? + +"But, whatever you do, Beth, don't marry a man who is all moonshine. A +man may be literary in his tastes and yet not be devoted to a literary +life. I think the greatest genius is sometimes silent; but, even when +silent, he inspires others to climb the heights that duty forbade him to +climb himself." + +"You've deep thoughts in your little head, May." And Beth bent over, in +lover-like fashion, to kiss the little white hand, but May had dropped +into one of her light-hearted, baby moods, and playfully withdrew it. + +"Don't go mooning like that, kissing my dirty little hands! One would +think you had been falling in love." + +Beth went for another stroll that evening. She walked past the dear old +house on the hill-top. The shutters were no longer closed; last summer's +flowers were blooming again by the pathway; strange children stopped +their play to look at her as she passed, and there were sounds of mirth +and music within. Yes, that was the old home--home no longer now! There +was her own old window, the white roses drooping about it in the early +dew. + +"Oh, papa! papa! look down on your little Beth!" These words were in her +eyes as she lifted them to the evening sky, her tears falling silently. +She was following the old path by the road-side, where she used to go +for the milk every evening, when a firm step startled her. + +"Arthur! Good evening. I'm so glad to see you again!" + +She looked beautiful for a moment, with the tears hanging from her +lashes, and the smile on her face. + +"I called to see you at the parsonage, but you were just going up the +street, so I thought I might be pardoned for coming too." + +They were silent for a few moments. It was so like old times to be +walking there together. The early stars shone faintly; but the clouds +were still pink in the west; not a leaf stirred, not a breath; no sound +save a night-bird calling to its mate in the pine-wood yonder, and the +bleat of lambs in the distance. Presently Arthur broke the silence with +sweet, tender words of sorrow for her loss. + +"I should have written to you if I had known, but I was sick in the +hospital, and I didn't--" + +"Sick in the hospital! Why, Arthur, have you been ill? What was the +matter?" + +"A light typhoid fever. I went to the Wesleyan College, at Montreal, +after that, so I didn't even know you had come back to college." + +"To the Wesleyan? I thought you were so attached to Victoria! Whatever +made you leave it, Arthur?" + +He flushed slightly, and evaded her question. + +"Do you know, it was so funny, Arthur, you roomed in the very house +where I boarded last fall, and I never knew a thing about it till +afterward? Wasn't it odd we didn't meet?" + +Again he made some evasive reply, and she had an odd sensation, as of +something cold passing between them. He suddenly became formal, and they +turned back again at the bridge where they used to sit fishing, and +where Beth never caught anything (just like a girl); they always went to +Arthur's hook. The two forgot their coldness as they walked back, and +Beth was disappointed that Arthur had an engagement and could not come +in. They lingered a moment at the gate as he bade her good-night. A +delicate thrill, a something sweet and new and strange, possessed her as +he pressed her hand! Their eyes met for a moment. + +"Good-bye for to-night, Beth." + +May was singing a soft lullaby as she came up the walk. Only a moment! +Yet what a revelation a moment may bring to these hearts of ours! A +look, a touch, and something live is throbbing within! We cannot speak +it. We dare not name it. For, oh, hush, 'tis a sacred hour in a woman's +life. + +Beth went straight to her room, and sat by the open window in the +star-light. Some boys were singing an old Scotch ballad as they passed +in the street below; the moon was rising silvery above the blue Erie; +the white petals of apple-blossoms floated downward in the night air, +and in it all she saw but one face--a face with great, dark, tender +eyes, that soothed her with their silence. Soothed? Ah, yes! She felt +like a babe to-night, cradled in the arms of something, she knew not +what--something holy, eternal and calm. And _this_ was love. She had +craved it often--wondered how it would come to her--and it was just +Arthur, after all, her childhood's friend, Arthur--but yet how changed! +He was not the same. She felt it dimly. The Arthur of her girlhood was +gone. They were man and woman now. She had not known this Arthur as he +was now. A veil seemed to have been suddenly drawn from his face, and +she saw in him--her ideal. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed +heavenward. She had thought to journey to heathen lands alone, +single-handed to fight the battle, and now--"Arthur--Arthur!" she called +in a soft, sweet whisper as she drooped her smiling face. What mattered +all her blind shilly-shally fancies about his nature not being poetic? +There was more poetry buried in that heart of his than she had ever +dreamed. "I can never, never marry Arthur!" she had often told herself. +She laughed now as she thought of it, and it was late before she slept, +for she seemed to see those eyes looking at her in the darkness--so +familiar, yet so new and changed! She awoke for a moment in the grey +light just before dawn, and she could see him still; her hand yet +thrilled from his touch. She heard the hoarse whistle of a steamer on +the lake; the rooks were cawing in the elm-tree over the roof, and she +fell asleep again. + +"Good-morning, Rip Van Winkle," said May, when she entered the +breakfast-room. + +"Why, is that clock--just look at the time! I forgot to wind my watch +last night, and I hadn't the faintest idea what time it was when I got +up this morning!" + +"Good-bye for to-night, Beth," he had said, and he was going away +to-morrow morning, so he would surely come to-day. No wonder she went +about with an absent smile on her face, and did everything in the +craziest possible way. It was so precious, this newly-found secret of +hers! She knew her own heart now. There was no possibility of her +misunderstanding herself in the future. The afternoon was wearing away, +and she sat waiting and listening. Ding! No, that was only a +beggar-woman at the door. Ding, again! Yes, that was Arthur! Then she +grew frightened. How could she look into his eyes? He would read her +secret there. He sat down before her, and a formal coldness seemed to +paralyze them both. + +"I have come to bid you good-bye, Miss Woodburn!" + +Miss Woodburn! He had never called her that before. How cold his voice +sounded in her ears! + +"Are you going back to Victoria College?" she asked. + +"No, to the Wesleyan. Are you going to spend your summer in +Briarsfield?" + +"Most of it. I am going back to Toronto for a week or two before +'Varsity opens. My friend Miss de Vere is staying with some friends +there. She is ill and--" + +"Do you still call her your friend?" he interrupted, with a sarcastic +smile. + +"Why, yes!" she answered wonderingly, never dreaming that he had +witnessed that same scene in the Mayfair home. + +"You are faithful, Beth," he said, looking graver. Then he talked +steadily of things in which neither of them had any interest. How cold +and unnatural it all was! Beth longed to give way to tears. In a few +minutes he rose to go. He was going! Arthur was going! She dared not +look into his face as he touched her hand coldly. + +"Good-bye, Miss Woodburn. I wish you every success next winter." + +She went back to the parlor and watched him--under the apple trees, +white with blossom, through the gate, past the old church, around the +corner--he was gone! The clock ticked away in the long, silent parlor; +the sunshine slept on the grass outside; the butterflies were flitting +from flower to flower, and laughing voices passed in the street, but her +heart was strangely still. A numb, voiceless pain! What did it mean? +Had Arthur changed? Once he had loved her. "God have pity!" her white +lips murmured. And yet that look, that touch last night--what did it +mean? What folly after all! A touch, a smile, and she had woven her fond +hopes together. Foolish woman-heart, building her palace on the sands +for next day's tide to sweep away! Yet how happy she had been last +night! A thrill, a throb, a dream of bliss; crushed now, all but the +memory! The years might bury it all in silence, but she could never, +never forget. She had laid her plans for life, sweet, unselfish plans +for uplifting human lives. Strange lands, strange scenes, strange faces +would surround her. She would toil and smile on others, "but oh, Arthur, +Arthur--" + +All through the long hours of that night she lay watching; she could not +sleep. Arthur was still near, the same hills surrounding them both. The +stars were shining and the hoarse whistle of the steamers rent the +night. Perhaps they would never be so near again. Would they ever meet, +she wondered. Perhaps not! Another year, and he would be gone far across +the seas, and then, "Good-bye, Arthur! Good-bye! God be with you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +_FAREWELL._ + + +Beth's summer at Briarsfield parsonage passed quietly and sweetly. She +had seemed a little sad at first, and May, with her woman's instinct, +read more of her story than she thought, but she said nothing, though +she doubled her little loving attentions. The love of woman for woman is +passing sweet. + +But let us look at Beth as she sits in the shadow of the trees in the +parsonage garden. It was late in August, and Beth was waiting for May to +come out. Do you remember the first time we saw her in the shadow of the +trees on the lawn at home? It is only a little over two years ago, but +yet how much she has changed! You would hardly recognize the immature +girl in that gentle, sweet-faced lady in her dark mourning dress. The +old gloom had drifted from her brow, and in its place was sunlight, not +the sunlight of one who had never known suffering, but the gentler, +sweeter light of one who had triumphed over it. It was a face that would +have attracted you, that would have attracted everyone, in fact, from +the black-gowned college professor to the small urchin shouting in the +street. To the rejoicing it said, "Let me laugh with you, for life is +sweet;" to the sorrowing, "I understand, I have suffered, too. I know +what you feel." Just then her sweet eyes were raised to heaven in holy +thought, "Dear heavenly Father, thou knowest everything--how I loved +him. Thy will be done. Oh, Jesus, my tender One, thou art so sweet! Thou +dost understand my woman's heart and satisfy even its sweet longings. +Resting in Thy sweet presence what matter life's sorrows!" + +She did not notice the lattice gate open and a slender, fair-haired man +pause just inside to watch her. It was Clarence Mayfair. There was a +touching expression on his face as he looked at her. Yes, she was +beautiful, he thought. It was not a dream, the face that he had carried +in his soul since that Sunday night last fall. Beth Woodburn was +beautiful. She was a woman now. She was only a child when they played +their little drama of love there in Briarsfield. The play was past now; +he loved her as a man can love but one woman. And now--a shadow crossed +his face--perhaps it was too late! + +"Clarence!" exclaimed Beth, as he advanced, "I'm glad to see you." And +she held out her hand with an air of graceful dignity. + +"You have come back to visit Briarsfield, I suppose. I was so surprised +to see you," she continued. + +"Yes, I am staying at Mr. Graham's." + +She noticed as he talked that he looked healthier, stronger and more +manly. Altogether she thought him improved. + +"Your father and mother are still in England, I suppose," said she. + +"Yes, they intend to stay with their relatives this winter. As for me, I +shall go back to 'Varsity and finish my course." + +"Oh, are you going to teach?" + +"Yes; there's nothing else before me," he answered, in a discouraged +tone. + +She understood. She had heard of his father's losses, and, what grieved +her still more, she had heard that Clarence was turning out a literary +failure. He had talent, but he had not the fresh, original genius that +this age of competition demands. Poor Clarence! She was sorry for him. + +"You have been all summer in Briarsfield?" he asked. + +"Yes, but I am going to Toronto to-morrow morning." + +"Yes, I know. Miss de Vere told me she had sent for you." + +"Oh, you have seen her then!" + +"Yes, I saw her yesterday. Poor girl, she'll not last long. Consumption +has killed all the family." + +Beth wondered if he loved Marie, and she looked at him, with her gentle, +sympathetic eyes. He caught her look and winced under it. She gazed away +at the glimpse of lake between the village roofs for a moment. + +"Beth, have you forgotten the past?" he asked, in a voice abrupt but +gentle. + +She started. She had never seen his face look so expressive. The tears +rose to her eyes as she drooped her flushing face. + +"No, I have not forgotten." + +"Beth, I did not love you then; I did not know what love meant--" + +"Oh, don't speak of it! It would have been a terrible mistake!" + +"But, Beth, can you never forgive the past? I love you _now_--I have +loved you since--" + +"Oh, hush, Clarence! You _must_ not speak of love!" And she buried her +face in her hands and sobbed a moment, then leaned forward slightly +toward him, a tender look in her eyes. + +"I love another," she said, in a low gentle voice. + +He shielded his eyes for a moment with his fair delicate hand. It was a +hard moment for them both. + +"I am so sorry, Clarence. I know what you feel. I am sorry we ever met." + +He looked at her with a smile on his saddened face. + +"I feared it was so; but I had rather love you in vain than to win the +love of any other woman. Good-bye, Beth." + +"Good-bye." + +He lingered a moment as he touched her hand in farewell. + +"God bless you," she said, softly. + +He crossed the garden in the sunshine, and she sat watching the fleecy +clouds and snatches of lake between the roofs. Poor Clarence! Did love +mean to him what it meant to her? Ah, yes! she had seen the pain written +on his brow. Poor Clarence! That night she craved a blessing upon him as +she knelt beside her bed. Just then he was wandering about the +weed-grown lawns of his father's house, which looked more desolate than +ever in the light of the full moon. It was to be sold the following +spring, and he sighed as he walked on toward the lake-side. Right there +on that little cliff he had asked Beth Woodburn to be his wife, and but +for that fickle faithlessness of his, who knew what might have been? And +yet it was better so--better for _her_--God bless her. And the thought +of her drew him heavenward that night. + +The next day Beth was on her way to Toronto to see Marie. She was in a +pensive mood as she sat by the car window, gazing at the farm-lands +stretching far away, and the wooded hill-sides checkered by the sunlight +shining through their boughs. There is always a pleasant diversion in a +few hours' travel, and Beth found herself drawn from her thoughts by the +antics of a negro family at the other end of the car. A portly colored +woman presided over them; she had "leben chilen, four dead and gone to +glory," as she explained to everyone who questioned her. + +It was about two o'clock when Beth reached Toronto, and the whirr of +electric cars, the rattle of cabs and the mixed noises of the city +street would all have been pleasantly exciting to her young nerves but +for her thoughts of Marie. She wondered at her coming to the city to +spend her last days, but it was quiet on Grenville Street, where she was +staying with her friends, the Bartrams. Beth was, indeed, struck by the +change in her friend when she entered the room. She lay there so frail +and shadow-like among her pillows, her dark cheeks sunken, though +flushed; but her eyes had still their old brilliancy, and there was an +indefinable gentleness about her. Beth seemed almost to feel it as she +stooped to kiss her. The Bartrams were very considerate, and left them +alone together as much as possible, but Marie was not in a talking mood +that day. Her breath came with difficulty, and she seemed content to +hold Beth's hand and smile upon her, sometimes through tears that +gathered silently. Bright, sparkling Marie! They had not been wont to +associate tears with her in the past. It was a pleasant room she had, +suggestive of her taste--soft carpet and brightly-cushioned chairs, a +tall mirror reflecting the lilies on the stand, and a glimpse of Queen's +Park through the open window. The next day was Sunday, and Beth sat by +Marie while the others went to church. They listened quietly to the +bells peal forth their morning call together, and Beth noted with +pleasure that it seemed to soothe Marie as she lay with closed eyes and +a half smile on her lips. + +"Beth, you have been so much to me this summer. Your letters were so +sweet. You are a great, grand woman, Beth." And she stroked Beth's hair +softly with her frail, wasted hand. + +"Do you remember when I used to pride myself on my unbelief?" Her breath +failed her for a moment. "It is past now," she continued, with a smile. +"It was one Sunday; I had just read one of your letters, and I felt +somehow that Jesus had touched me. I am ready now. It was hard, so hard +at first, to give up life, but I have learned at last to say 'His will +be done.'" + +Beth could not speak for the sob she had checked in her throat. + +"Beth, I may not be here another Sunday. I want to talk to you, dear. +You remember the old days when that trouble came between you and--and +Clarence. I was a treacherous friend to you, Beth, to ever let him speak +of love to me. I was a traitor to--" + +"Oh, hush! Marie, darling, don't talk so," Beth pleaded in a sobbing +tone. + +"I _must_ speak of it, Beth. I was treacherous to you. But when you know +what I suffered--" Her breath failed again for a moment. "I _loved_ +him, Beth," she whispered. + +"Marie!" There was silence for a moment, broken only by Marie's labored +breathing. "I loved him, but I knew he did not love me. It was only a +fancy of his. I had charmed him for the time, but I knew when I was gone +his heart would go back to you--and now, Beth, I am dying slowly, I ask +but one thing more. I have sent for Clarence. Let everything be +forgotten now; let me see you happy together just as it was before." + +"Oh, hush, Marie! It cannot be. It can never be. You know I told you +last fall that I did not love him." + +"Ah, but that is your pride, Beth; all your pride! Listen to me, Beth. +If I had ten years more to live, I would give them all to see you both +happy and united." + +Beth covered her face with her hands, as her tears flowed silently. + +"Marie, I must tell you all," she said, as she bent over her. "I love +another: I love Arthur!" + +"Arthur Grafton!" Marie exclaimed, and her breath came in quick, short +gasps, and there was a pained look about her closed eyes. Beth +understood she was grieved for the disappointment of the man she loved. + +"And you, Beth--are you happy? Does he--Arthur, I mean--love you?" she +asked, with a smile. + +"No. He loved me once, the summer before I came to college, but he is +changed now. He was in Briarsfield this summer for a few days, but I saw +he was changed. He was not like the same Arthur--so changed and cold." +She sat with a grave look in her grey eyes as Marie lay watching her. +"Only once I thought he loved me," she continued; "one night when he +looked at me and touched my hand. But the next day he was cold again, +and I knew then that he didn't love me any more." + +Marie lay for a few moments with a very thoughtful look in her eyes, but +she made no remark, and, after a while, she slept from weakness and +exhaustion. + +Beth went out for a few hours next morning, and found her very much +weaker when she returned. Mrs. Bartram said she had tired herself +writing a letter. She had a wide-awake air as if she were watching for +something, and her ear seemed to catch every step on the stair-way. It +was toward the close of day. + +"Hark! who's that?" she asked, starting. + +"Only Mrs. Bartram. Rest, dearest," said Beth. + +But the brilliant eyes were fixed on the door, and a moment later +Clarence entered the room. Marie still held Beth's hand, but her dark +eyes were fixed on Clarence with a look never to be forgotten. + +"You have come at last," she said, then fell back on her pillows +exhausted, but smiling, her eyes closed. + +He stood holding the frail hand she had stretched out to him, then the +dark eyes opened slowly, and she gazed on him with a yearning look. + +"Put your hand upon my forehead, I shall die happier," she said, softly. +"Oh, Clarence, I loved you! I loved you! It can do no harm to tell you +now. Kiss me just once. In a moment I shall be with my God." + +Beth had glided from the room, and left her alone with the man she +loved; but in a few minutes he called her and Mrs. Bartram to the +bed-side. Marie was almost past speaking, but she stretched forth her +arms to Beth and drew her young head down upon her breast. There was +silence for a few minutes, broken only by Marie's hoarse breathing. + +"Jesus, my Redeemer," her pale lips murmured faintly, then the +heart-throbs beneath Beth's ear were still; the slender hand fell +helpless on the counterpane; the brilliant eyes were closed; Marie was +gone! + +When Beth came to look at her again she lay smiling in her white, +flowing garment, a single lily in her clasped hands. Poor Marie! She had +loved and suffered, and now it was ended. Aye, but she had done more +than suffer. She had refused the man she loved for his sake and for the +sake of another. Her sacrifice had been in vain, but the love that +sacrificed itself--was that vain? Ah, no! Sweet, brave Marie! + +Her friends thought it a strange request of hers to be buried at +Briarsfield, but it was granted. Her vast wealth--as she had died +childless--went, by the provisions of her father's will, to a distant +cousin, but her jewels she left to Beth. The following afternoon Mr. +Perth read the funeral service, and they lowered the lovely burden in +the shadow of the pines at the corner of the Briarsfield church-yard. +There in that quiet village she had first seen him she loved. After all +her gay social life she sought its quiet at last, and the stars of that +summer night looked down on her new-made grave. + +The following day Mr. Perth laid a colored envelope from a large +publishing firm in Beth's lap. They had accepted her last story for a +good round sum, accompanied by most flattering words of encouragement. +As she read the commendatory words, she smiled at the thought of having +at least one talent to use in her Master's service. Yes, Beth Woodburn +of Briarsfield would be famous after all. It was no vain dream of her +childhood. + +Four weeks passed and Beth had finished her preparations for returning +to college in the fall. In a few weeks she would be leaving May and the +dear old parsonage, but she would be glad to be back at 'Varsity again. +There came a day of heavy rain, and she went out on an errand of charity +for May. When she returned, late in the afternoon, she heard Mr. Perth +talking to someone in the study, but that was nothing unusual. The rain +was just ceasing, and the sun suddenly broke through the clouds, filling +all the west with glory. Beth went down into the garden to drink in the +beauty. Rugged clouds stood out like hills of fire fringed with gold, +and the great sea of purple and crimson overhead died away in the soft +flush of the east, while the wet foliage of the trees and gardens shone +like gold beneath the clouds. It was glorious! She had never seen +anything like it before. Look! there were two clouds of flame parting +about the sunset like a gateway into the beyond, and within all looked +peaceful and golden. Somehow it made her think of Marie. Poor Marie! +Why had Clarence's love for her been unreal? Why could she not have +lived and they been happy together? Love and suffering! And what had +love brought to her? Only pain. She thought of Arthur, too. Perhaps he +was happiest of all. He seemed to have forgotten. But she--ah, she could +never forget! Yet, "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy +sight." And she pulled a bunch of fall flowers from the bush at her +side, careless of the rain-drops that shook on her bare head as she +touched the branches. She did not know that she was being observed from +the study window. + +"She is going to be a missionary, isn't she?" said the stranger who was +talking to Mr. Perth. + +"Yes; she hasn't decided her field yet, but she will make a grand one +wherever she goes. She's a noble girl; I honor her." + +"Yes, she is very noble," said the stranger slowly, as he looked at her. +She would have recognized his voice if she had been within hearing, but +she only pulled another spray of blossoms, without heeding the sound of +the study door shutting and a step approaching her on the gravelled +walk. + +"Beth." + +"Arthur! Why, I--I thought you were in Montreal!" + +"So, I was. I just got there a few days ago, but I turned around and +came back to-day to scold you for getting your feet wet standing there +in the wet grass. I knew you didn't know how to take care of yourself." +There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Didn't I always take care +of you when you were little?" + +"Yes, and a nice tyrant you were!" she said, laughing, when she had +recovered from her surprise, "always scolding and preaching at me." + +He seemed inclined to talk lightly at first, and then grew suddenly +silent as they went into the drawing-room. Beth felt as though he were +regarding her with a sort of protecting air. What did it mean? What had +brought him here so suddenly? She was growing embarrassed at his +silence, when she suddenly plunged into conversation about Montreal, the +Wesleyan College, and other topics that were farthest away from her +present thought and interest. + +"Beth," said Arthur suddenly, interrupting the flow of her remarks in a +gentle tone, "Beth, why did you not tell me last summer that you were +going to be a missionary?" + +She seemed startled for a moment, as he looked into her flushed face. + +"Oh, I don't know. I--I meant to. I meant to tell you that afternoon you +came here before you went away, but I didn't know you were going so +soon, and I didn't tell you somehow. Who told you?" + +"Marie de Vere told me," he said, gently. "She wrote to me just a few +hours before she died; but I didn't get the letter till yesterday. She +left it with Clarence, and he couldn't find me at first." + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, and there was a tender +smile in his eyes. Then a sudden flush crimsoned her cheek. How much did +he know? Had Marie told him that she-- + +"Beth, why did you not tell me before that you were free--that you were +not another's promised wife?" His voice was gentle, very gentle. Her +face drooped, and her hand trembled as it lay on her black dress. He +rose and bent over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. His touch +thrilled her, soothed her, but she dare not raise her eyes. + +"I--I--didn't know it mattered--that; you cared," she stammered. + +"Didn't know I cared!" he exclaimed; then, in a softer tone, "Beth, did +you think I had forgotten--that I could forget? I love you, Beth. Can +you ever love me enough to be my wife?" + +She could not speak, but in her upturned face he read her answer, and +his lips touched her brow reverently. Closer, closer to his breast he +drew her. Soul open to soul, heart beating against heart! The old clock +ticked in the stillness, and the crimson glow of the sunset was +reflected on the parlor wall. Oh, what joy was this suddenly breaking +through the clouds upon them! Beth was the first to break the silence. + +"Oh, Arthur, I love you so! I love you so!" she said, twining her arms +passionately about his neck, as her tears fell upon his breast. It was +the long pent-up cry of her loving womanhood. + +"But Arthur, why were you so cold and strange that day we parted last +summer?" + +"I thought you were another's intended wife. I tried to hide my love +from you." His voice shook slightly as he answered. + +One long, lingering look into each other's eyes, and, with one thought, +they knelt together beside the old couch and gave thanks to the +all-loving Father who had guided their paths together. + +That night Beth lay listening as the autumn wind shook the elm-tree +over the roof and drifted the clouds in dark masses across the starry +sky. But the winds might rage without--aye, the storms might beat down, +if they would, what did it matter? Arthur was near, and the Divine +presence was bending over her with its shielding love. "Oh, God, Thou +art good!" She was happy--oh, so happy! And she fell asleep with a smile +on her face. + +The autumn passed--such a gloriously happy autumn--and Christmas eve had +come. The snow lay white and cold on the fields and hills about +Briarsfield, but in the old church all was warmth and light. A group of +villagers were gathered inside, most of them from curiosity, and before +the altar Arthur and Beth were standing side by side. Beth looked very +beautiful as she stood there in her white bridal robes. The church was +still, sacredly still, but for the sound of Mr. Perth's earnest voice; +and in the rear of the crowd was one face, deadly pale, but calm. It was +Clarence. How pure she looked, he thought. Pure as the lilies hanging in +clusters above her head! Was she of the earth--clay, like these others +about her? The very tone of her voice seemed to have caught a note from +above. No, he had never been worthy of her! Weak, fickle, wave-tossed +soul that he was! A look of humiliation crossed his face, then a look of +hope. If he had never been worthy of her hand he would be worthy at +least to have loved her in vain. He would be what she would have had him +be. It was over; the last words were said; the music broke forth, and +the little gold band gleamed on Beth's fair hand as it lay on Arthur's +arm. He led her down the aisle, smiling and happy. Oh, joy! joy +everlasting! joy linking earth to heaven! They rested that night in +Beth's old room at the parsonage, and as the door closed behind them +they knelt together--man and wife. Sacred hour! + +Out beneath the stars of that still Christmas eve was one who saw the +light shine from their window as he passed and blessed them. He carried +a bunch of lilies in his hand as he made his way to a long white mound +in the church-yard. Poor Marie! He stooped and laid them in the snow, +the pure white snow--pure as the dead whose grave it covered! pure as +the vows he had heard breathed that night! + + * * * * * + +Seven years have passed, and Beth sits leaning back in a rocker by the +window, in the soft bright moonlight of Palestine. And what have the +years brought to Beth? She is famous now. Her novels are among the most +successful of the day. She has marked out a new line of work, and the +dark-eyed Jewish characters in her stories have broadened the sympathies +of her world of readers. But the years have brought her something +besides literary fame and success in the mission-field. By her side is a +little white cot, and a little rosy-cheeked boy lies asleep upon the +pillow, one hand, thrown back over his dark curls--her little Arthur. + +There is a step beside her, and her husband bends over her with a loving +look. + +"It is seven years to-night since we were married, Beth." + +There are tears in her smiling eyes as she looks up into his face. + +"And you have never regretted?" he asks. + +"Oh, Arthur! How could I?" and she hides her face on his breast. + +"My wife! my joy!" he whispers, as he draws her closer. + +"Arthur, do you remember what a silly, silly girl I used to be when I +thought you had not enough of the artist-soul to understand my nature? +And here, if I hadn't had you to criticise and encourage me, I'd never +have succeeded as well as I have." + +He only kisses her for reply, and they look out over the flat-roofed +city in the moonlight. Peace! peace! sweet peace! "Not as the world +giveth, give I unto you." And the stars are shining down upon them in +their love. And so, dear Beth, farewell! + +The evening shadows lengthen as I write, but there is another to whom we +must bid farewell. It is Clarence. Father and mother are both dead, and +in one of the quiet parts of Toronto he lives, unmarried, in his +comfortable rooms. The years have brought him a greater measure of +success than once he had hoped. The sorrow he has so bravely hidden has +perhaps enabled him to touch some chord in the human hearts of his +readers. At any rate, he has a good round income now. Edith's children +come often to twine their arms about his neck; but there are other +children who love him, too. Down in the dark, narrow streets of the city +there is many a bare, desolate home that he has cheered with warmth and +comfort, many a humble fireside where the little ones listen for his +step, many little hands and feet protected from the cold by his +benefactions. But no matter how lowly the house, he always leaves behind +some trace of his artistic nature--a picture or a bunch of flowers, +something suggestive of the beautiful, the ideal. Sometimes, when the +little ones playing about him lisp their childish praises, a softness +fills his eyes and he thinks of one who is far away. Blessed be her +footsteps! But he is not sad long. No, he is the genial, jolly bachelor, +whom everybody loves, so unlike the Clarence of long ago; and so +farewell, brave heart--fare thee well! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beth Woodburn, by Maud Petitt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETH WOODBURN *** + +***** This file should be named 16343.txt or 16343.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/4/16343/ + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, +Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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