Beth Woodburn Part 3

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 cus.h.i.+ons, 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 n.o.ble 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 gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.sion-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 pa.s.sed, 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 friends.h.i.+p. 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.