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Page 12
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.
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