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Page 16
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.
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