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Page 18
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.
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