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Page 35
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.
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