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Page 39
"Yes, and a nice tyrant you were!" she said, laughing, when she had
recovered from her surprise, "always scolding and preaching at me."
He seemed inclined to talk lightly at first, and then grew suddenly
silent as they went into the drawing-room. Beth felt as though he were
regarding her with a sort of protecting air. What did it mean? What had
brought him here so suddenly? She was growing embarrassed at his
silence, when she suddenly plunged into conversation about Montreal, the
Wesleyan College, and other topics that were farthest away from her
present thought and interest.
"Beth," said Arthur suddenly, interrupting the flow of her remarks in a
gentle tone, "Beth, why did you not tell me last summer that you were
going to be a missionary?"
She seemed startled for a moment, as he looked into her flushed face.
"Oh, I don't know. I--I meant to. I meant to tell you that afternoon you
came here before you went away, but I didn't know you were going so
soon, and I didn't tell you somehow. Who told you?"
"Marie de Vere told me," he said, gently. "She wrote to me just a few
hours before she died; but I didn't get the letter till yesterday. She
left it with Clarence, and he couldn't find me at first."
They looked at each other a moment in silence, and there was a tender
smile in his eyes. Then a sudden flush crimsoned her cheek. How much did
he know? Had Marie told him that she--
"Beth, why did you not tell me before that you were free--that you were
not another's promised wife?" His voice was gentle, very gentle. Her
face drooped, and her hand trembled as it lay on her black dress. He
rose and bent over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. His touch
thrilled her, soothed her, but she dare not raise her eyes.
"I--I--didn't know it mattered--that; you cared," she stammered.
"Didn't know I cared!" he exclaimed; then, in a softer tone, "Beth, did
you think I had forgotten--that I could forget? I love you, Beth. Can
you ever love me enough to be my wife?"
She could not speak, but in her upturned face he read her answer, and
his lips touched her brow reverently. Closer, closer to his breast he
drew her. Soul open to soul, heart beating against heart! The old clock
ticked in the stillness, and the crimson glow of the sunset was
reflected on the parlor wall. Oh, what joy was this suddenly breaking
through the clouds upon them! Beth was the first to break the silence.
"Oh, Arthur, I love you so! I love you so!" she said, twining her arms
passionately about his neck, as her tears fell upon his breast. It was
the long pent-up cry of her loving womanhood.
"But Arthur, why were you so cold and strange that day we parted last
summer?"
"I thought you were another's intended wife. I tried to hide my love
from you." His voice shook slightly as he answered.
One long, lingering look into each other's eyes, and, with one thought,
they knelt together beside the old couch and gave thanks to the
all-loving Father who had guided their paths together.
That night Beth lay listening as the autumn wind shook the elm-tree
over the roof and drifted the clouds in dark masses across the starry
sky. But the winds might rage without--aye, the storms might beat down,
if they would, what did it matter? Arthur was near, and the Divine
presence was bending over her with its shielding love. "Oh, God, Thou
art good!" She was happy--oh, so happy! And she fell asleep with a smile
on her face.
The autumn passed--such a gloriously happy autumn--and Christmas eve had
come. The snow lay white and cold on the fields and hills about
Briarsfield, but in the old church all was warmth and light. A group of
villagers were gathered inside, most of them from curiosity, and before
the altar Arthur and Beth were standing side by side. Beth looked very
beautiful as she stood there in her white bridal robes. The church was
still, sacredly still, but for the sound of Mr. Perth's earnest voice;
and in the rear of the crowd was one face, deadly pale, but calm. It was
Clarence. How pure she looked, he thought. Pure as the lilies hanging in
clusters above her head! Was she of the earth--clay, like these others
about her? The very tone of her voice seemed to have caught a note from
above. No, he had never been worthy of her! Weak, fickle, wave-tossed
soul that he was! A look of humiliation crossed his face, then a look of
hope. If he had never been worthy of her hand he would be worthy at
least to have loved her in vain. He would be what she would have had him
be. It was over; the last words were said; the music broke forth, and
the little gold band gleamed on Beth's fair hand as it lay on Arthur's
arm. He led her down the aisle, smiling and happy. Oh, joy! joy
everlasting! joy linking earth to heaven! They rested that night in
Beth's old room at the parsonage, and as the door closed behind them
they knelt together--man and wife. Sacred hour!
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