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Page 6
"You are good, Beth. May God bless our lives."
She had never seen Clarence so earnest and manly before. Yes, she was
very much in love, she told herself.
They talked much on the way back to the house. He told her that his
father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be
several years before he himself could marry. But Beth's brow was not
clouded. She wanted her college course, and somehow Clarence seemed so
much more manly with a few difficulties to face.
A faint sound of music greeted them as they reached the house. Edith was
playing her guitar. Mrs. Mayfair met them on the veranda.
"Why, Clarence, how late you've kept the child out," said Mrs. Mayfair
with a motherly air. "I'm afraid you will catch cold, Miss Woodburn;
there is such a heavy dew!"
Clarence went up to his mother and said something in a low tone. A
pleased look lighted her face.
"I am so glad, dear Beth, my daughter. I shall have another daughter in
place of the one I am giving away."
She drew the girl to her breast with tender affection. Beth had been
motherless all her life, and the caress was sweet and soothing to her.
Edith fastened her cape and kissed her fondly when she was going home.
Clarence went with her, and somehow everything was so dream-like and
unreal that even the old rough-cast home looked strange and shadowy in
the moon-light. It was perhaps a relief that her father had not yet
returned.
She was smiling and happy, but even her own little room seemed strangely
unnatural that night. She stopped just inside the door and looked at it,
the moonlight streaming through the open window upon her bed. Was she
really the same Beth Woodburn that had rested there last night and
thought about the roses. She took them out of her belt now. A sweetly
solemn feeling stole over her, and she crossed over and knelt at the
window, the withered roses in her hand, her face upturned to heaven.
Sacred thoughts filled her mind. She had longed for love, someone to
love, someone who loved her; but was she worthy, she asked herself, pure
enough, good enough? She felt to-night that she was kneeling at an
unseen shrine, a bride, to be decked by the holy angels in robes whiter
than mortal ever saw.
Waves of sweet music aroused her. She started up as from a dream,
recognizing at once the touch of the same hand that she had heard in the
distance the night before, and it was coming from their own parlor
window, right beneath hers! She held her breath almost as she stole out
and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the parlor. Why, it was
Arthur! Was it possible he could play like that? She made a striking
picture as she stood there on the stairs, her great grey eyes drinking
in the music: but she was relieved somehow when it ceased. It was
bright, quick, inspiring; but it seemed to make her forget her new-born
joy while it lasted.
CHAPTER III.
_WHITHER, BETH?_
Beth was lying in the hammock, watching the white clouds chase each
other over the sky. Her face was quite unclouded, though the morning had
not passed just as she had hoped. It was the next afternoon after she
had taken tea at the Mayfair's, and Clarence had come to see her father
that morning. They had had a long talk in the study, and Beth had sat in
her room anxiously pulling to pieces the roses that grew at her window.
After a little while she was called down. Clarence was gone, and she
thought her father did not look quite satisfied, though he smiled as she
sat down beside him.
"Beth, I am sorry you are engaged so young," he said gently. "Are you
sure you love him, Beth?"
"Oh, yes, papa, dear. You don't understand," and she put both arms
about his neck. "I am in love, truly. Believe me, I shall be happy."
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