Beth Woodburn | Page 6

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."
"Clarence is delicate, too," said her father with a grave look.
They were both silent for a few minutes.
"But, after all, he cannot marry for three or four years to come, and you
must take your college course, Beth."
They were silent again for a moment.
"Well, God bless you, Beth, my darling child." There were tears in his
eyes, and his voice was very gentle. He kissed her and went out to his
office.
What a dear old father he was! Only Beth wished he had looked more
hopeful and enthusiastic over the change in her life. Aunt Prudence had
been told before dinner, and she had taken it in a provokingly quiet
fashion that perplexed Beth. What was the matter with them all? Did
they think Clarence the pale-faced boy that he looked? They were quite
mistaken. Clarence was a man.
So Miss Beth reasoned, and the cloud passed off her brow, for, after all,
matters were about as they were before. The morning had been rather
pleasant, too. Arthur had played some of his sweet old pieces, and then
asked as a return favor to see some of her writing. She had given him
several copies of the Briarsfield Echo, and he was still reading. In spite
of her thoughts of Clarence, she wondered now and again what Arthur
would think of her. Would he be proud of his old play-mate? He came

across the lawn at last and drew one of the chairs up beside