Beth Woodburn | Page 9

and I don't believe there is a good home where she isn't loved.
But it may not be your place to be just like 'Pansy.'"
"No; I want to be like George Eliot."
A graver look crossed his face.
"That is right to a certain extent. George Eliot certainly had a grand
intellect, but if she had only been a consecrated Christian woman how
infinitely greater she might have been. With such talent as hers
undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of
heaven. Beth, don't you see what grand possibilities are yours, with
your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?"
"Ah, yes. Arthur, but then--I am drifting somehow. Life is bearing me
another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be famous, and
perhaps wealthy, too, but I am drifting with the years."
"But it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, Beth.
You will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. Do
you not see there are two paths before you? Which will you choose,
Beth? 'For self?' or 'for Jesus?' The one will bring you fame and wealth,
perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not
be satisfied. The other--oh, it would make you so much happier! Your
books would be read at every fire-side, and Beth Woodburn would be a

name to be loved. You are drifting--but whither, Beth?"
His voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was
something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget
those last words.
The moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her
dreams, and she and Clarence were alone together in a lovely island
garden. It was so very beautiful--a grand temple of nature, its aisles
carpeted with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a
star-strewn sea all round! No mortal artist could have planned that
mysteriously beautiful profusion of flowers--lily and violet, rose and
oleander, palm-tree and passion-vine, and the olive branches and
orange blossoms interlacing in the moon-light above them. Arthur was
watering the tall white lilies by the water-side and all was still with a
hallowed silence they dared not break. Suddenly a wild blast swept
where they stood. All was desolate and bare, and Clarence was gone. In
a moment the bare rocks where she had stood were overwhelmed, and
she was drifting far out to sea--alone! Stars in the sky above--stars in
the deep all round and the winds and the waters were still! And she was
drifting--but whither?
CHAPTER IV.
_MARIE._
"Isn't she pretty?"
"She's picturesque looking."
"Pretty? picturesque? I think she's ugly!"
These were the varied opinions of a group of Briarsfield girls who were
at the station when the evening train stopped. The object of their
remarks was a slender girl whom the Mayfairs received with warmth. It
was Marie de Vere--graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and
daintily dressed brown hair. This was the girl that Beth and Arthur
were introduced to when they went to the Mayfairs to tea a few days

later. Beth recalled the last evening she was there to tea. Only a few
days had since passed, and yet how all was changed!
"Do you like Miss de Vere?" asked Clarence, after Beth had enjoyed a
long conversation with her.
"Oh, yes! I'm just delighted with her! She has such kind eyes, and she
seems to understand one so well!"
"You have fallen in love at first sight. The pleasure on your face makes
up for the long time I have waited to get you alone. Only I wish you
would look at me like you looked at Miss de Vere just now," he said,
trying to look dejected.
She laughed. Those little affectionate expressions always pleased her,
for she wondered sometimes if Clarence could be a cold and
unresponsive husband. He was not a very ardent lover, and grey-eyed,
intellectual Beth Woodburn had a love-hungering heart, though few
people knew it.
"Do you know," said Beth, "Miss de Vere has told me that there is a
vacant room at her boarding-house. She is quite sure she can get it for
me this winter. Isn't she kind? I believe we shall be great friends."
"Yes, you will enjoy her friendship. She is a clever artist and musician,
you know. Edith says she lives a sort of Bohemian life in Toronto. Her
rooms are littered with music and painting and literature."
"How nice! Her face looks as if she had a story, too. There's something
sad in her eyes."
"She struck me as being remarkably lively," said Clarence.
"Oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret