noon 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

ed so young," he said gently. "

and she put both arms about his neck. "I am i

, too," said her fath

h silent for

three or four years to come, and you

lent again f

ere were tears in his eyes, and his voice was ver

Prudence had been told before dinner, and she had taken it in a provokingly quiet fashion that perplexed Beth. What was the

eet 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

. You are talented-indeed, you are more than talented: you are a ge

if it pained him t

your writings don't seem to come from a full heart, overflowing with happiness. It seems to me that with your command of language and flowing style y

uld overwhelm her with praise; and, instead, he sat there like a judge laying all h

ore," she thought. "He

g there with that great wave of dark hair brushed back from his brow, and

nce," she thought, "and he doesn't k

d; "you speak as though I could change my way of writing m

; just like your writing. You

nary writers as well as cheerfu

ness and sorrow will come, but there is sweetness in the cup as well. The clouds

carcely heeded his last words, but nevertheless they fastened

hur was only a few years older, but he looked so manly and mature beside Clarence. They smiled kindly when Beth introduced them,

nce drew her to his heart

don't! People

hey do. Yo

ll it, Clarence. Yo

r in a pleasant

talk with your

ly, "and I rather hoped he

led after a while, you know, when he sees what it is to have a son. Of course, he think

ours. She had a more satisfied, womanly look. Perhap

at home," said Clarence. "There will have

; "you talk as though we were going off

uld be so nice for study and writing. It has a window looking south toward the lake, and another west. You were always fond of watching the s

old me so l

ughter of an old friend of my mother's. Her father was a Frenchman, an aristocrat, quite wea

Beth, "Marie de Vere, pretty, too

friends. You will be a stranger in Toronto, you know, next winter. How nice it will be to have you

ow. Thoughts of you will interrupt my studie

Varsity life, then went away early, as he was

usual for her to give any attention to housework, but a new inte

as at church quite early, and Beth sat gazing out of the window at the parsonage across the road.

Arthur in the opposite corner teaching a class of little girls-little tots in white dresses. He looked so pleased and self-forgetful. Beth had never seen

n't think you were

a grandfather, only

Clarence was doing just then. Home looked so sweet and pleasant, too, as she opened the

n was slowly sinking in the west, a flock of sheep were resting in the shadow of the elms on the distant hill-slope, and the white clouds paused in the blue as if moored by unseen

oing out as a missionar

ree or four

you going,

ews, at J

ill be sent just wh

n expenses. A bachelor uncle of m

dread goi

ith a radiant smile. "One has so many oppor

ink of what you c

" he answered, a sweet smile i

ou dread the

leave thee nor

ons, and then looked up at him with those searching grey ey

upon her tender

ur life a consecrate

but one thing, and I

I am afraid you are not perfectly happy," he

id, thinking of Clarence. "But, Arthur, there is one thing I can't consecrate. I am a C

ould consecrate. That's the widest field you have

n't write like 'Pansy' doe

k, though, and I don't believe there is a good home where she is

to be like G

ook crosse

how infinitely greater she might have been. With such talent as hers undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of

g me another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be fa

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 satisfi

ender, and there was something about him so unlike

ed 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. S