Beth Woodburn Page 5

  CHAPTER V.

  _"FOR I LOVE YOU, BETH."_

  It came soon, her last Sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in thewest. Beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. Do you rememberthat last Sabbath before you left home? Everything, the hills outside,the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you inmute farewell. Beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through theopen door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leapingup in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. She hadalways liked that stove with its cheery fire. Then she turned her eyesto the window and noted that the early September frost had browned herfavorite meadow where the clover bloomed last June, and that the maplesalong the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now alldecked in crimson and yellow.

  Her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked aroundshe saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. Poor father! Hewould miss her, she knew, though he tried not to let her see how much.Aunt Prudence, too, dear old soul, seemed sorry to have her go, but shehad her own peculiar way of expressing it, namely, by getting crosserevery day. She did not approve of so much "larnin'" for girls,especially when Beth was "goin' to be married to that puny Mayfair."Aunt Prudence always said her "say," as she expressed it, but she meantwell and Beth understood.

  Beth was not to go until Friday, and Clarence was to meet her at thestation. He had been called away to the city with his father on businessmore than a week before. Arthur was with them to-day, but he was toleave on the early morning train to join a college mate. He was to be atVictoria University that winter and Beth expected to see him often.

  They had an early supper, and the September sunset streamed through theopen window on the old-fashioned china tea-set. Beth was disappointedafter tea when her father's services were required immediately by apatient several miles away. Arthur and she sat down by that same oldparlor window in the hush of the coming night; a few white clouds werespread like angel wings above and the early stars were shining in thewest. They were silent for a while. Arthur and Beth were often silentwhen together, but the silence was a pleasing, not an embarrassing one.

  "Are you sorry to leave home, Beth?" asked Arthur.

  "Yes, I am; and would you believe it, I thought I'd be so glad to have achange, and yet it makes me sad now the time is drawing near."

  They were silent again for a while.

  "Arthur, do you know, I think it seems so hard for you to go away so farand be a missionary when you are so fond of home and home life."

  He smiled tenderly upon her, but she did not know the meaning of thatsmile then as she knew a little later.

  "It is my Father's will," he said with a sweeter, graver smile.

  "Beth, do you not see how your talent could be used in the missionfield?"

  "He does not know I am going to marry Clarence," she thought with asmile, "and he is going to map out a life work for a maiden lady."

  "No, I don't see how," she answered.

  "You know there is a large proportion of the world that never read sucha thing as a missionary book, and that if more such books were read,missions would be better supported. Now, if someone with bright talentswere to write fascinating stories of Arabian life or life in Palestine,see how much interest would be aroused. But then you would need to liveamong the people and know their lives, and who would know them so wellas a missionary?"

  Beth smiled at his earnestness.

  "Oh, no, Arthur; I couldn't do that."

  His eyes filled in a moment with a sad, pleading look.

  "Beth, can you refuse longer to surrender your life and your life'stoil? Look, Beth," he said, pointing upward to the picture of Christupon the wall, "can you refuse Him--can you refuse, Beth?"

  "Oh, Arthur, don't," she said drooping her face.

  "But I _must_, Beth! Will you enter your Father's service? Once again Iask you."

  Her eyes were turned away and she answered nothing.

  "Beth," he said softly, "I have a more selfish reason for urgingyou--for I love you, Beth. I have loved you since we were childrentogether. Will you be my own--my wife? It is a holy service I ask you toshare. Are you ready, Beth?"

  Her pale face was hidden in her hands. He touched her hair reverently.Tick! tick! tick! from the old clock in the silence. Then a crimsonflush, and she rose with sudden violence.

  "Oh, Arthur, what _can_ you mean? I thought--you seemed my brotheralmost--I thought you would always be that. Oh, Arthur! Arthur! how canyou--how dare you talk so? I am Clarence Mayfair's promised wife."

  "Clarence Mayfair's--" The words died away on his white lips. He leanedupon the mantel-piece, and Beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. His facewas so deathly white. His eyes were shaded by his hand, and his browbore the marks of strong agony. Oh, he was wounded! Those moments wereawful in their silence. The darkness deepened in the old parlor. Therewas a sound of voices passing in the street. The church bell broke thestillness. Softly the old calm crept over his brow, and he raised hisface and looked at her with those great dark eyes--eyes of unfathomabletenderness and impenetrable fire, and she felt that her very soul stoodnaked before him. She trembled and sank on the couch at her side. Hislook was infinitely tender as he came toward her.

  "I have hurt you--forgive me," he said gently, and he laid his hand onher head so reverently for a moment. His white lips murmured something,but she only caught the last words, "God bless you--forever. Good-bye,Beth--little Beth."

  He smiled back upon her as he left the room, but she would rather he hadlooked sad. That smile--she could never forget it, with its wonderfulsweetness and sorrow.

  She sat motionless for a while after he left the room. She felt thrilledand numbed. There are moments in life when souls stand forth from theirclayey frames and touch each other, forgetful of time and space. It wasone of those experiences that Beth had just passed through. She went toher room and crouched down at her window beneath the stars of thatautumn night. Poor Arthur! She was so sad over it all. And he had lovedher! How strange! How could it have been? Loved her since they werechildren, he had said. She had never thought of love coming like that.And they had played together upon that meadow out there. They had grownup together, and he had even lived in her home those few years before hewent to college. No, she had never dreamed of marrying Arthur! But oh,he was wounded so! She had never seen him look like that before. And hehad hoped that she would share his life and his labor. She thought howhe had pictured her far away under the burning sun of Palestine, bathinghis heated brow and cheering him for fresh effort. He had pictured,perhaps, a little humble home, quiet and peaceful, somewhere amid thesnow-crested mountains of the East, where he would walk with her in thecool of night-fall, under the bright stars and clear sky of that distantland. Poor, mistaken Arthur! She was not fitted for such a life, shethought. They were never made for each other. Their ambitions were notthe same. She had found her counterpart in Clarence, and he understoodher as Arthur never could have done. Arthur was a grand, good, practicalman, but there was nothing of the artist-soul in him, she thought. Butshe had hoped that he would always be her own and Clarence's friend. Hewas such a noble friend! And now her hope was crushed. She could neverbe the same to him again, she knew, and he had said farewell.

  "Good-bye, Beth--little Beth," he had said, and she lingered over thelast two words, "little Beth." Yes, she would be "little Beth" to him,forever now, the little Beth that he had loved and roamed with overmeadow and woodland and wayside, in the sunny, bygone days.

  "Good-bye, Beth--little Beth." Poor Arthur!