Beth Woodburn Read online

  CHAPTER VIII.

  _THE HEAVENLY CANAAN._

  Nearly two months later Beth returned home. Marie had broken off hervisit abruptly, and Clarence had gone away. It was a rainy Saturday, andBeth sat waiting for her father to finish his rounds. Her visit hadrefreshed her, and she looked fairly well again. After all, she had somany bright prospects! She was young and talented. Her novel wasfinished. She would read it through at once, making minor corrections,and then publish it. With all youth's hopefulness, she was sure of fameand worldly success, perhaps of wealth too. She seemed to see a richharvest-field before her as she sat listening to the rain beat on theroof that summer afternoon. But, after all, she was not happy. Somehow,life was all so hollow! So much tangle and confusion! Her young feetwere weary. It was not simply that her love was unreturned. That painedher far less than she would have thought. It was that her idol wasshattered. Only in the last few weeks had she begun to see ClarenceMayfair as he really was. It was a wonderfully deep insight into humannature that Beth had; but she had never applied it where Clarence wasconcerned before, and now that she did, what was it she saw?--a weak,wavering, fickle youth, with a good deal of fine sentiment, perhaps, butwithout firm, manly strength; ambitious, it was true, but never likelyto fulfil his ambitions. The sight pained her. And yet this was the oneshe had exalted so, and had believed a soaring genius. True, his mindhad fine fibre in it, but he who would soar must have strength as wellas wings. Beth saw clearly just what Clarence lacked, and what can paina woman more deeply than to know the object she has idealized isunworthy?

  Beth had not told her father yet that all was at an end between her andClarence. She dreaded telling him that, but she knew he must havelearned it from the Mayfairs during her absence. She sighed as shethought of it all, and just then Dr. Woodburn came in and sat down onthe couch beside her. They talked until the twilight of that rainyafternoon began to deepen. Then they were silent for a while, and Bethsaw her father looking at her with a tender look in his eyes.

  "Beth, my dear child, what is wrong between you and Clarence?"

  She had believed she could tell him all with perfect calmness, but therewas something so very gentle in his look and voice that it disarmed her,and she threw both arms about his neck, and burst into tears.

  "Oh, father, dear, I could not marry him. It would not be right. Heloves Marie de Vere."

  Dr. Woodburn turned away his face, tenderly stroking her hair as sheleaned upon his breast. He spoke no word, but she knew what he felt.

  "Oh, daddy, dear, don't think anything about it," she said, giving him awarm embrace as she looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "I'mnot unhappy. I have so many things to think of, and I have always you,you dear old father. I love you better than anyone else on earth. I willbe your own little daughter always."

  She pressed her arms about him more tightly, and there were tears in hiseyes as he stooped to kiss her brow.

  Beth thought of all his tenderness that night as she lay in bed, andthen slept, with the rain beating on the roof overhead.

  It was a bright sunshiny Sabbath morning when she awoke. She rememberedwith pleasure how much she had liked Mr. Perth, the new minister, thatSunday. She had heard him before she went away. He had seemed such anenergetic, wide-awake, inspiring man! Beth liked that stamp of people.She meant to be a progressive girl. She meant to labor much and to havemuch success.

  She was quite early at church that morning, and interested herself bylooking at Mrs. Perth, whom she had never seen before. She was a fair,slender, girlish creature--very youthful indeed for a married woman. Shehad a great mass of light hair, drawn back plainly from a serenely fairforehead. The fashion became her well, for, in fact, the most strikingthing about her face was its simplicity and purity. She was certainlyplain-looking, but Beth fancied her face looked like the white cup of alily. She had such beautiful blue eyes, too, and such a sweet smile.

  "I think I shall love her. I believe we shall be great friends," thoughtBeth, after she had had an introduction to Mrs. Perth; and they didbecome fast friends.

  Beth had seldom been at Sunday-school since she left home, but animpulse seized her to go this afternoon. She was quite early, and shesat down in a seat by herself to muse awhile. She gazed at the liliesabout the altar and the stained-glass windows above the organ. How longit seemed to look back to that Sunday of two months ago! She shudderedslightly, and tried to change her thoughts, but she could not help goingback to it. It seemed as though years had since passed. So it is always.We go about our daily tasks, and the time passes swiftly or slowly,according as our lives are active or monotonous. Then a crisis comes--anupheaval--a turn in the current. It lasts but a moment, perhaps, butwhen we look back, years seem to have intervened. Beth gave a half sigh,and concluded she was a little weary, as the people poured into theBible-class. Mrs. Perth came and sat beside Beth. Is it not strange how,in this world of formality and convention, we meet someone now andagain, and there is but a look, a word, a, smile, and we feel that wehave known them so long? There is something familiar in their face, andwe seem to have walked beside them all along the way. It was just sowith Beth and Mrs. Perth. Sweet May Perth! She soon learned to call herthat.

  Beth was never to forget that Sunday afternoon. Mr. Perth taught theBible-class. He was an enthusiastic man, reminding her somewhat ofArthur. They were studying, that day, the approach of the Israelites toCanaan, and as Mr. Perth grew more earnest, Beth's face wore a brighterlook of interest. Soon he laid aside historical retrospect, and talkedof the heavenly Canaan toward which Christ's people were journeying, abright land shining in the sunlight of God's love, joy in abundance, joyoverflowing! He looked so happy as he talked of that Divine love,changeless throughout all time, throughout all eternity--a love thatnever forsakes, that lulls the weary like a cradle-song, a love thatsatisfies even the secret longings! Oh, that woman heart of hers, how ityearned, yea, hungered for a love like that love, that could tread theearth in humiliation, bearing the cross of others' guilt, dying there atCalvary! She knew that old, old story well, but she drank it in like alittle wondering child to-day. What were those things He promised tothose who would tread the shining pathway? Life, peace, rest, hope, joyof earth, joy of heaven! Oh, how she longed to go with them! The tearswere standing in her eyes, and her heart was beating faster. But thisone thing she must do, or turn aside from the promised land of God'speople. Down at the feet of Jesus she must lay her all. And what of thatnovel she had written? Could she carry that over into this heavenlyCanaan? "The fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." Herswould perish, she knew that well. Highly moral, highly refined andscholarly, but what of its doubts, its shadows, its sorrows withouthope, its supernatural gloom? Beth was a master-artist in the field ofgloom. She knew how to make her readers shudder, but would that story ofhers bring more joy into the world? Would it sweeten life and warm humanhearts? Ah, no! And yet, could she destroy it now, before itspublication? Could she bear the thought of it? She loved it almost as amother loves her child. A look of indecision crossed her face. But, justthen, she seemed to hear the bells of heaven ringing forth their sweetGospel call. The bright sunshine and the angel voices of a higher lifeseemed to break in on her soul. In a moment--she never knew how itwas--she became willing to surrender all. It was hardly a year since shehad said nay to Arthur, when he asked her to lay her life at the feet ofthat same Jesus of Nazareth. She refused then, and even one hour agoshe would still have refused; but now she would have trudged thehighways, poverty-stricken, unknown and obscure, for His dear sake. Shewould have gone forth, like St. Paul, to the uttermost ends of theearth, she felt she loved Him so! There were tears in her eyes, and anew joy seemed to throb in her heart. She felt so kindly to everyoneabout her. Was it an impulse or what? She laid her hand softly on MayPerth's as she sat beside her, and May, looking into her eyes, seemed toread her heart. She held her hand with a warm, loving pressure, and theywere friends from that hour.

  Even the sunlight looked more golde
n when Beth stepped out into it thatafternoon. Everything had caught a tint from the pearly gates, for thathour had been a turning-point in her life. She had found the secret oflife--the secret of putting self utterly into the background and livingfor others' happiness; and they who find that secret have the key totheir own happiness. The old tinge of gloom in her grey eyes passedaway, and, instead, there came into them the warmth and light of a newlife. They seemed to reach out over the whole world with tendersympathy, like a deep, placid sea, with the sunlight gilding, itsdepths.

  "Beth, you are growing beautiful," her father said to her one day; andthere were something so reverential in his look that it touched her toodeeply to make her vain.

  The four weeks that remained before the first of October, when she wasto return to college, passed quickly. Clarence did not return, and sheheard that he had gone to England, intending to take his degree atCambridge. The Ashleys, too, had left Briarsfield, as Mr. Ashley hadsecured a principalship east of Toronto. Beth heard nothing more ofMarie, though she would so gladly have forgiven her now!

  Beth soon became quite absorbed in her new friend, May Perth. She toldher one day of her fancy that her face looked like a lily-cup. Mrs.Perth only laughed and kissed her, in her sweet, unconscious way. Bethalways loved to kiss May Perth's brow; it was so calm and fair, itreminded her of the white breast of a dove.

  Just three or four days before Beth was to go away, Aunt Prudence cameinto her room at a time when she was alone.

  "Did you ever see this picture that Arthur left in his room when he wentaway last fall?" she asked. "I don't know whether he did it himself ornot."

  She placed it in the light and left the room. Beth recognized it almostinstantly.

  "Why, it's that poem of mine that Arthur liked best of all!" shethought.

  Yes, it was the very same--the grey rocks rising one above another, thebroad white shore, and the lonely cottage, with the dark storm-cloudslowering above it, and the fisherman's bride at the window, pale andanxious, her sunny hair falling about her shoulders as she peered farout across the sea--the black, storm-tossed sea--and far out among thebillows the tiny speck of sail that never reached the shore. Beth was noconnoisseur of art, but she knew the picture before her was intenselybeautiful, even sublime. There was something in it that made her _feel_.It moved her to tears even as Arthur's music had done. No need to tellher both came from the same hand. Besides, no one else had seen thatpoem but Arthur. And Arthur could paint like this, and yet she had saidhe had not an artist soul. She sighed faintly. Poor Arthur! Perhaps,after all, she had been mistaken. And she laid the picture carefullyaway among her treasures.

  Her last evening at home soon came. It was a clear, chilly night, andthey had a fire in the drawing-room grate. It was so cosy to sit therewith her father, resting her head on his shoulders, and watching thecoals glowing in the twilight.

  "Beth, my child, you look so much happier lately. Are you really sohappy?" he said, after they had been talking for a while.

  "Oh, I think life is so very happy!" said Beth, in a buoyant tone. "Andwhen you love Jesus it is so much sweeter, and somehow I like everyoneso much and everybody is so kind. Oh, I think life is grand!"

  Dr. Woodburn was a godly man, and his daughter's words thrilled himsweetly. He brushed away a tear she did not see, and stooped to kiss theyoung cheek resting on his coat-sleeve. They were silent for a fewmoments.

  "Beth, my dear," he said in a softer tone, "Do you know, I thought thattrouble last summer--over Clarence--was going to hurt you more. How isit, Beth?"

  She hesitated a moment.

  "I don't believe I really loved him, father," she said, in a quiet tone,"I thought I did. I thought it was going to break my heart that night Ifound out he loved Marie. But, somehow, I don't mind. I think it is farbetter as it is. Oh, daddy, dear, it's so nice I can tell you thingslike this. I don't believe all girls can talk to their fathers thisway. But I--I always wanted to be loved--and Clarence was different fromother people in Briarsfield, you know, and I suppose I thought we weremeant for each other."

  Dr. Woodburn did not answer at once.

  "I don't think you would have been happy with him, Beth," he said, aftera little. "All has been for the best. I was afraid you didn't know whatlove meant when you became engaged to him. It was only a school-girl'sfancy."

  "Beth, I am going to tell you something," he said a moment later, as hestroked her hair. "People believe that I always took a special interestin Arthur Grafton because his father saved my life when we were boys,but that was not the only reason I loved him. Years ago, down along theOttawa river, Lawrence Grafton was pastor in the town where I had myfirst practice. He was a grand fellow, and we were the greatest friends.I used to take him to see my patients often. He was just the one tocheer them up. Poor fellow! Let's see, it's seventeen years this fallsince he died. It was the first summer I was there, and Lawrence haddriven out into the country with me to see a sick patient. When we werecoming back, he asked me to stop with him at a farm-house, where somemembers of his church lived. I remember the place as if I had seen ityesterday, an old red brick building, with honeysuckle climbing aboutthe porch and cherry-trees on the lawn. The front door was open, andthere was a flight of stairs right opposite, and while we waited for ananswer to the bell a beautiful woman, tall and graceful, paused at thehead of the stairs above us, and then came down. To my eyes she was themost beautiful woman I had ever seen, Beth. She was dressed in white,and had a basket of flowers on her arm. She smiled as she came towardsus. Her hair was glossy-black, parted in the middle, and falling inwaves about her smooth white forehead; but her eyes were her realbeauty, I never saw anything like them, Beth. They were such great,dark, tender eyes. They seemed to have worlds in them. It was not longbefore I loved Florence Waldon. I loved her." His voice had a strange,deep pathos in it. "She was kind to me always, but I hardly dared tohope, and one day I saw her bidding good-bye to Lawrence. It was only alook and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me. I kept silentabout my love from that hour, and one evening Lawrence came to my rooms.

  "'Congratulate me, Arthur!' he cried, in a tone that bubbled over withjoy. I knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed myface. 'Congratulate me, Arthur! I am going to marry Florence Waldon nextmonth, and you must be best man.'

  "I did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and I was best manat the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him Arthurafter me. He is the Arthur Grafton you have known. But poor Lawrence!Little Arthur was only a few months old when she took sick. They calledme in, and I did all I could to save her, but one night, as Lawrence andI stood by her bedside--it was a wild March night, and the wind wasmoaning through the shutters while she slept--suddenly she opened hereyes with a bright look.

  "'Oh, Lawrence, listen, they are singing!' she cried, 'it is sobeautiful; I am going home--good-bye--take care of Arthur,' and she wasgone."

  Dr. Woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster.

  "After that I came to Briarsfield and met your mother, Beth. She seemedto understand from my face that I had suffered, and after we had becomefriends I told her that story, that I had never told to mortal before orsince till now. She was so very tender, and I saw in her face that sheloved me, and by-and-by I took her to wife, and she healed over thewound with her gentle hands. She was a sweet woman, Beth. God bless hermemory. But the strange part of the story is, Florence Waldon's brother,Garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of thepine-wood. She had two other brothers, one a talented editor in theStates, the other a successful lawyer. Garth, too, was a bright,original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up toit. He was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor Lawrencedied he left little Arthur--he was three years old then--to him. Thedear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother. He used to comeand hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do youremember a few years later, when your own sweet mother died, how he cameto com
fort you and filled your lap with flowers?"

  Yes, Beth remembered it all, and the tears were running down her cheeksas she drooped her head in silence. The door-bell broke the stillnessjust then. Dr. Woodburn was wanted. Bidding Beth a hasty but tendergood-bye, he hurried off at the call of duty. Beth sat gazing at thecoal-fire in silence after her father left. Poor dear old father! Whata touching story it was! He must have suffered so, and yet he had buriedhis sorrow and gone about his work with smiling face. Brave, heroicsoul! Beth fell to picturing it all over again with that brilliantimagination of hers, until she seemed to see the tall woman, with herbeautiful dark eyes and hair, coming down the stairs, just as he hadseen her. She seemed to hear the March winds moan as he stepped out intothe night and left the beautiful young wife, pale in death. Then shewent to the window and looked out at the stars in the clear sky, and themeadow tinged with the first frost of autumn; and the pine-wood to thenorth, with the moon hanging like a crescent of silver above it. It wasthere, at that window, Arthur had asked her to be his wife. Poor Arthur!She was glad her father did not know. It would have pained him to thinkshe had refused the son of the woman he had loved.

  Beth lingered a little, gazing at the clear frosty scene before her,then rose with a firm look on her face and went up to her room. Therewas one thing more to be done before she left home to-morrow. She hadresolved upon it. It was dark in her room, but she needed no light torecognize that roll of manuscript in her drawer. She hesitated a momentas she touched it tenderly. Must she do it? Yes, ah, yes! She could notpublish that story now. Just then the picture of Arthur seemed to flashthrough her mind, reading it and tossing it down with that cold, silentlook she had sometimes seen on his face. It was dark in the hall as shecarried it down to the drawing-room grate. She crouched down on thehearth-rug before the coals, and a moment later the flames that playedamong the closely-written sheets lighted her face. Nothing but ablackened parchment now for all that proud dream of fame! The room grewdark again, and only the coals cracking and snapping, and the steadyticking of the old clock on the mantel piece above her head, broke thestillness. It was done. She went to the window and knelt down.

  "Father, I have sacrificed it for Thee. Take this talent Thou hast givenme and use it for Thy honor, for I would serve Thee alone, Father."

  She slept that night with a smile on her lips. Yes, friend, it was ahero's deed, and He who alone witnessed it hath sealed her brow with alight such as martyrs wear in heaven. As for the world, oh, that everybook filled with dark doubts and drifting fears and shuddering gloom hadperished, too, in those flames!