Beth Woodburn

nothing of her whereabouts. In fact, there had been a complete change of boarders. The house was filled with 'Varsity girls this year, with the exception of Mar

ving Mabel Clayton. She belonged to the Students' Volunteer Movement, and as this was her last year at co

mer passed. A Victoria student was occupying Marie's old room, but as he took his meals out of the house Beth never even saw him. One of the g

some little act of kindness to be done. Beth soon began to believe the girls of University College were the very kindest in the world; but she would have been surpr

d once to Mabel Clayton. "I'm not in love

. Tracy's, too, but she could not

d. "You put a person up on a pedestal, and then

d one whom she had placed on the pedestal of geniu

utward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost crie

shadow crossed her face as she looked at it. She missed the old f

it was so like Arthur's music. She was not at all familiar with the piece, but it thrilled her somehow. There was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was bearing her very soul away! Then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her ey

d she could hear the great wild torrents rushing below in the darkness. She grew frightened. Oh, how she wished Arthur were there! Then suddenly it grew lighter, and she saw that her path was turning, and lo! there was Arthur! A moment more and their paths would meet. He reached the spot a few steps before her, and turning, looked at her just once, but she saw in his look that he knew all that had passed in her heart. "Follow me," he said, with a tender look; and she followed in silence where the path led between the steep, high banks, where strange flowers were clinging in the dim light. She was quite content now, not frightened any longer. Then the bank opened by their pathway, and he led her into a strange, sandy, desert-looking place. They entered a shadowy tent, and in the dim light she could see strange faces, to whom Arthur was talking. No one noticed her, but she did not feel slighted, for though he did not look at her, she felt that he was thinking of her. Then suddenly the strange faces vanished, and she was alone with Arthur. He came toward her with such a

dows across the sea. And yet, after knowing a woman like that, he had fancied he could-even fancied he did-love Marie de Vere. What folly had blinded him then, he wondered? Marie had her charms, to be sure, with those dark, bewitching eyes of hers, so kind and sympathetic, so bright and witty and entertaining. But there was something about Marie that was fleeting, something about Beth that was abiding; Marie's charms bewitched while she was present and were soon forgotten, but Beth's lingered in the memory and deepened with the years. It was well, after all, he thought, that Marie had refused his offer of marriage that morning he received Beth's note, and went to her in the heat of his passion. He was but a boy then, and yet it was only a few mon

a tone of astonishment. "Why,

but I am ba

e going to take a

her finishing my course. I am doing some work along the journalistic line at pres

he wondered if they were engaged, and if so where she was, but she soon controlled herself and asked him about his trip to England, about his mother, about his work, about Edith and everything else of possible or impossible interest. She was relieved, without knowing why, that it was only a few blocks to her boarding-pla

denly and walked back by St. Mary's Street to Yonge. The street was almost deserted; there was only one figure in sight, a tall man drawing nearer. There was No.--, where he had left Beth at the door. He had just passed a few more doors when a familiar voice startled him. It was Arthur Grafton! Cla

spend the evening with

there, not to call on Beth the f

hed to have nothing to do with Clarence Mayfair's promised wife. She was nothing to him. Should he encourage the love he felt for another's wife? No! He had loved with all the strength of that love that comes but once to any human heart, and he had suffered as only the strong and silent can suffer; but he had resolved to bury his

her. She opened the door-and there stood Marie! In the first moment of her surprise Beth forgot everything that had separated them, and threw both arms about her in the

Clarence, and she finds it difficult, poor girl

have wronged you. I have come

t in emergencies, so she only looked at her with her gre

ested him, I suppose. That was all. He is true to you in the depths of his heart, Beth. It was my fa

ed to choke he

e me, Beth? Can

er fur cape falling back from her sho

friend tenderly, forgetting all t

you-I love you still. O

larence did not love her, of her wounded vanity, her mistaken belief in the genuineness of

on at all who made the tr

no! What could he h

, at least Clarence thou

but Marie only contin

heart, dear Beth. You will come toget

e past was folly. All

drifted across Marie's brow. "You think

d them just then, as Mrs. Owen

ssed her

was a tender sadness in her dark eyes. Beth did not know its

dered sometimes if Marie had seen him, but though they saw each other occa

n the first step of the second flight to tell her some funny little story. Beth was in one of her merry moods that night. Beth was not a wit, but she had her vein of mirth, and the girls used to say she was growin

te-book down stairs. Wait

room open, and a tall man stepped into the hall, but as it was dark below she could not see his face. S

The woman he-hush! Clarence Mayfair's promised wife! She looked even beautiful as she stoo

l dear. I can wait," she sa

at faster now that he grasped the truth. He turned again to his room, filled with the soft radiance of moonlight. He leaned back in his study chair, his eyes closed; he could hear the students of St. Michael's chanting an evening hymn, and an occasional cab rattled past in the street be

Yes; but the cold ashes will lie there in the heart-the dust of our dead ideal! Would such a fate be Arthur's? No. There was no room in that great pulsing heart of his for anything that was cold-no room for the chill of forgetfulness. Strive as he might, he knew he could never forget. What then remained? Even in that hour a holier radiance lighted his brow. Strong to bear the burdens and sorrows of others, he had learned to cast all his care upon One who had never forsaken him-even his unrequited love. He laid it on the altar of his God, to bloom afresh, a beauteous flower transplanted by the River of Life, beyond the blight of envy and of care-beyond, yet

fore tea, that Beth and Mabel Clayton were

ver at the college who would li

might fin

t of his room for some re

id you say?

? A tall, dark fellow! Goes to

That's just who it is! Why, how funny we

l. "I met him once or twice in the h

n him ever since

id Mrs. Owens. "He played for us Thank

dered why he never tried to find her. It was unkind of him to break the old friendship so coldly. It was not her fault she

ge, and I think I'm one of them." An