“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.