Poor Arthur!  Time had not yet healed his wound, but he was one of those brave souls who can “suffer and be still.”  That night, as he was passing through Briarsfield on the late train, a desire had seized him to go back to the old place just once more, to walk up and down for a little while before the home of the woman he loved.  He did not care to speak to her or to meet her face to face.  She was another’s promised wife.  Only to be near her home—­to breathe one deep blessing upon her, and then to leave before break of day, and she would never know he had been near.  He had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark street toward the Mayfairs’.  After a little while he had followed, even approached the windows of Clarence Mayfair’s home, hoping for one last look.  But he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only seen what filled his heart with sorrow.  A meaner man would have taken advantage of the sight, and exposed his rival.  But Arthur had anything but a mean soul.  He believed Beth loved Clarence, as he thought a woman should love the man to whom she gives her life.  He believed that God was calling him to the mission-field alone.  He had only caught a few words that Clarence had said to Marie, and he fancied it may, after all, have been mere nonsense.  Surely he could not have ceased to love Beth!  Surely he could not be blind to her merits!  Arthur saw only too truly how weak, emotional and changeable Clarence was, but it was not his place to interfere with those whom God had joined.  So he argued to himself.

But the night was passing, and Beth still lay there, no tear on her cold white cheeks.  The clock struck one, a knell-like sound in the night!  Beth lay there, her hands folded on her breast, the prayer unuttered by her still lips—­one for death.  The rest were sleeping quietly in their beds.  They knew nothing of her suffering.  They would never know.  Oh, if that silent messenger would but come now, and still her weary heart!  They would come in the morning to look at her.  Yes; Clarence would come, too.  Perhaps he would love her just a little then.  Perhaps he would think of her tenderly when he saw her with the white roses in her hands.  Oh, was there a God in heaven who could look down on her sorrow to-night, and not in pity call her home?  She listened for the call that would bear her far beyond this earthly strife, where all was such tangle and confusion.  She listened, but she heard it not, and the darkness deepened, the moon grew pale and the stars faded away.  The house was so still!  The whistle of a steam-engine broke the silence, and she saw the red light as the train swept around the curve.  It was bearing Arthur away, and she did not know that one who loved her had been so near!  Then she saw a grey gleam in the east.  Ah, no! she could not die.  The day was coming again, and she would have to face them