Beth did not go home at Thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted it the evening before.  She was a little homesick for “daddy,” and to dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early.  Her head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of music in the drawing-room down-stairs.  She rose in bed to listen, 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 eyes!  Clearer again, and more triumphant!  Her lips parted as she listened.  One sweet prolonged swell, and it died away.  She listened for more, but all was silent.  She looked out of the window at the stars in the clear sky, and the dark shadow of St. Michael’s tower on the snow-covered college roof, then fell back among the pillows to sleep and dream.

She was walking again on the old path by the road-side at home, just as she used to go every evening for the milk.  The dusk was deepening and she began to hurry, when she noticed a tall, dark figure ahead.  As she drew nearer she recognized Arthur’s broad shoulders and well-set head.  Then a strange, indefinable fear seized her.  She did not want to overtake him, to meet him face to face.  She tried to slacken her steps, but a mysterious, resistless wind seemed to bear her forward against her will.  Not a leaf stirred.  All was still around her, and yet that uncanny, spirit-like wind urged her on.  She struggled, and although Arthur never looked back, she felt that he knew all about her struggles.  At last she made one mighty effort and tore herself free.  She took the path on the other side of the road.  It was all quiet there, and she walked on slowly.  The darkness grew thicker, and she lost sight of Arthur.  Then the country became quite new to her.  There were bridges every little way—­old rickety bridges, that creaked beneath her step, with holes where she caught her feet, and 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.