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 beautiful smile, and there was something in his hand of bright gold—­the brightest gold she had ever seen.  It was a golden spear with a tiny ring on one end and a mass of chain hanging to it; but lo! when she looked around her she saw it had filled the place with a beautiful mystic light, a golden halo.  Then he drew her nearer, nearer to his bosom, and in a moment she felt the spear point touch her heart!  An instant of pain, then it pierced her with a deep, sweet thrill.  She felt it even to her finger tips.  She awoke with a start, but she could almost feel that thrill even after she was awake.  She could not sleep again quickly, but lay watching the stars and the moonlight growing paler on her book-case.  Sleep came at length, and when she awoke again it was at the sound of Mr. Owen’s jolly “Heigho!  Everybody up!  Everybody up!” This was a way he had of waking the children in good time for breakfast, and it had the merit of always arousing the boarders, too.  Beth naturally supposed that the musician she had heard the night before had been a caller, and so made no enquiries.

The following Sunday evening Beth went to church alone.  It was only three or four blocks up to the Central, and Beth was never timid.  She did not look around the church much, or she would have recognized a familiar face on the east side.  It was Clarence Mayfair’s; he was paler than usual, and his light curly hair looked almost artificial in the gaslight.  There was something sadder and more manly in his expression, and his eyes were fixed on Beth with a reverent look.  How pure she was, he thought, how serene; her brow looked as though an angel-hand had smoothed it in her slumber.  She seemed to breathe a benediction on everything around her; she reminded him of an image of an angel bending in prayer, that he had seen in one of the old cathedral windows 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 months ago.  What was it that had changed him from boyhood to manhood so suddenly?  He did not try to answer the question, but only felt conscious of the change