“Do you know any of the girls over at the college who would like to get a room, Miss Clayton?”

“No, but I might find some one.”

“Mr. Grafton has moved out of his room for some reason, I don’t know what.”

“Mr.—­whom did you say?” asked Beth.

“Mr. Grafton.  Did you know him?  A tall, dark fellow!  Goes to Victoria.  Quite good-looking!”

“Why, surely, can it be Arthur Grafton!  That’s just who it is!  Why, how funny we never met each other coming in and out!”

“Did you know him, Beth?” asked Mabel.  “I met him once or twice in the halls, but I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Yes, I have known him ever since we were children.”

“Oh, then you have heard him play,” said Mrs. Owens.  “He played for us Thanksgiving eve.  He’s a splendid musician.”

Beth felt just a tinge of disappointment that night as she passed the closed door of the room Arthur had occupied.  She wondered 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 could not love him, she thought.  She could never, never do that!  In fact, she did not believe she would ever love any man.

“Some people are not made for marriage, and I think I’m one of them.”  And Beth sighed faintly and fell asleep.

CHAPTER X.

DEATH.

Christmas eve, and Beth was home for her two weeks’ holidays.  It was just after tea, and she and her father thought the parlor decidedly cosy, with the curtains drawn and the candles flaming among the holly over the mantel-piece.  It seemed all the cosier because of the storm that raged without.  The sleet was beating against the pane, and the wind came howling across the fields.  Beth parted the curtains once, and peeped out at the snow-wreaths whirling and circling round.

“Dear! such a storm!  I am glad you’re not out to-night, daddy.”

Beth came back to the fire-side, and passed her father a plate of fruit-cake she had made herself.

“It’s too fresh to be good, but you mustn’t find any fault.  Just eat every bit of it down.  Oh, Kitty, stop!”

They had been cracking walnuts on the hearth-rug, and Beth’s pet kitten was amusing itself by scattering the shells over the carpet.

Beth sat down on the footstool at her father’s feet.

“You look well after your fall’s work, Beth; hard study doesn’t seem to hurt you.”

“I believe it agrees with me, father.”

“Did you see much of Arthur while you were in Toronto, Beth?  I was hoping you would bring him home for the Christmas holidays.”

“No, I never saw him once.”

“Never saw him once!”

He looked at her a little sternly.

“Beth, what is the matter between you and Arthur?”

Ding!  The old door-bell sounded.  Beth drooped her head, but the bell had attracted her father’s attention, and Aunt Prudence thrust her head into the parlor in her unceremonious way.