with her in the past.  It was a pleasant room she had, suggestive of her taste—­soft carpet and brightly-cushioned chairs, a tall mirror reflecting the lilies on the stand, and a glimpse of Queen’s Park through the open window.  The next day was Sunday, and Beth sat by Marie while the others went to church.  They listened quietly to the bells peal forth their morning call together, and Beth noted with pleasure that it seemed to soothe Marie as she lay with closed eyes and a half smile on her lips.

“Beth, you have been so much to me this summer.  Your letters were so sweet.  You are a great, grand woman, Beth.”  And she stroked Beth’s hair softly with her frail, wasted hand.

“Do you remember when I used to pride myself on my unbelief?” Her breath failed her for a moment.  “It is past now,” she continued, with a smile.  “It was one Sunday; I had just read one of your letters, and I felt somehow that Jesus had touched me.  I am ready now.  It was hard, so hard at first, to give up life, but I have learned at last to say ’His will be done.’”

Beth could not speak for the sob she had checked in her throat.

“Beth, I may not be here another Sunday.  I want to talk to you, dear.  You remember the old days when that trouble came between you and—­and Clarence.  I was a treacherous friend to you, Beth, to ever let him speak of love to me.  I was a traitor to—­”

“Oh, hush!  Marie, darling, don’t talk so,” Beth pleaded in a sobbing tone.

“I must speak of it, Beth.  I was treacherous to you.  But when you know what I suffered—­” Her breath failed again for a moment.  “I loved him, Beth,” she whispered.

“Marie!” There was silence for a moment, broken only by Marie’s labored breathing.  “I loved him, but I knew he did not love me.  It was only a fancy of his.  I had charmed him for the time, but I knew when I was gone his heart would go back to you—­and now, Beth, I am dying slowly, I ask but one thing more.  I have sent for Clarence.  Let everything be forgotten now; let me see you happy together just as it was before.”

“Oh, hush, Marie!  It cannot be.  It can never be.  You know I told you last fall that I did not love him.”

“Ah, but that is your pride, Beth; all your pride!  Listen to me, Beth.  If I had ten years more to live, I would give them all to see you both happy and united.”

Beth covered her face with her hands, as her tears flowed silently.

“Marie, I must tell you all,” she said, as she bent over her.  “I love another:  I love Arthur!”

“Arthur Grafton!” Marie exclaimed, and her breath came in quick, short gasps, and there was a pained look about her closed eyes.  Beth understood she was grieved for the disappointment of the man she loved.

“And you, Beth—­are you happy?  Does he—­Arthur, I mean—­love you?” she asked, with a smile.