The following day Mr. Perth laid a colored envelope from a large publishing firm in Beth’s lap.  They had accepted her last story for a good round sum, accompanied by most flattering words of encouragement.  As she read the commendatory words, she smiled at the thought of having at least one talent to use in her Master’s service.  Yes, Beth Woodburn of Briarsfield would be famous after all.  It was no vain dream of her childhood.

Four weeks passed and Beth had finished her preparations for returning to college in the fall.  In a few weeks she would be leaving May and the dear old parsonage, but she would be glad to be back at ’Varsity again.  There came a day of heavy rain, and she went out on an errand of charity for May.  When she returned, late in the afternoon, she heard Mr. Perth talking to someone in the study, but that was nothing unusual.  The rain was just ceasing, and the sun suddenly broke through the clouds, filling all the west with glory.  Beth went down into the garden to drink in the beauty.  Rugged clouds stood out like hills of fire fringed with gold, and the great sea of purple and crimson overhead died away in the soft flush of the east, while the wet foliage of the trees and gardens shone like gold beneath the clouds.  It was glorious!  She had never seen anything like it before.  Look! there were two clouds of flame parting about the sunset like a gateway into the beyond, and within all looked peaceful and golden.  Somehow it made her think of Marie.  Poor Marie!  Why had Clarence’s love for her been unreal?  Why could she not have lived and they been happy together?  Love and suffering!  And what had love brought to her?  Only pain.  She thought of Arthur, too.  Perhaps he was happiest of all.  He seemed to have forgotten.  But she—­ah, she could never forget!  Yet, “Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy sight.”  And she pulled a bunch of fall flowers from the bush at her side, careless of the rain-drops that shook on her bare head as she touched the branches.  She did not know that she was being observed from the study window.

“She is going to be a missionary, isn’t she?” said the stranger who was talking to Mr. Perth.

“Yes; she hasn’t decided her field yet, but she will make a grand one wherever she goes.  She’s a noble girl; I honor her.”

“Yes, she is very noble,” said the stranger slowly, as he looked at her.  She would have recognized his voice if she had been within hearing, but she only pulled another spray of blossoms, without heeding the sound of the study door shutting and a step approaching her on the gravelled walk.

“Beth.”

“Arthur!  Why, I—­I thought you were in Montreal!”

“So, I was.  I just got there a few days ago, but I turned around and came back to-day to scold you for getting your feet wet standing there in the wet grass.  I knew you didn’t know how to take care of yourself.”  There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  “Didn’t I always take care of you when you were little?”