rest in His bosom. The house was perfectly still, and she lay there in the darkness and silence, no line changing in the rigid marble of her face. She heard her father's step pass by in the hall; then the old clock struck out the midnight hour, and still she lay in that stupor with drops of cold perspiration on her brow.

Suddenly a change came over her. Her cheeks grew paler still, but her eyes burned. She rose and paced the room, with quick, agitated steps.

"Traitress! Traitress!" she almost hissed through her white lips. "It is her fault. It is her fault. And I called her friend. Friend! Treachery!"

Then she sank upon her bed, exhausted by the outburst of passion, for it took but little of this to exhaust Beth. She was not a passionate girl. Perhaps, never in her life before had she passed through anything like passion, and she lay there now still and white, her hands folded as in death.

In the meantime something else had happened at the Mayfair dwelling. She had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the same scene in the library. He paused but a moment before entering, but even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the hall to the half-open curtains of the library. Marie's face was still drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently, and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the door-way.

"Clarence Mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation. "Clarence Mayfair, you dare to speak words of love to that woman at your side? You! Beth Woodburn's promised husband?"

"Arthur Grafton!" exclaimed Clarence, and Marie drew back through the violet curtains.

A firm hand grasped Clarence by the shoulder, and, white with fear, he stood trembling before his accuser.

"Wretch! unworthy wretch! And you claim her hand! Do you know her worth?"

"In the name of heaven, Grafton, don't alarm the house!" said Clarence, in a terrified whisper. His lip trembled with emotion, and Arthur's dark eyes flashed with fire. There was a shade of pitiful scorn in them, too. After all, what a mere boy this delicate youth looked, he thought. Perhaps he was too harsh. He had only heard a sentence or two outside the 

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