window, and he might have judged too harshly.

"I know it, I know I have wronged her," said Clarence, in a choked voice; "but don't betray me!"

There was a ring of true penitence and sorrow in the voice that touched Arthur, and as he raised his face to that picture of the Crucifixion on the wall, it softened gradually.

"Well, perhaps I am severe. May God forgive you, Clarence. But it is hard for a man to see another treat the woman he—well, there, I'll say no more. Only promise me you will be true to her—more worthy of her."

"I will try, Arthur. Heaven knows I have always meant to be honorable."

"Then, good-bye, Clarence. Only you need not tell Beth you have seen me to-night," said Arthur, as he turned to leave; "I shall be out of Briarsfield before morning."

Poor Arthur! Time had not yet healed his wound, but he was one of those brave souls who can "suffer and be still." That night, as he was passing through Briarsfield on the late train, a desire had seized him to go back to the old place just once more, to walk up and down for a little while before the home of the woman he loved. He did not care to speak to her or to meet her face to face. She was another's promised wife. Only to be near her home—to breathe one deep blessing upon her, and then to leave before break of day, and she would never know he had been near. He had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark street toward the Mayfairs'. After a little while he had followed, even approached the windows of Clarence Mayfair's home, hoping for one last look. But he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only seen what filled his heart with sorrow. A meaner man would have taken advantage of the sight, and exposed his rival. But Arthur had anything but a mean soul. He believed Beth loved Clarence, as he thought a woman should love the man to whom she gives her life. He believed that God was calling him to the mission-field alone. He had only caught a few words that Clarence had said to Marie, and he fancied it may, after all, have been mere nonsense. Surely he could not have ceased to love Beth! Surely he could not be blind to her merits! Arthur saw only too truly how weak, emotional and changeable Clarence was, but it was not his place to interfere with those whom God had joined. So he argued to himself.

But the night was passing, and Beth still lay there, no tear on her cold white 

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