from flight. She stood
before him, within reach of his hands.

His first words reassured her somewhat: "Phoebe, your aunt has told me
that you are going to Philadelphia to study music."

"Yes. Isn't it fine! I'm so happy----" she stopped. Displeasure was
written plainly upon his countenance. "Don't you think it's all right,
Phares?"

"I think it is a great mistake," he said gravely. "Why not spend your
time on something of value to yourself and your friends and the world in
general?"

"But music is of great value. Why, the world needs it as it needs
sunshine!"

"But, Phoebe, you must remember you do not come of a people who stand
before the worldly and lift their voices for the joy of the multitude of
curious people. Your voice is right as it is and needs no training. It
is as God gave it to you and is made to be used in His service, in His
Church and your home."

"But I have always wanted to learn to sing well, really well. So I am
going to Philadelphia this winter and take lessons from a competent
teacher."

"Phoebe," exhorted the preacher, "put away the temptation before it
grips you so strongly that you cannot shake it off. You must not go!"

He spoke the last words in a tone of authority which the girl answered,
"Phares, let us speak of something else. You know I have some of the
Metz determination in my make-up and I can't be easily forced to give up
a cherished plan. At any rate, we must not quarrel about it."

The preacher forbore to try further argument or persuasion. He became
grave. His habitual serenity of mind was disturbed by shadowy
forebodings--when the pebbles of doubt drop into the placid pool of
content it invariably follows that the waters become agitated for a
time. Hitherto he had been hopeful of winning Phoebe. Had he not known
her and loved her all her life! What was more natural than that their
friendship should culminate in a deeper feeling!

He stretched out his hand in a sudden rush of feeling--"Phoebe, I love
you."

She stepped back a pace and his hand fell to his side.

"Don't, Phares," she began, but the next moment she realized that she
could not turn aside his love without listening to him.

"Phoebe, you must listen--I love you, I have loved you all my life.
Can't you say that you care for me?"

"Don't ask me that!" she pleaded. "I don't want to marry anybody now.
All my life I have dreamed of going to a city and studying music and I
can't let the opportunity slip awa