abeth heard of the effect of the poem from Estella. She wrote a
rapturous letter, two pages of which were filled with congratulations,
the other ten with a description of the perfectly horrid, mean way the
Olivers were acting--except Horace--and the perfectly frightful time
she was having with all her clamoring suitors. Horace was not excepted
this time. She ended up by declaring she almost felt like marrying
Horry just to spite Madeline--who still refused to notice her
socially,--only he had been Beth's beau so long, she felt it would be
cruel and wicked.

Elizabeth wrote renouncing all claim upon the youth, and signing over
whatever rights she may have had to Estella. She sighed a little over
Madeline's case, for they had been old school-mates, and Elizabeth felt
keenly her position as usurper. Nevertheless, she was happier now than
she had been since she left The Dale as Mrs. Jarvis's companion. She
believed that her pen had found for her a purpose in life. Under all
Elizabeth's gay exterior, unquenched by the idle life of fashion, there
lay a strong desire to be of use in a large, grand way--the old Joan of
Arc dream. When she had first entered the new world with Mrs. Jarvis,
her dream had centered about Eppie, her forlorn little school-mate.
The pathos of Eppie's old-fashioned figure and pale face had never
ceased to touch Elizabeth's heart.

At first her conscience, trained by Mother MacAllister, had rebelled at
the thought of accepting a luxurious home from the woman who had,
through callous indifference, allowed Eppie to be turned away from her
poor little log-cabin home in the forest. But Elizabeth could never
have explained to her aunt her reluctance to accept the brilliant
prospects before her, so she had gone into the new life determined to
use whatever influence she could gain with her new companion towards
bringing back Eppie and her grandfather to Forest Glen. But the years
had passed, and, so far, she had accomplished nothing. Old Sandy and
Eppie had disappeared, and even should she find them Elizabeth had
little hope of help from Mrs. Jarvis. She could be indolently and
weakly generous in the face of a pressing need, presented directly to
her, but her young companion had always found her callously indifferent
to any tale of distress that called for an effort of any sort.

And so Elizabeth's ambition had gradually waned, until she was in
danger of developing into a mere woman of fashion. B