Woodburn to be his wife, and but
for that fickle faithlessness of his, who knew what might have been? And
yet it was better so--better for _her_--God bless her. And the thought
of her drew him heavenward that night.

The next day Beth was on her way to Toronto to see Marie. She was in a
pensive mood as she sat by the car window, gazing at the farm-lands
stretching far away, and the wooded hill-sides checkered by the sunlight
shining through their boughs. There is always a pleasant diversion in a
few hours' travel, and Beth found herself drawn from her thoughts by the
antics of a negro family at the other end of the car. A portly colored
woman presided over them; she had "leben chilen, four dead and gone to
glory," as she explained to everyone who questioned her.

It was about two o'clock when Beth reached Toronto, and the whirr of
electric cars, the rattle of cabs and the mixed noises of the city
street would all have been pleasantly exciting to her young nerves but
for her thoughts of Marie. She wondered at her coming to the city to
spend her last days, but it was quiet on Grenville Street, where she was
staying with her friends, the Bartrams. Beth was, indeed, struck by the
change in her friend when she entered the room. She lay there so frail
and shadow-like among her pillows, her dark cheeks sunken, though
flushed; but her eyes had still their old brilliancy, and there was an
indefinable gentleness about her. Beth seemed almost to feel it as she
stooped to kiss her. The Bartrams were very considerate, and left them
alone together as much as possible, but Marie was not in a talking mood
that day. Her breath came with difficulty, and she seemed content to
hold Beth's hand and smile upon her, sometimes through tears that
gathered silently. Bright, sparkling Marie! They had not been wont to
associate tears with her in the past. It was a pleasant room she had,
suggestive of her taste--soft carpet and brightly-cushioned chairs, a
tall mirror reflecting the lilies on the stand, and a glimpse of Queen's
Park through the open window. The next day was Sunday, and Beth sat by
Marie while the others went to church. They listened quietly to the
bells peal forth their morning call together, and Beth noted with
pleasure that it seemed to soothe Marie as she lay with closed eyes and
a half smile on her lips.

"Beth, you have been so much to me this summer. Your letters were so
sweet. You are a great, grand woman, Beth." And she