are yours, with
your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?"

"Ah, yes. Arthur, but then--I am drifting somehow. Life is bearing me
another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be famous, and
perhaps wealthy, too, but I am drifting with the years."

"But it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, Beth.
You will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. Do
you not see there are two paths before you? Which will you choose, Beth?
'For self?' or 'for Jesus?' The one will bring you fame and wealth,
perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not be
satisfied. The other--oh, it would make you so much happier! Your books
would be read at every fire-side, and Beth Woodburn would be a name to
be loved. You are drifting--but whither, Beth?"

His voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was
something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget those
last words.

The moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her dreams,
and she and Clarence were alone together in a lovely island garden. It
was so very beautiful--a grand temple of nature, its aisles carpeted
with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a star-strewn sea
all round! No mortal artist could have planned that mysteriously
beautiful profusion of flowers--lily and violet, rose and oleander,
palm-tree and passion-vine, and the olive branches and orange blossoms
interlacing in the moon-light above them. Arthur was watering the tall
white lilies by the water-side and all was still with a hallowed silence
they dared not break. Suddenly a wild blast swept where they stood. All
was desolate and bare, and Clarence was gone. In a moment the bare rocks
where she had stood were overwhelmed, and she was drifting far out to
sea--alone! Stars in the sky above--stars in the deep all round and the
winds and the waters were still! And she was drifting--but whither?

CHAPTER IV.

_MARIE._

"Isn't she pretty?"

"She's picturesque looking."

"Pretty? picturesque? I think she's ugly!"

These were the varied opinions of a group of Briarsfield girls who were
at the station when the evening train stopped. The object of their
remarks was a slender girl whom the Mayfairs received with warmth. It
was Marie de Vere--graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and
daintily dressed brown hair. This was the girl that Beth and Arthur wer