_A DREAM OF LIFE._
It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror
fastening the moss roses in her belt. Arthur had gone away with her
father to see a friend, and would not return till well on in the
evening. Aunt Prudence gave her the customary warning about not staying
late and Beth went off with a lighter heart than usual. It was a
delightful day. The homes all looked so cheery, and the children were
playing at the gates as she went down the street. There was one her eye
dwelt on more than the rest. The pigeons were strutting on the sloping
roof, the cat dozed in the window-sill, and the little fair-haired girls
were swinging under the cherry-tree. Yes, marriage and home must be
sweet after all. Beth had always said she never would marry. She wanted
to write stories and not have other cares. But school girls change
their views sometimes.
It was only a few minutes' walk to the Mayfair residence beside the
lake. Beth was familiar with the place and scarcely noticed the great
old lawn, the trees almost concealing the house: that pretty fountain
yonder, the tennis ground to the south, and the great blue Erie
stretching far away.
Edith Mayfair came down the walk to meet her, a light-haired, winsome
creature, several years older than Beth. But she looked even younger.
Hers was such a child-like face! It was pretty to see the way she twined
her arm about Beth. They had loved each other ever since the Mayfairs
had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair were
sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs. Mayfair; she was such
a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. Mr.
Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To Beth's literary mind there
was something about the Mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. They
were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in
Briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment.
It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into--a pleasing
confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying
on the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's
attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High
School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had
become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their
names. Beth looked up and saw Edith watching her with a smiling,
blushing face. The next minute she threw both arms about Beth.
"Can't you guess what I was going to tell you, Beth, dear?"
"Why, Edith, are you and Mr. Ashley--"
"Yes, dear. I thought you would guess."
Beth only hugged her by way of congratulation, and Edith laughed a
little hysterically. Beth was used to these emotional fits of Edith's.
Then she began to question--
"When is it to be?"
"September. And you will be my bridesmaid, won't you, dear?"
Beth promised.
"Oh, Beth, I think marriage is the grandest institution God ever made."
Beth had a strange dream-like look in her eyes, and the tea-bell broke
their reverie.
Mr. Ashley had dropped in for tea, and Clarence sat beside Beth, with
Edith and her betrothed opposite. It was so pleasant and home-like,
with the pink cluster of roses smiling in at the window.
After tea, Edith and Mr. Ashley seemed prepared for a _tête-à-tête_, in
which Mrs. Mayfair was also interested; and Clarence took Beth around to
the conservatory to see a night-blooming cirius. It was not out yet, and
so they went for a promenade through the long grounds toward the lake.
Beth never forgot that walk in all her life to come. Somehow she did not
seem herself. All her ambition and struggle seemed at rest. She was a
child, a careless child, and the flowers bloomed around her, and
Clarence was at her side. The lake was very calm when they reached it;
the stars were shining faintly, and they could see Long Point Island
like a long dark line in the distant water.
"Arthur is going to take me over to the island this week," said Beth.
They had just reached a little cliff jutting out over the water. It was,
perhaps, one of the most picturesque scenes on the shores of Lake Erie.
"Wouldn't it be grand to be on this cliff and watch a thunderstorm
coming up over the lake?" said Beth.
"You are very daring Beth--Miss Woodburn. Edith would rather hide her
head under the blankets."
"Do you know, I really love thunderstorms," continued Beth. "It is such
a nice safe feeling to lie quiet and sheltered in bed and hear the
thunder crash and the storm beat outside. Somehow, I always feel more
deeply that God is great and powerful, and that the world has a live
ruler." She stopped rather suddenly. Clarence never touched on religious
subjects in conversation--
"Dear, what a ducking Arthur and I got in a thunderstorm one time. We
were out hazel-nutting and--"
"Do you always call Mr. Grafton Arthur?" interrupted Clarence, a little
impatiently.
"Oh, yes! Why, how funny it would seem to call Arthur Mr. Grafton!"
"Beth"--he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,--"Beth, do you love
Arthur Grafton?"
"Love Arthur! Why, dear, no! I never thought of it. He's just like my
brother. Besides," she continued after a pause, "Arthur is going away
off somewhere to be a missionary, and I don't think I could be happy if
I married a man who wasn't a writer."
That was very naive of Beth. She forgot Clarence's literary
pretensions.
"Then can you love me, Beth? Don't you see that I love you?"
There was a moment's silence. Their eyes met in a long, earnest look. An
impulse of tenderness came over her, and she threw both arms about his
neck as he clasped her to his breast. The stars were shining above and
the water breaking at their feet. They understood each other without
words.
"Oh, Clarence, I am so happy, so very happy!"
The night air wafted the fragrance of roses about them like incense.
They walked on along the shore, happy lovers, weaving their life-dreams
under the soft sky of that summer night.
"I wonder if anyone else is as happy as we are, Beth!"
"Oh, Clarence, how good we ought to be! I mean to always be kinder and
to try and make other people happy, too."
"You are good, Beth. May God bless our lives."
She had never seen Clarence so earnest and manly before. Yes, she was
very much in love, she told herself.
They talked much on the way back to the house. He told her that his
father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be
several years before he himself could marry. But Beth's brow was not
clouded. She wanted her college course, and somehow Clarence seemed so
much more manly with a few difficulties to face.
A faint sound of music greeted them as they reached the house. Edith was
playing her guitar. Mrs. Mayfair met them on the veranda.
"Why, Clarence, how late you've kept the child out," said Mrs. Mayfair
with a motherly air. "I'm afraid you will catch cold, Miss Woodburn;
there is such a heavy dew!"
Clarence went up to his mother and said something in a low tone. A
pleased look lighted her face.
"I am so glad, dear Beth, my daughter. I shall have another daughter in
place of the one I am giving away."
She drew the girl to her breast with tender affection. Beth had been
motherless all her life, and the caress was sweet and soothing to her.
Edith fastened her cape and kissed her fondly when she was going home.
Clarence went with her, and somehow everything was so dream-like and
unreal that even the old rough-cast home looked strange and shadowy in
the moon-light. It was perhaps a relief that her father had not yet
returned.
She was smiling and happy, but even her own little room seemed strangely
unnatural that night. She stopped just inside the door and looked at it,
the moonlight streaming through the open window upon her bed. Was she
really the same Beth Woodburn that had rested there last night and
thought about the roses. She took them out of her belt now. A sweetly
solemn feeling stole over her, and she crossed over and knelt at the
window, the withered roses in her hand, her face upturned to heaven.
Sacred thoughts filled her mind. She had longed for love, someone to
love, someone who loved her; but was she worthy, she asked herself, pure
enough, good enough? She felt to-night that she was kneeling at an
unseen shrine, a bride, to be decked by the holy angels in robes whiter
than mortal ever saw.
Waves of sweet music aroused her. She started up as from a dream,
recognizing at once the touch of the same hand that she had heard in the
distance the night before, and it was coming from their own parlor
window, right beneath hers! She held her breath almost as she stole out
and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the parlor. Why, it was
Arthur! Was it possible he could play like that? She made a striking
picture as she stood there on the stairs, her great grey eyes drinking
in the music: but she was relieved somehow when it ceased. It was
bright, quick, inspiring; but it seemed to make her forget her new-born
joy while it lasted.