dog came bounding up--and Beth awoke,
thinking it was her soul that had returned to her, restored.

* * * * *

Beth realized that she had half-expected Bedient to re-enter that open
door.... Reflecting upon the days, she found that he had done none of
the things she had half-expected. Only, while she had believed herself
comparatively unresponsive, he had filled her with a deep, silent
inrushing. One by one he had swept away the ramparts which the world
had builded before her heart. So softly and perfectly had he fitted his
nature to her inner conception that she had not been roused in time.
But the Shadowy Sister had known him for her prince of playmates....
She wondered how she could have been so wilful and so blind with her
painter's strong eyes. Even her pride had betrayed her. Wordling and
the ocean could not continue to stand against all the good he had shown
her.

Beth had run away for a few days. She could not bear her mother's eyes,
nor the studio where he had been. Better the house of strangers, two
hours from New York up the Hudson.... She heard he had gone back to his
Island.... The June days drowsed. The mid-days were slow to come to as
far hills; and endless to pass as hills that turn into ranges. The
sloping afternoons were aeon-long; and centuries of toil were told in
the hum of the bees about her window, toil to be done over and over
again; and sometimes from the murmur of the bees, would appear to her
like a swiftly-flung scroll, glimpses of her other lives, filled like
this with endless waiting--for she was always a woman. And for what was
she waiting?...

Often she thought of what Bedient had said about the women who refuse
the bowl of porridge, and who therefore do not leave their children to
brighten the race. These he had called the centres of new and radiant
energy, the spiritual mothers of the race. And one night she cried
aloud: "Would one be less a spiritual help, because she had a little of
her own heart's desire? Because she held the highest office of woman,
would her outer radiance be dimmed? To be a spiritual mother, why must
she be just a passing influence or inspiration--a cheer for those who
stop a moment to refresh themselves from her little cup, and hurry on
about their own near and dear affairs, in which she has no share?... He
stands in a big, bright garden and commands the spiritual mother to
remain a waif out on the dusty highway. 'How much bette