ot help
laughing at Beth's statement.

"You are such a hero-worshipper, Beth!" she said. "You put a person up
on a pedestal, and then endow him with all the virtues under the sun."

A peculiar look crossed Beth's face. She remembered one whom she had
placed on the pedestal of genius, and the idol had fallen, shattered at
her feet.

She was still the same emotional Beth. There were times when without any
outward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost
cried out, "Oh stay, happy moment, till I drink to the full my draught
of joy!"

Arthur's painting hung above Beth's study table, and sometimes a shadow
crossed her face as she looked at it. She missed the old friendship, and
she wondered, too, that she never met him anywhere.

Beth did not go home at Thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted
it the evening before. She was a little homesick for "daddy," and to
dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early. Her
head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of
music in the drawing-room down-stairs. She rose in bed to listen, it was
so like Arthur's music. She was not at all familiar with the piece, but
it thrilled her somehow. There was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes
at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was
bearing her very soul away! Then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold
and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her eyes! Clearer again,
and more triumphant! Her lips parted as she listened. One sweet
prolonged swell, and it died away. She listened for more, but all was
silent. She looked out of the window at the stars in the clear sky, and
the dark shadow of St. Michael's tower on the snow-covered college roof,
then fell back among the pillows to sleep and dream.

She was walking again on the old path by the road-side at home, just as
she used to go every evening for the milk. The dusk was deepening and
she began to hurry, when she noticed a tall, dark figure ahead. As she
drew nearer she recognized Arthur's broad shoulders and well-set head.
Then a strange, indefinable fear seized her. She did not want to
overtake him, to meet him face to face. She tried to slacken her steps,
but a mysterious, resistless wind seemed to bear her forward against her
will. Not a leaf stirred. All was still around her, and yet that
uncanny, spirit-like wind urged her on. She struggled, and although
Arthur never looked back