and in the rear of the crowd was one face, deadly pale, but calm. It was
Clarence. How pure she looked, he thought. Pure as the lilies hanging in
clusters above her head! Was she of the earth--clay, like these others
about her? The very tone of her voice seemed to have caught a note from
above. No, he had never been worthy of her! Weak, fickle, wave-tossed
soul that he was! A look of humiliation crossed his face, then a look of
hope. If he had never been worthy of her hand he would be worthy at
least to have loved her in vain. He would be what she would have had him
be. It was over; the last words were said; the music broke forth, and
the little gold band gleamed on Beth's fair hand as it lay on Arthur's
arm. He led her down the aisle, smiling and happy. Oh, joy! joy
everlasting! joy linking earth to heaven! They rested that night in
Beth's old room at the parsonage, and as the door closed behind them
they knelt together--man and wife. Sacred hour!

Out beneath the stars of that still Christmas eve was one who saw the
light shine from their window as he passed and blessed them. He carried
a bunch of lilies in his hand as he made his way to a long white mound
in the church-yard. Poor Marie! He stooped and laid them in the snow,
the pure white snow--pure as the dead whose grave it covered! pure as
the vows he had heard breathed that night!

* * * * *

Seven years have passed, and Beth sits leaning back in a rocker by the
window, in the soft bright moonlight of Palestine. And what have the
years brought to Beth? She is famous now. Her novels are among the most
successful of the day. She has marked out a new line of work, and the
dark-eyed Jewish characters in her stories have broadened the sympathies
of her world of readers. But the years have brought her something
besides literary fame and success in the mission-field. By her side is a
little white cot, and a little rosy-cheeked boy lies asleep upon the
pillow, one hand, thrown back over his dark curls--her little Arthur.

There is a step beside her, and her husband bends over her with a loving
look.

"It is seven years to-night since we were married, Beth."

There are tears in her smiling eyes as she looks up into his face.

"And you have never regretted?" he asks.

"Oh, Arthur! How could I?" and she hides her face on his breast.

"My wife! my joy!" he whispers, as he draws her closer.

"Arthur, do you remember what a silly, silly