us make the utmost of our talents."

"Yes, we are consecrated to art," said Beth with a sigh of relief, and
began talking of Marie.

Since Beth was to leave home in the fall, she did not go away during the
summer, and consequently saw much of Marie during the few weeks she
stayed at Briarsfield. It is strange how every life we come in contact
with leaves its impress upon ourselves! It was certainly so with Marie
and Beth. Marie had seen so much of the world and of human life, and
Beth had always lived so quietly there in her own village, that now a
restlessness took possession of her to get away far beyond the horizon
of Briarsfield.

The days passed on as days will pass. Clarence was home most of the
time, and he and Beth had many walks together in the twilight, and
sometimes in the morning. What delightful walks they were in the cool of
the early summer morning! There was one especially pretty spot where
they used to rest along the country road-side. It was a little hill-top,
with the ground sloping down on either side, then rising again in great
forest-crowned hills. Two oak trees, side by side, shaded them as they
watched the little clouds sailing over the harvest fields.

Arthur was with them a great deal of the summer, and Beth was occupied
with preparations for leaving home. She used to talk to Arthur about
Marie sometimes, but he disappointed her by his coldness. She fancied
that he did not altogether approve of Marie.

CHAPTER V.

_"FOR I LOVE YOU, BETH."_

It came soon, her last Sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in the
west. Beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. Do you remember
that last Sabbath before you left home? Everything, the hills outside,
the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you in
mute farewell. Beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through the
open door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leaping
up in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. She had
always liked that stove with its cheery fire. Then she turned her eyes
to the window and noted that the early September frost had browned her
favorite meadow where the clover bloomed last June, and that the maples
along the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now all
decked in crimson and yellow.

Her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked around
she saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. Poor father! He