great,
dark, tender eyes. They seemed to have worlds in them. It was not long
before I loved Florence Waldon. I loved her." His voice had a strange,
deep pathos in it. "She was kind to me always, but I hardly dared to
hope, and one day I saw her bidding good-bye to Lawrence. It was only a
look and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me. I kept silent
about my love from that hour, and one evening Lawrence came to my rooms.

"'Congratulate me, Arthur!' he cried, in a tone that bubbled over with
joy. I knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed my
face. 'Congratulate me, Arthur! I am going to marry Florence Waldon next
month, and you must be best man.'

"I did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and I was best man
at the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him Arthur
after me. He is the Arthur Grafton you have known. But poor Lawrence!
Little Arthur was only a few months old when she took sick. They called
me in, and I did all I could to save her, but one night, as Lawrence and
I stood by her bedside--it was a wild March night, and the wind was
moaning through the shutters while she slept--suddenly she opened her
eyes with a bright look.

"'Oh, Lawrence, listen, they are singing!' she cried, 'it is so
beautiful; I am going home--good-bye--take care of Arthur,' and she was
gone."

Dr. Woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster.

"After that I came to Briarsfield and met your mother, Beth. She seemed
to understand from my face that I had suffered, and after we had become
friends I told her that story, that I had never told to mortal before or
since till now. She was so very tender, and I saw in her face that she
loved me, and by-and-by I took her to wife, and she healed over the
wound with her gentle hands. She was a sweet woman, Beth. God bless her
memory. But the strange part of the story is, Florence Waldon's brother,
Garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of the
pine-wood. She had two other brothers, one a talented editor in the
States, the other a successful lawyer. Garth, too, was a bright,
original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up to
it. He was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor Lawrence
died he left little Arthur--he was three years old then--to him. The
dear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother. He used to come
and hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do