"That is right to a certain extent. George Eliot certainly had a grand
intellect, but if she had only been a consecrated Christian woman how
infinitely greater she might have been. With such talent as hers
undoubtedly was, she could have touched earth with the very tints of
heaven. Beth, don't you see what grand possibilities are yours, with
your natural gifts and the education and culture that you will have?"

"Ah, yes. Arthur, but then--I am drifting somehow. Life is bearing me
another way. I feel it within me. By-and-by I hope to be famous, and
perhaps wealthy, too, but I am drifting with the years."

"But it is not the part of noble men and women to drift like that, Beth.
You will be leaving home this fall, and life is opening up to you. Do
you not see there are two paths before you? Which will you choose, Beth?
'For self?' or 'for Jesus?' The one will bring you fame and wealth,
perhaps, but though you smile among the adoring crowds you will not be
satisfied. The other--oh, it would make you so much happier! Your books
would be read at every fire-side, and Beth Woodburn would be a name to
be loved. You are drifting--but whither, Beth?"

His voice was so gentle as he spoke, his smile so tender, and there was
something about him so unlike any other man, she could not forget those
last words.

The moon-beams falling on her pillow that night mingled with her dreams,
and she and Clarence were alone together in a lovely island garden. It
was so very beautiful--a grand temple of nature, its aisles carpeted
with dewy grass, a star-gemmed heaven for its dome, a star-strewn sea
all round! No mortal artist could have planned that mysteriously