professional air.

"Just what I told you, Beth. You've worked too hard. You need rest.
That's just what's the matter," he said, in a brusque voice, as he put
some medicine on the table and left the room.

Rest! Yes, she could rest now. Her work was done. She looked at the
sheet of manuscript that she had taken last night to show Clarence. Yes,
the work was done. She had reached the end of her story--the end of her
prospect of marriage. Ended her labor--ended her life-dream!

As for Clarence, he read her note without any emotion.

"Humph! I didn't think Grafton was the fellow to make mischief so
quickly. A tale-bearer! Well, it's all for the best. I made a mistake. I
do not love Beth Woodburn. I cannot understand her."

Beth slept, and seemed much better in the afternoon, but she was still
quite pale when she went into her father's room after tea.

"Dear old daddy," she said, putting her arms about his neck, "you were
always so kind. You never refuse me anything if you can help it. I wish
you would let me go away."

"Why, certainly, Beth, dear!" he said briskly. "Isn't that just what
I've been telling you? Stop writing all day in that hot room up-stairs.
Go off and have a frolic. Go and see your Aunt Margaret."

And so it was settled that if Beth were well enough she should start for
Welland next afternoon. She did not see Clarence during the next