"Oh, Arthur, what _can_ you mean? I thought--you seemed my brother
almost--I thought you would always be that. Oh, Arthur! Arthur! how can
you--how dare you talk so? I am Clarence Mayfair's promised wife."
"Clarence Mayfair's--" The words died away on his white lips. He leaned
upon the mantel-piece, and Beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. His face
was so deathly white. His eyes were shaded by his hand, and his brow
bore the marks of strong agony. Oh, he was wounded! Those moments were
awful in their silence. The darkness deepened in the old parlor. There
was a sound of voices passing in the street. The church bell broke the
stillness. Softly the old calm crept over his brow, and he raised his
face and looked at her with those great dark eyes--eyes of unfathomable
tenderness and impenetrable fire, and she felt that her very soul stood
naked before him. She trembled and sank on the couch at her side. His
look was infinitely tender as he came toward her.
"I have hurt you--forgive me," he said gently, and he laid his hand on
her head so reverently for a moment. His white lips murmured something,
but she only caught the last words, "God bless you--forever.
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