"
A peculiar look crossed Beth's face. She remembered one whom she had
placed on the pedestal of genius, and the idol had fallen, shattered at
her feet.
She was still the same emotional Beth. There were times when without any
outward cause, seemingly from a mere overflow of happiness, she almost
cried out, "Oh stay, happy moment, till I drink to the full my draught
of joy!"
Arthur's painting hung above Beth's study table, and sometimes a shadow
crossed her face as she looked at it. She missed the old friendship, and
she wondered, too, that she never met him anywhere.
Beth did not go home at Thanksgiving that year, and she almost regretted
it the evening before. She was a little homesick for "daddy," and to
dispel her loneliness she shut up her books and went to bed early. Her
head had scarcely touched the pillow when, hark! there was a sound of
music in the drawing-room down-stairs. She rose in bed to listen, it was
so like Arthur's music. She was not at all familiar with the piece, but
it thrilled her somehow. There was a succession, of sweet, mellow notes
at first; then higher, higher, higher, broader, deeper, fuller, it was
bearing her very soul away! Then sweeter, softer, darker, tint of gold
and touch of shadow, the tears were standing in her eyes! Clearer again,
and more triumphant! Her lips parted as she listened.
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