Poor Marie! She had
loved and suffered, and now it was ended. Aye, but she had done more
than suffer. She had refused the man she loved for his sake and for the
sake of another. Her sacrifice had been in vain, but the love that
sacrificed itself--was that vain? Ah, no! Sweet, brave Marie!
Her friends thought it a strange request of hers to be buried at
Briarsfield, but it was granted. Her vast wealth--as she had died
childless--went, by the provisions of her father's will, to a distant
cousin, but her jewels she left to Beth. The following afternoon Mr.
Perth read the funeral service, and they lowered the lovely burden in
the shadow of the pines at the corner of the Briarsfield church-yard.
There in that quiet village she had first seen him she loved. After all
her gay social life she sought its quiet at last, and the stars of that
summer night looked down on her new-made grave.
The following day Mr. Perth laid a colored envelope from a large
publishing firm in Beth's lap. They had accepted her last story for a
good round sum, accompanied by most flattering words of encouragement.
As she read the commendatory words, she smiled at the thought of having
at least one talent to use in her Master's service.
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