Beth Norvell

She arose slowly to her feet, the tears clinging to her lashes, both

hands outstretched.

"Oh, I thank you! I thank you!" she exclaimed with deep fervor.

"Those words prove you all I ever believed you to be. They give me

hope, courage, patience to remain true to myself, true to my lifelong

ideals of womanhood. I am certain you trust me, comprehend my motives,

and will think no less of me because of my unwillingness to forfeit a

conception of right. He is absolutely nothing to me--nothing. He

never could be. There are times when I feel that his death even could

not fitly atone for the evil he has wrought me. Never again will his

influence touch my life to change its purpose. It is not he that keeps

us apart; it is a solemn, sacred pledge made by a trusting girl in

God's presence--a pledge I cannot forget, cannot break without

forfeiting my self-respect, my honor."

He drew her gently to him, his eyes no longer filled with passion, yet

containing a depth of love that left her helpless to resist his will.

"Beth, dear," he whispered, his lips almost pressing her cheek, "I will

not think of him, but only of you. If you love me I am content. The

mere knowledge itself is happiness. Tell me once again that this is

true."

"It is true, forever true; I love you."

"May I have for this one time the pledge of your lips?"

A single instant she seemed to hesitate, her cheeks flushing hotly, her

dark eyes lowered before his. But she lifted her face, and their lips

met and clung, as though parting must be forever. Amid the closely

gathering shadows he led her back to the vacated stool, and stood

beside her, gently stroking the soft dark hair of the bowed head.

"You have plans?" he questioned quietly. "You have decided how you are

to live while we await each other?"

"Yes," half timidly, as though fearful he might oppose her decision.

"I believe I had better return to my work upon the stage." She glanced

up at him anxiously. "You do not care, do you? It seems to me I am

best fitted for that; I have ambition to succeed, and--and it affords

me something worthy to think about."

"I recall you said once it would be a poor love which should interfere

with the ideals of another."

"Yes, I remember. How long ago that seems, and what a change has since

come over my conceptions of the power of love! I believe it still, yet

in so different a way. Now I would surrender gladly all ambition, all

dream of worldly success, merely to fee alone with the man I love, and

bring him happiness. That--that is all I want; it is everything."