the head of the stairs above us, and then came down.  To my eyes she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, Beth.  She was dressed in white, and had a basket of flowers on her arm.  She smiled as she came towards us.  Her hair was glossy-black, parted in the middle, and falling in waves about her smooth white forehead; but her eyes were her real beauty, I never saw anything like them, Beth.  They were such great, dark, tender eyes.  They seemed to have worlds in them.  It was not long before I loved Florence Waldon.  I loved her.”  His voice had a strange, deep pathos in it.  “She was kind to me always, but I hardly dared to hope, and one day I saw her bidding good-bye to Lawrence.  It was only a look and a hand-clasp, but it was a revelation to me.  I kept silent about my love from that hour, and one evening Lawrence came to my rooms.

“‘Congratulate me, Arthur!’ he cried, in a tone that bubbled over with joy.  I knew what was coming, but the merciful twilight concealed my face.  ’Congratulate me, Arthur!  I am going to marry Florence Waldon next month, and you must be best man.’

“I did congratulate him from the depth of my heart, and I was best man at the wedding; and when their little son was born they named him Arthur after me.  He is the Arthur Grafton you have known.  But poor Lawrence!  Little Arthur was only a few months old when she took sick.  They called me in, and I did all I could to save her, but one night, as Lawrence and I stood by her bedside—­it was a wild March night, and the wind was moaning through the shutters while she slept—­suddenly she opened her eyes with a bright look.

“‘Oh, Lawrence, listen, they are singing!’ she cried, ’it is so beautiful; I am going home—­good-bye—­take care of Arthur,’ and she was gone.”

Dr. Woodburn paused a moment, and his breath came faster.

“After that I came to Briarsfield and met your mother, Beth.  She seemed to understand from my face that I had suffered, and after we had become friends I told her that story, that I had never told to mortal before or since till now.  She was so very tender, and I saw in her face that she loved me, and by-and-by I took her to wife, and she healed over the wound with her gentle hands.  She was a sweet woman, Beth.  God bless her memory.  But the strange part of the story is, Florence Waldon’s brother, Garth, had settled on that farm over there, the other side of the pine-wood.  She had two other brothers, one a talented editor in the States, the other a successful lawyer.  Garth, too, was a bright, original fellow; he had a high standard of farm life, and he lived up to it.  He was a good man and a truly refined one, and when poor Lawrence died he left little Arthur—­he was three years old then—­to him.  The dear little fellow; he looked so much like his mother.  He used to come and hold you in his arms when you were in long dresses, and then, do you remember a few years later, when your own sweet mother died, how he came to comfort you and filled your lap with flowers?”