"But I don't see exactly how we are to arrange it. We are living so near to our income just now; and I don't know how to economise more closely than I have been doing." Mr. Lee made a suggestion that Beatrice did not hear, to which his wife replied decidedly: "No, dear man, you can't get along without that. A minister can't afford to go shabby. We'll find some other way of saving. I can let Maggie go home for a month or two. Beatrice's going away will make the family smaller, and I'm sure Wilhelmina and I could do the housework." "No indeed." The minister's voice was most emphatic. "That would be extravagant economy. You would be sick in a month. I can spare the money, I'm sure, but I shall have to give up a cherished plan to do it. I hoped to be able to rent a horse and buggy for you two days a week this summer. You don't get enough of out of doors, and it tires you so to walk." There was a glad little note in Mrs. Lee's reply that went straight to Bea's heart. "Oh, if that is all!" she exclaimed. "Why John, I'd rather never drive again than to have Beatrice miss this opportunity. It will mean so much to her. Beside, dear, do you think I would enjoy driving around in state while my husband was shabby?" "No, it doesn't sound like you," said Mr. Lee. "Still, I would like to do it for you," he added wistfully. "Well, dear, don't say a word to spoil Beatrice's pleasure. She seemed so glad to go! And I think we all would be willing to sacrifice ourselves a little for her sake." The conversation ended there. The father and mother went back to sleep, and the eavesdropper returned to her pillow with wet eyes. Her soul, as well as her body, was wide awake, and perhaps for the first time in her life, Beatrice realised the beauty and divineness of self sacrifice. In the light of the whispered conversation the melancholy of the day before seemed petty and unworthy, and the girl who sternly choked back the tears of disappointment was not the girl who had wept in the garden. Nobody ever knew of the struggle which took place in the little white bed, nor was any the wiser for the puddle of tears that made a miniature lake in the pillow; but Beatrice was victor in the battle with herself. As the clock struck five, a slim little figure in white crept silently out of bed, and tiptoed over to the desk, that Miss Billy should not be wakened. A stranger would not have appreciated the depth of the struggle; but to Beatrice it was the tragedy of a lifetime, and there was real heroism in the letter which read: "DEAR, DEAR MR. VAN COURTLAND: "I hope you won't think I am silly to change my mind so suddenly, after all the arrangements were made yesterday, but I have decided that I must not go. I know that you won't misunderstand my motive, because you know how much I long to go, and how grateful I am to you both for inviting me.