"I thought Maas's voice was superb, but I did not so much care for the
Carmen. What did you think, dear?"
"Aunt," said Betty, anxious to change the topic, "would you mind my
seeing a doctor? I don't think I am quite well."
"Not well! Why what is the matter with you?"
"I have such dead fits of drowsiness."
"My dearest, is that to be wondered at with this racketing about; balls
and theatres--very other than the quiet life at home? But I will admit
that you struck me as looking very pale last night. You shall certainly
see Dr. Groves."
When the medical man arrived, Betty intimated that she wished to speak
with him alone, and he was shown with her into the morning-room.
"Oh, Dr. Groves," she said nervously, "it is such a strange thing I have
to say. I believe I walk in my sleep."
"You have eaten something that disagreed with you."
"But it lasted so long."
"How do you mean? Have you long been subject to it?"
"Dear, no. I never had any signs of it before I came to London this
season."
"And how were you roused? How did you become aware of it?"
"I was not roused at all; the fact is I went asleep to Lady Belgrove's
ball, and danced there and came back, and woke up in the morning without
knowing I had been."
"What!"
"And then, last night, I went in my sleep to Her Majesty's and heard
_Carmen_; but I woke up in the conservatory here at early dawn, and I
remember nothing about it."
"This is a very extraordinary story. Are you sure you went to the ball
and to the opera?"
"Quite sure. My dress had been used on both occasions, and my shoes and
fan and gloves as well."
"Did you go with Lady Lacy?"
"Oh, yes. I was with her all the time. But I remember nothing about it."
"I must speak to her ladyship."
"Please, please do not. It would frighten her; and I do not wish her to
suspect anything, except that I am a little out of sorts. She gets
nervous about me."
Dr. Groves mused for some while, then he said: "I cannot see that this
is at all a case of somnambulism."
"What is it, then?"
"Lapse of memory. Have you ever suffered from that previously?"
"Nothing to speak of. Of course I do not always remember everything. I
do not always recollect commissions given to me, unless I write them
down. And I cannot say that I remember all the novels I have read, or
what was the menu at dinner yesterday."
"That is quite a different matter. What I refer to is spaces of blank in
your memory. How often has this occurred?"
"Twice."
"And quite recently?"
"Yes, I never knew anything of the kind before."
"I think that the sooner you return to the country the better. It is
possible that the strain of coming out and the change of entering into
gay life in town has been too much for you. Take care and economise your
pleasures. Do not attempt too much; and if anything of the sort happens
again, send for me."
"Then you won't mention this to my aunt?"
"No, not this time. I will say that you have been a little over-wrought
and must be spared too much excitement."
"Thank you so much, Dr. Groves."
Now it was that a new mystery came to confound Betty. She rang her bell.
"Martha," said she, when her maid appeared, "where is that novel I had
yesterday from the circulating library? I put it on the boudoir table."
"I have not noticed it, miss."
"Please look for it. I have hunted everywhere for it, and it cannot be
found."
"I will look in the parlour, miss, and the schoolroom."
"I have not been into the schoolroom at all, and I know that it is not
in the drawing-room."
A search was instituted, but the book could not be found. On the morrow
it was in the boudoir, where Betty had placed it on her return from
Mudie's.
"One of the maids took it," was her explanation. She did not much care
for the book; perhaps that was due to her preoccupation, and not to any
lack of stirring incident in the story. She sent it back and took out
another. Next morning that also had disappeared.
It now became customary, as surely as she drew a novel from the library,
that it vanished clean away. Betty was greatly amazed. She could not
read a novel she had brought home till a day or two later. She took to
putting the book, so soon as it was in the house, into one of her
drawers, or into a cupboard. But the result was the same. Finally, when
she had locked the newly acquired volume in her desk, and it had
disappeared thence also, her patience gave way. There must be one of the
domestics with a ravenous appetite for fiction, which drove her to carry
off a book of the sort whenever it came into the house, and even to
tamper with a lock to obtain it. Betty had been most reluctant to speak
of the matter to her aunt, but now she made to her a formal complaint.
The servants were all questioned, and strongly protested their
innocence. Not one of them had ventured to do such a thing as that with
which they were charged.
However, from this time forward the annoyance ceased, and Betty and Lady
Lacy naturally concluded that this was the result of the stir that had
been made.
"Betty," said Lady Lacy, "what do you say to going to the new play at
the Gaiety? I hear it very highly spoken of. Mrs. Fontanel has a box and
has asked if we will join her."
"I should love it," replied the girl; "we have been rather quiet of
late." But her heart was oppressed with fear.
She said to her maid: "Martha, will you dress me this evening--and--pray
stay with me till my aunt is ready and calls for me?"
"Yes, miss, I shall be pleased to do so." But the girl looked somewhat
surprised at the latter part of the request.
Betty thought well to explain: "I don't know what it is, but I feel
somewhat out of spirits and nervous, and am afraid of being left alone,
lest something should happen."
"Happen, miss! If you are not feeling well, would it not be as well to
stay at home?"
"Oh, not for the world! I must go. I shall be all right so soon as I am
in the carriage. It will pass off then."
"Shall I get you a glass of sherry, or anything?"
"No, no, it is not that. You remain with me and I shall be myself
again."
That evening Betty went to the theatre. There was no recurrence of the
sleeping fit with its concomitants. Captain Fontanel was in the box, and
made himself vastly agreeable. He had his seat by Betty, and talked to
her not only between the acts, but also a good deal whilst the actors
were on the stage. With this she could have dispensed. She was not such
an _habituée_ of the theatre as not to be intensely interested with what
was enacted before her.
Between two of the acts he said to her: "My mother is engaging Lady
Lacy. She has a scheme in her head, but wants her consent to carry it
out, to make it quite too charming. And I am deputed to get you to
acquiesce."
"What is it?"
"We purpose having a boat and going to the Henley Regatta. Will you
come?"
"I should enjoy it above everything. I have never seen a regatta--that
is to say, not one so famous, and not of this kind. There were regattas
at Ilfracombe, but they were different."
"Very well, then; the party shall consist only of my mother and sister
and your two selves, and young Fulwell, who is dancing attendance on
Jannet, and Putsey, who is a tame cat. I am sure my mother will persuade
your aunt. What a lively old lady she is, and for her years how she does
enjoy life!"
"It will be a most happy conclusion to our stay in town," said Betty.
"We are going back to auntie's little cottage in Devon in a few days;
she wants to be at home for Good Friday and Easter Day."
So it was settled. Lady Lacy had raised no objection, and now she and
her niece had to consider what Betty should wear. Thin garments were out
of the question; the weather was too cold, and it would be especially
chilly on the river. Betty was still in slight mourning, so she chose a
silver-grey cloth costume, with a black band about her waist, and a
white straw hat, with a ribbon to match her gown.
On the day of the regatta Betty said to herself; "How ignorant I am!
Fancy my not knowing where Henley is! That it is on the Thames or Isis I
really do not know, but I fancy on the former--yes, I am almost
positive it is on the Thames. I have seen pictures in the _Graphic_ and
_Illustrated_ of the race last year, and I know the river was
represented as broad, and the Isis can only be an insignificant stream.
I will run into the schoolroom and find a map of the environs of London
and post myself up in the geography. One hates to look like a fool."
Without a word to anyone, Betty found her way to the apartment given up
to lessons when children were in the house. It lay at the back, down a
passage. Since Lady Lacy had occupied the place, neither she nor Betty
had been in it more than casually and rarely; and accordingly the
servants had neglected to keep it clean. A good deal of dust lay about,
and Betty, laughing, wrote her name in the fine powder on the
school-table, then looked at her finger, found it black, and said, "Oh,
bother! I forgot that the dust of London is smut."
She went to the bookcase, and groped for a map of the Metropolis and the
country round, but could not find one. Nor could she lay her hand on a
gazetteer.
"This must do," said she, drawing out a large, thick _Johnston's Atlas_,
"if the scale be not too small to give Henley."
She put the heavy volume on the table and opened it. England, she found,
was in two parts, one map of the Northern, the second of the Southern
division. She spread out the latter, placed her finger on the blue line
of the Thames, and began to trace it up.
Whilst her eyes were on it, searching the small print, they closed, and
without being conscious that she was sleepy, her head bowed forward on
the map, and she was breathing evenly, steeped in the most profound
slumber.
She woke slowly. Her consciousness returned to her little by little. She
saw the atlas without understanding what it meant. She looked about her,
and wondered how she could be in the schoolroom, and she then observed
that darkness was closing in. Only then, suddenly, did she recall what
had brought her where she was.
Next, with a rush, upon her came the remembrance that she was due at the
boat-race.
She must again have overslept herself, for the evening had come on, and
through the window she could see the glimmer of gaslights in the street.
Was this to be accompanied by her former experiences?
With throbbing heart she went into the passage. Then she noticed that
the hall was lighted up, and she heard her aunt speaking, and the slam
of the front door, and the maid say, "Shall I take off your wraps, my
lady?"
She stepped forth upon the landing and proceeded to descend, when--with
a shock that sent the blood coursing to her heart, and that paralysed
her movements--she saw _herself_ ascending the stair in her silver-grey
costume and straw hat.
She clung to the banister, with convulsive grip, lest she should fall,
and stared, without power to utter a sound, as she saw herself quietly
mount, step by step, pass her, go beyond to her own room.
For fully ten minutes she remained rooted to the spot, unable to stir
even a finger. Her tongue was stiff, her muscles set, her heart ceased
to beat.
Then slowly her blood began again to circulate, her nerves to relax,
power of movement returned. With a hoarse gasp she reeled from her
place, and giddy, touching the banister every moment to prevent herself
from falling, she crept downstairs. But when once in the hall, she had
recovered flexibility. She ran towards the morning-room, whither Lady
Lacy had gone to gather up the letters that had arrived by post during
her absence.
Betty stood looking at her, speechless.
Her aunt raised her face from an envelope she was considering. "Why,
Betty," said she, "how expeditiously you have changed your dress!"
The girl could not speak, but fell unconscious on the floor.
When she came to herself, she was aware of a strong smell of vinegar.
She was lying on the sofa, and Martha was applying a moistened kerchief
to her brow. Lady Lacy stood by, alarmed and anxious, with a bottle of
smelling-salts in her hand.
"Oh, aunt, I saw----" then she ceased. It would not do to tell of the
apparition. She would not be believed.
"My darling," said Lady Lacy, "you are overdone, and it was foolish of
you tearing upstairs and scrambling into your morning-gown. I have sent
for Groves. Are you able now to rise? Can you manage to reach your
room?"
"My room!" she shuddered. "Let me lie here a little longer. I cannot
walk. Let me be here till the doctor comes."
"Certainly, dearest. I thought you looked very unlike yourself all day
at the regatta. If you had felt out of sorts you ought not to have
gone."
"Auntie! I was quite well in the morning."
Presently the medical man arrived, and was shown in. Betty saw that Lady
Lacy purposed staying through the interview. Accordingly she said
nothing to Dr. Groves about what she had seen.
"She is overdone," said he. "The sooner you move her down to Devonshire
the better. Someone had better be in her room to-night."
"Yes," said Lady Lacy; "I had thought of that and have given orders.
Martha can make up her bed on the sofa in the adjoining dressing-room or
boudoir."
This was a relief to Betty, who dreaded a return to her room--her room
into which her other self had gone.
"I will call again in the morning," said the medical man; "keep her in
bed to-morrow, at all events till I have seen her."
When he left, Betty found herself able to ascend the stairs. She cast a
frightened glance about her room. The straw hat, the grey dress were
there. No one was in it.
She was helped to bed, and although laid in it with her head among the
pillows, she could not sleep. Racking thoughts tortured her. What was
the signification of that encounter? What of her strange sleeps? What of
those mysterious appearances of herself, where she had not been? The
theory that she had walked in her sleep was untenable. How was she to
solve the riddle? That she was going out of her mind was no explanation.
Only towards morning did she doze off.
When Dr. Groves came, about eleven o'clock, Betty made a point of
speaking to him alone, which was what she greatly desired.
She said to him: "Oh! it has been worse this last occasion, far worse
than before. I do not walk in my sleep. Whilst I am buried in slumber,
someone else takes my place."
"Whom do you mean? Surely not one of the maids?"
"Oh, no. I met her on the stairs last night, that is what made me
faint."
"Whom did you meet?"
"Myself--my double."
"Nonsense, Miss Mountjoy."
"But it is a fact. I saw myself as clearly as I see you now. I was going
down into the hall."
"You saw yourself! You saw your own pleasant, pretty face in a
looking-glass."
"There is no looking-glass on the staircase. Besides, I was in my alpaca
morning-gown, and my double had on my pearl-grey cloth costume, with my
straw hat. She was mounting as I was descending."
"Tell me the story."
"I went yesterday--an hour or so before I had to dress--into the
schoolroom. I am awfully ignorant, and I did want to see a map and find
out where was Henley, because, you know, I was going to the boat-race.
And I dropped off into one of those dreadful dead sleeps, with my head
on the atlas. When I awoke it was evening, and the gas-lamps were
lighted. I was frightened, and ran out to the landing and I heard them
arrive, just come back from Henley, and as I was going down the stairs,
I saw my double coming up, and we met face to face. She passed me by,
and went on to my room--to this room. So you see this is proof pos that
I am not a somnambulist."
"I never said that you were. I never for a moment admitted the
supposition. That, if you remember, was your own idea. What I said
before is what I repeat now, that you suffer from failure of memory."
"But that cannot be so, Dr. Groves."
"Pray, why not?"
"Because I saw my double, wearing my regatta costume."
"I hold to my opinion, Miss Mountjoy. If you will listen to me I shall
be able to offer a satisfactory explanation. Satisfactory, I mean, so
far as to make your experiences intelligible to you. I do not at all
imply that your condition is satisfactory."
"Well, tell me. I cannot make heads or tails of this matter."
"It is this, young lady. On several recent occasions you have suffered
from lapses of memory. All recollection of what you did, where you went,
what you said, has been clean wiped out. But on this last--it was
somewhat different. The failure took place on your return, and you
forgot everything that had happened since you were engaged in the
schoolroom looking at the atlas."
"Yes."
"Then, on your arrival here, as Lady Lacy told me, you ran upstairs, and
in a prodigious hurry changed your clothes and put on your----"
"My alpaca."
"Your alpaca, yes. Then, in descending to the hall, your memory came
back, but was still entangled with flying reminiscences of what had
taken place during the intervening period. Amongst other things----"
"I remember no other things."
"You recalled confusedly one thing only, that you had mounted the stairs
in your--your----"
"My pearl-grey cloth, with the straw hat and satin ribbon."
"Precisely. Whilst in your morning gown, into which you had scrambled,
you recalled yourself in your regatta costume going upstairs to change.
This fragmentary reminiscence presented itself before you as a vision.
Actually you saw nothing. The impression on your brain of a scrap
recollected appeared to you as if it had been an actual object depicted
on the retina of your eye. Such things happen, and happen not
infrequently. In cases of D. T.----"
"But I haven't D. T. I don't drink."
"I do not say that. If you will allow me to proceed. In cases of D. T.
the patient fancies he sees rats, devils, all sorts of objects. They
appear to him as obvious realities, he thinks that he sees them with his
eyes. But he does not. These are mere pictures formed on the brain."
"Then you hold that I really was at the boat-race?"
"I am positive that you were."
"And that I danced at Lady Belgrove's ball?"
"Most assuredly."
"And heard _Carmen_ at Her Majesty's?"
"I have not the remotest doubt that you did."
Betty drew a long breath, and remained in consideration.
Then she said very gravely: "I want you to tell me, Dr. Groves, quite
truthfully, quite frankly--do not think that I shall be frightened
whatever you say; I shall merely prepare for what may be--do you
consider that I am going out of my mind?"
"I have not the least occasion for supposing so."
"That," said Betty, "would be the most terrible thing of all. If I
thought that, I would say right out to my aunt that I wished at once to
be sent to an asylum."
"You may set your mind at rest on that score."
"But loss of memory is bad, but better than the other. Will these fits
of failure come on again?"
"That is more than I can prognosticate; let us hope for the best. A
complete change of scene, change of air, change of association----"
"Not to leave auntie!"
"No. I do not mean that, but to get away from London society. It may
restore you to what you were. You never had those fits before?"
"Never, never, till I came to town."
"And when you have left town they may not recur."
"I shall take precious good care not to revisit London if it is going to
play these tricks with me."
That day Captain Fontanel called, and was vastly concerned to hear that
Betty was unwell. She was not looking herself, he said, at the
boat-race. He feared that the cold on the river had been too much for
her. But he did trust that he might be allowed to have a word with her
before she returned to Devonshire.
Although he did not see Betty, he had an hour's conversation with Lady
Lacy, and he departed with a smile on his face.
On the morrow he called again. Betty had so completely recovered that
she was cheerful, and the pleasant colour had returned to her cheeks.
She was in the drawing-room along with her aunt when he arrived.
The captain offered his condolences, and expressed his satisfaction that
her indisposition had been so quickly got over.
"Oh!" said the girl, "I am as right as a trivet. It has all passed off.
I need not have soaked in bed all yesterday, but that aunt would have
it so. We are going down to our home to-morrow. Yesterday auntie was
scared and thought she would have to postpone our return."
Lady Lacy rose, made the excuse that she had the packing to attend to,
and left the young people alone together. When the door was shut behind
her, Captain Fontanel drew his chair close to that of the girl and
said--
"Betty, you do not know how happy I have felt since you accepted me. It
was a hurried affair in the boat-house, but really, time was running
short; as you were off so soon to Devonshire, I had to snatch at the
occasion when there was no one by, so I seized old Time by the forelock,
and you were so good as to say 'Yes.'"
"I--I----" stammered Betty.
"But as the thing was done in such haste, I came here to-day to renew my
offer of myself, and to make sure of my happiness. You have had time to
reflect, and I trust you do not repent."
"Oh, you are so good and kind to me!"
"Dearest Betty, what a thing to say! It is I--poor, wretched,
good-for-naught--who have cause to speak such words to you. Put your
hand into mine; it is a short courtship of a soldier, like that of Harry
V. and the fair Maid of France. 'I love you: then if you urge me farther
than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your answer;
i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain.' Am I quoting aright?"
Shyly, hesitatingly, she extended her fingers, and he clasped them.
Then, shrinking back and looking down, she said: "But I ought to tell
you something first, something very serious, which may make you change
your mind. I do not, in conscience, feel it right that you should commit
yourself till you know."
"It must be something very dreadful to make me do that."
"It is dreadful. I am apt to be terribly forgetful."
"Bless me! So am I. I have passed several of my acquaintances lately and
have not recognised them, but that was because I was thinking of you.
And I fear I have been very oblivious about my bills; and as to
answering letters--good heavens! I am a shocking defaulter."
"I do not mean that. I have lapses of memory. Why, I do not even
remember----"
He sealed her lips with a kiss. "You will not forget this, at any rate,
Betty."
"Oh, Charlie, no!"
"Then consider this, Betty. Our engagement cannot be for long. I am
ordered to Egypt, and I positively must take my dear little wife with me
and show her the Pyramids. You would like to see them, would you not?"
"I should love to."
"And the Sphynx?"
"Indeed I should."
"And Pompey's Pillar?"
"Oh, Charlie! I shall love above everything to see you every day."
"That is prettily said. I see we understand one another. Now, hearken to
me, give me your close attention, and no fits of lapse of memory over
what I now say, please. We must be married very shortly. I positively
will not go out without you. I would rather throw up my commission."
"But what about papa's consent?"
"I shall wire to him full particulars as to my position, income, and
prospects, also how much I love you, and how I will do my level best to
make you happy. That is the approved formula in addressing
paterfamilias, I think. Then he will telegraph back, 'Bless you, my
boy'; and all is settled. I know that Lady Lacy approves."
"But dear, dear aunt. She will be so awfully lonely without me."
"She shall not be. She has no ties to hold her to the little cottage in
Devon. She shall come out to us in Cairo, and we will bury the dear old
girl up to her neck in the sand of the desert, and make a second Sphynx
of her, and bake the rheumatism out of her bones. It will cure her of
all her aches, as sure as my name is Charlie, and yours will be
Fontanel."
"Don't be too sure of that."
"But I am sure--you cannot forget."
"I will try not to do so. Oh, Charlie, don't!"
* * * * *
Mrs. Thomas, the dressmaker, and Miss Crock, the milliner, had their
hands full. Betty's trousseau had to be got ready expeditiously.
Patterns of materials specially adapted for a hot climate--light,
beautiful, artistic, of silks and muslins and prints--had to be
commanded from Liberty's. Then came the selection, then the ordering,
then the discussions with the dressmaker, and the measurings. Next the
fittings, for which repeated visits had to be made to Mrs. Thomas.
Adjustments, alterations were made, easements under the arms,
tightenings about the waist. There were fulnesses to be taken in and
skimpiness to be redressed. The skirts had to be sufficiently short in
front and sufficiently long behind.
As for the wedding-dress, Mrs. Thomas was not regarded as quite
competent to execute such a masterpiece. For that an expedition had to
be made to Exeter.
The wedding-cake must be ordered from Murch, in the cathedral city. Lady
Lacy was particular that as much as possible of the outfit should be
given to county tradesmen. A riding habit, tailor-made, was ordered, to
fit like a glove, and a lady's saddle must be taken out to Egypt. Boxes,
basket-trunks were to be procured, and a correspondence carried on as to
the amount of personal luggage allowed.
Lady Lacy and Betty were constantly running up by express to Exeter
about this, that, and everything.
Then ensued the sending out of the invitations, and the arrival of
wedding presents, that entailed the writing of gushing letters of
acknowledgment and thanks, by Betty herself. But these were not allowed
to interfere with the scribbling of four pages every day to Captain
Fontanel, intended for his eyes alone.
Interviews were sought by the editors or agents of local newspapers to
ascertain whether reporters were desired to describe the wedding, and as
to the length of the notices that were to be inserted, whether all the
names of the donors of presents were to be included, and their gifts
registered. Verily Lady Lacy and Betty were kept in a whirl of
excitement, and their time occupied from morning till night, and their
brains exercised from night to morning. Glass and china and plate had to
be hired for the occasion, wine ordered. Fruit, cake, ices commanded.
But all things come to an end, even the preparations for a wedding.
At last the eventful day arrived, bright and sunny, a true May morning.
The bridesmaids arrived, each wearing the pretty brooch presented by
Captain Fontanel. Their costume was suitable to the season, of
primrose-yellow, with hats turned up, white, with primroses. The pages
were in green velvet, with knee-breeches and three-cornered hats, lace
ruffles and lace fronts. The butler had made the claret-cup and the
champagne-cup, and after a skirmish over the neighbourhood some borage
had been obtained to float on the top. Lady Lacy was to hold a reception
after the ceremony, and a marquee had been erected in the grounds, as
the cottage could not contain all the guests invited. The dining-room
was delivered over for the exposing of the presents. A carriage had been
commanded to convey the happy couple to the station, horses and driver
with white favours. With a sigh of relief in the morning, Lady Lacy
declared that she believed that nothing had been forgotten.
The trunks stood ready packed, all but one, and labelled with the name
of Mrs. Fontanel.
A flag flew on the church tower. The villagers had constructed a
triumphal arch at the entrance to the grounds. The people from farms and
cottages had all turned out, and were already congregating about the
churchyard, with smiles and heartfelt wishes for the happiness of the
bride, who was a mighty favourite with them, as indeed was also Lady
Lacy.
The Sunday-school children had clubbed their pence, and had presented
Betty, who had taught them, with a silver set of mustard-pot, pepper
caster, and salt-cellar.
"Oh, dear!" said Betty, "what shall I do with all these sets of
mustard- and pepper-pots? I have now received eight."
"A little later, dear," replied her aunt, "you can exchange those that
you do not require."
"But never that set given me by my Sunday-school pets," said Betty.
Then came in flights of telegrams of congratulation.
And at the last moment arrived some more wedding presents.
"Good gracious me!" exclaimed the girl, "I really must manage to
acknowledge these. There will be just time before I begin to dress."
So she tripped upstairs to her boudoir, a little room given over to
herself in which to do her water-colour painting, her reading, to
practise her music. A bright little room to which now, as she felt with
an ache, she was to bid an eternal good-bye!
What happy hours had been spent in it! What day-dreams had been spun
there!
She opened her writing-case and wrote the required letters of thanks.
"There," said she, when she had signed the fifth. "This is the last time
I shall subscribe myself Elizabeth Mountjoy, except when I sign my
name in the church register. Oh! how my back is hurting me. I was not in
bed till two o'clock and was up again at seven, and I have been on the
tear for the whole week. There will be just time for me to rest it
before the business of the dressing begins."
She threw herself on the sofa and put up her feet. Instantly she was
asleep--in a sound, dreamless sleep.
When Betty opened her eyes she heard the church bells ringing a merry
peal. Then she raised her lids, and turning her head on the sofa cushion
saw--a bride, herself in full bridal dress, with the white veil and the
orange-blossoms, seated at her side. The gloves had been removed and lay
on the lap.
An indescribable terror held her fast. She could not cry out. She could
not stir. She could only look.
Then the bride put back the veil, and Betty, studying the white face,
saw that this actually was not herself; it was her dead sister, Letice.
[Illustration: THEN THE BRIDE PUT BACK HER VEIL, AND BETTY, STUDYING THE
WHITE FACE, SAW THAT THIS ACTUALLY WAS NOT HERSELF; IT WAS HER DEAD
SISTER LETICE.]
The apparition put forth a hand and laid it on her and spoke: "Do not be
frightened. I will do you no harm. I love you too dearly for that,
Betty. I have been married in your name; I have exchanged vows in your
name; I have received the ring for you; put it on your finger, it is not
mine; it in no way belongs to me. In your name I signed the register.
You are married to Charles Fontanel and not I. Listen to me. I will tell
you all, and when I have told you everything you will see me no more. I
will trouble you no further; I shall enter into my rest. You will see
before you only the wedding garments remaining. I shall be gone. Hearken
to me. When I was dying, I died in frantic despair, because I had never
known what were the pleasures of life. My last cries, my last regrets,
my last longings were for the pomps and vanities."
She paused, and slipped the gold hoop on to the forefinger of Betty's
hand.