The night of the ball came at last--the night which had been looked
forward to so anxiously for weeks by many a maiden and brave swain.
By the time night had drawn her sable curtains over the sleeping earth
all the preparations had been completed at Gray Gables, and when the
lights were lighted it presented such a brilliant spectacle that those
who witnessed never forgot it.
The guests began to arrive early, in order to have a long evening of
enjoyment.
Late that afternoon an odd discussion had arisen which came near
wrecking the whole affair.
Mrs. Kemp, Iris, and Dorothy were all seated in the general sitting-room
discussing the last but by no means least important matter of who
should receive the guests.
"You are the young lady of the house," said Mrs. Kemp, turning to
Dorothy with a puzzled air, "and of course every one expects you to
perform that pleasant duty; but--"
"Oh, no, no!" cut in Dorothy. "My--my affliction makes that an
impossibility. _You_ must do it, Mrs. Kemp."
"Really, child, my presence is so much of a necessity in looking after
the servants and overlooking affairs in general that I assure you I can
not be spared even for a brief half hour; so, as near as I can see, Iris
must take your place for that occasion, with Mr. Kendal, to welcome your
guests. What do you say, my dear?" she asked, turning anxiously to the
beauty, who sat disconsolately by the window, listening to the
conversation, feeling confident as to how the debate must end--in _her
own_ favor.
"I'm sure I do not mind doing so, if the arrangement suits Mr. Kendal
and--Dorothy."
Harry entered the room at this stage, and of course the matter was
quickly laid before him.
"Why, yes, Iris can help me receive the guests," he declared. "What a
happy thought! I supposed I alone was to be delegated to that task. Yes,
let us settle it in that manner, by all means."
As usual, no one thought of consulting Dorothy's opinion. Indeed, they
scarcely missed her presence when, a few moments later, she slipped from
the room to have a good cry over the matter.
Katy was startled as she beheld her white face as she groped her way
into the room. She sat so still that Dorothy imagined herself quite
alone.
"I--I can not bear it!" she sobbed, flinging herself face downward on
the carpet with a wretched little sob. "In everything she seems to come
between me and my lover! Oh, I wish to Heaven that Iris Vincent would go
away! Harry has not been the same to me since she has been beneath this
roof. They tell me it is my imagination, but my heart tells me it is no
idle fancy. _She_ will be standing by my lover's side receiving _my_
guests! Oh, angels up in Heaven, forgive me if the pangs of jealousy,
cruel as death, spring up in my poor heart at that bitter thought!" And
another thought: "Harry is beginning to depend so much upon her society.
Now, if I ask, 'Where is Harry?' the answer is, 'Out driving or walking
or singing with Iris.' Katy tells me she is very plain of face--nay,
even homely. If she were beautiful I should be in terror too horrible
for words. It is wicked of me, but, oh! I can not help but thank God she
is not fair of face, to attract my darling from me."
Tears rolled down Katy's cheeks as she listened. Not for the world would
she have let her poor young mistress know that her grief had had a
witness. She kept perfectly quiet, making no sound, scarcely breathing,
until Dorothy passed slowly into an inner apartment, and she was
heartily glad that she touched her bell a moment after.
Katy hurried to her with alacrity, taking pains, however, to tiptoe to
the door, open it, and close it again, quite as if she had just come in
from the corridor.
"Now, Katy," said her young mistress, "you must make haste to help me
dress. I am impatient. I feel dreadfully nervous, as though a great
calamity was to take place. I feel just such a strange sensation as
seemed to clutch at my heart before that terrible accident happened that
has blighted my whole life."
"Oh, dear Miss Dorothy, _please_ don't talk so!" cried Katy, aghast.
"I'm sure it isn't right, if I may make so bold as to say so to you. I
have always heard it said: 'Never cross a bridge of trouble until you
come to it.'"
"'Coming events cast their shadows before,'" quoted Dorothy, slowly.
"I have made your dress look so lovely, Miss Dorothy," she cried,
bravely attempting to turn her thoughts into another channel, "and it's
right sorry I am that you can't see it. Every one will say that it is
the prettiest dress at the ball. You said I might fix it any way that I
liked, so long as it looked grand."
"How have you arranged it, Katy?" asked Dorothy, with a faint smile,
being girl enough to forget her sorrow for an instant in speaking of her
ball dress.
"It is your new white tulle, miss, that I picked out--the one that you
had made to go to parties in, providing you were ever asked to any, the
first week you came to Gray Gables, you remember."
"Oh, yes," murmured Dorothy, clasping her little hands. "I--I remember
so well how nice it looked on me, too."
"You looked like an angel in it!" declared Katy; resuming: "Well, it's
that one, miss, and I have been embroidering flowers all over the front
of it as a surprise for you, and, oh, they look perfectly magnificent on
it!--just as though some one stood near you and threw a great handful
of blossoms over you and they clung to your white tulle dress just where
they fell."
"What kind of flowers are they?" asked Dorothy, delightedly.
"Wisteria blossoms," said Katy.
Dorothy sprang to her feet, pale as death.
"You have embroidered purple wisteria blossoms all over my ball dress?"
she whispered, in an awful voice.
"Yes," returned the girl, wondering what was coming next.
"Oh, Katy!" she cried, in a choking voice, "don't you know that purple
wisteria blossoms mean tears?"
"I don't believe in all those old women's superstitions, miss," declared
Katy, stoutly. "I imagine that it was got up by some muddy-complexioned
creature, whose only annoyance was that the pretty blossoms didn't look
good on her, and consequently she gave them a bad name to keep others
from wearing them. There's plenty of such things being done."
This explanation, or rather explosion of the pet superstition, amused
Dorothy vastly.
"Well, I shall not mind the old adage about wisteria blossoms and tears.
I'll wear the dress anyhow, Katy, come what may. But do you know what
Iris is going to wear? I haven't been able to find out."
"Nor has any one, ma'am," muttered Katy. "She has been making up her
ball dress in her own room for the past fortnight, and keeps the door
securely fastened; but we shall see very soon now, for it is quite time
to dress, and she has to be ready first to receive the guests. I heard
Mr. Kendal telling her so, a few moments since, as they passed through
the corridor just as I opened the door."
She saw Dorothy turn a shade paler, and her head drooped, but she made
no reply.
"Shall I commence now to arrange your toilet?" she asked, anxious to
dress her mistress, and then don her own new dress for the gala
occasion.
"I don't want to go into the ball-room until all the guests have
arrived, and then I want to slip in quietly," said Dorothy; "so you need
not hurry."
It was a sorry task at best for Katy, dressing her poor, blind mistress
for the ball.
Ah! it was pitiful to see her sitting so patiently there with her back
to the mirror, while the maid, with great tears rolling down her cheeks,
fastened the clouds of tulle here and there with the dark blossoms, and
twined them in the golden curls that fell about her white neck.
Oh, how radiantly fair she looked! And Katy knew that no one gazing in
those beautiful violet eyes would ever realize that the lovely girl was
blind--stone blind.
Her hand trembled violently as, an hour later, she clung to her maid's
arm, and timidly, shrinkingly entered the great ball-room crowded with
guests. No one noticed their entrance, the throng was so great, and she
had her heart's desire. She slipped into a corner without her presence
being commented on.
She did not know that a little place among a bower of ferns had been
previously arranged for her by Katy, where she could sit and hear the
music without being seen herself; nor would Katy be seen by the guests.
"Tell me," she whispered, nervously clutching the girl's hand, "where is
Harry, and is--is Miss Vincent with him, and how does she look?"
Before Katy could frame a reply the last question was rudely answered by
a stranger. Two young ladies at that instant dropped down into seats so
near Dorothy that she could easily have touched them had she reached out
her hand from her screen of palms and roses.
"What a magnificent-looking girl that Iris Vincent is!" cried one of the
young girls. "The fame of her great beauty is spreading everywhere; but
I never dreamed she was as beautiful as the description I have heard of
her, and I find she far surpasses it. I wonder that poor, blind Dorothy
Glenn is not jealous that her affianced husband should pay the girl so
much attention."
"This is the first time I have seen her," replied her companion, "and I,
too, am amazed at her marvelous beauty. As I stepped into the ball-room
she was the first person I beheld, and she has dazzled my eyes ever
since. Oh, it was a wonderful picture she made, standing under a slender
palm tree, in her white tulle dress flecked with gold and pearls, and
those blood-red rubies encircling her white throat and perfect arms and
coiled in her jetty curls; and then those glorious dark eyes! No wonder
men lose their hearts over her at the first fatal glance into their
wonderful, mesmeric depths. She is fairer than the fairest of poets'
dreams."
Dorothy listened with bated breath, then turned quickly to Katy.
"Have you deceived me--_me_, a poor blind girl?" she cried in a terrible
voice that sounded like a cry from the tomb. "You told me that the girl
who had come beneath this roof was homely and terribly plain. _They_
say she is beautiful. Oh, God! have you deceived me? I must know the
truth at once."