"THE GRIM FATES."
"I know a maiden fair to see,
Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
"And she has hair of a golden hue,
Take care!
And what she says is not true,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
"She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care!
It is a fool's cap for thee to wear,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!"
Love Ellsworth had won, as it appeared, a signal victory, and he hoped
that by his determined will he had vanquished the opposition, so that
Dainty would not have to suffer any further persecution.
Indeed, at luncheon, beyond a very slight coolness, the clouds of the
morning seemed to have cleared away. Mrs. Ellsworth led the conversation
to pleasant generalities, and presently proposed that the whole party
should attend a charity entertainment to be given that evening at a
country church in the neighborhood.
"Besides the usual supper of berries, cake, and ice cream, there will be
some fine tableaus, I am told, and also a tent with a real gypsy
fortune-teller, they say. I suppose we ought to patronize it for
charity's sake, and because the girls might find it rather amusing!"
"Oh, I would not miss it for anything! I should love dearly to have my
fortune told!" cried Olive, with unwonted animation.
"And the fortune-teller is a real gypsy, too; so I heard the preacher's
wife say," chimed in Ela; adding: "There's been a gypsy encampment on
the banks of the river for more than a week."
The vote was taken, and all decided to go, as it was only two miles
away.
At twilight they set forth in the roomy Ellsworth carriage that easily
accommodated the five, and on reaching the scene, found it very
picturesque, the fine grove around the low white church being
illuminated by Chinese lanterns, shedding their light on the decorated
tables, where ice cream and accompaniments were served by the ladies of
the church to quite a large throng of people.
"How romantic it looks under those dark trees with the flickering lights
and leaf-shadows! Just the spot for lovers!" cried Olive, smiling at
Love and Dainty in quite a conciliatory manner, adding, lightly: "Do not
ask me, Aunt Judith, to do anything so prosaic as to eat cream yet. I
shall stroll away by myself under these magnificent trees."
She kept her word, and turned up quite half an hour later, when the
other four were eating cream at a table, laughing, and saying:
"I have had such a long stroll, I am hungry now; and, oh! what fun I
have had with the old gypsy! She told my fortune for a dollar, and if it
comes true, it will be worth more than that to me, for she promised me a
rich and adoring husband, beautiful children, and a long and happy
life!"
She was more than usually animated, her dark eyes glowing with
excitement, and Ela caught the infection, exclaiming:
"Hurry and eat your cream, and take me to the tent, Olive. I want to
hear my fortune, too."
Love and Dainty, listening to her careless words, thought that if the
gypsy told her truly, she would hear an unwelcome story of a heartless
girl who had thrown over a true lover for the sake of captivating a
richer one; but they held their peace, and presently the two girls went
off together, and the minister and his wife engaged Mrs. Ellsworth in
conversation, leaving the pair of lovers free to mingle with the gay
crowd of young and old strolling beneath the trees. They spoke little to
the casual acquaintances they met, preferring to enjoy each other's
society.
It was an ideal July night, warm and odorous with the sweet breath of
nature, and the moon shone so bright that the fantastic lanterns were
scarcely necessary, save to add to the festivity of the scene.
Love thought Dainty looked more lovely than he had ever seen her
to-night, in her soft white gown with a bunch of dewy white lilies at
her waist and a wreath of them around her white chip hat, making up such
a simple, lovely costume that Olive and Ela had been wild with envy,
despite their own shimmering silks, and gay hats loaded with artificial
flowers.
When Dainty had come to Ellsworth they had laughed at her simple gowns,
and more especially her last summer's hat--a fine white chip, simply
trimmed with a bow of white ribbon.
"She can not help looking shabby in that old hat, and her beauty will
not count for much. Fine feathers make fine birds," quoted Olive,
complacently.
She forgot Dainty's exquisite taste, and that the gardens of Ellsworth
were blushing with the rarest flowers, by whose aid the young girl each
day transformed the old hat into a thing of beauty.
With the aid of a few long pins, Dainty would, with a few deft touches,
adorn the old white chip, now with a garland of roses, now with lilies
or geraniums, now with a trailing vine of starry-white jasmine, and even
one day, when she wore a very simple blue gingham, chose heavenly blue
larkspurs, under whose blue mist her sweet eyes looked more deeply
violet than ever, and her skin just like the satiny leaf of a rose.
Olive and Ela pretended to ridicule this unique millinery; but the fact
remained that Dainty appeared in a new hat each day, or several times a
day, if the sun shone too warm and wilted the flowers too quickly; and
her cousins were fain to secretly own to each other that no millinery
conception could equal in grace and beauty these clever "makeshifts" of
tasteful Dainty.
To-night the white chip was festooned in tulle, and the dewy lilies
pinned on just before starting, to keep them fresh and crisp.
"Where did you get all that tulle?" cried Olive, staring enviously.
"It's old-fashioned!" added Ela, spitefully; but Dainty laughed,
good-naturedly:
"I dare say it is, for it came off an old ball-gown of mamma's that I
found when I was rummaging her old boxes. She said I might have it; so I
tear off bunches of the tulle whenever I want a fresh setting for my
flowers. Of course, I know, Ela, that chiffon is more fashionable now,
but I can not afford it."
So, in her soft white muslin gown and garnitures of lilies, with the dew
still glistening on their green leaves and golden hearts, Dainty made a
picture of pure and lovely maidenhood that thrilled her lover's heart
with admiration, and every feminine heart with envy.
Arm in arm they wandered about the grove, absorbed in each other, until
suddenly they found themselves close to the gypsy tent, and saw a bevy
of fair maidens close by, laughing and exchanging confidences over the
queer things the fortune-teller had told them.
"She promised me a rich husband, with blue eyes and a perfect love of a
blonde mustache!" cried one, exultantly.
"And me a drunken one that would beat me every day, and break up all the
furniture in his tantrums. I told her I wouldn't accept such a fortune,
and wanted my dollar back, but she wouldn't give it," added another,
lugubriously.
"Well, mine was quite as bad. She said I would have a lazy husband and
nine children, and have to take in washing to support them," cried still
another, bringing the laugh on herself, until Love Ellsworth said,
gayly:
"Really, Dainty, we must go in and see what the seeress will grant to us
from the grim fates."
"But you can not go together--only one person is admitted at a time!"
cried the gay maidens.
"Ladies first!" cried Love, gallantly; and after leading Dainty to the
door of the tent, he returned to the bevy of fair ones, and stood
chatting merrily with them while he waited for his love's return.
She had gone from him gayly, happily, with laughter on her lips and
roses on her cheeks; but presently she staggered forth, pale and
changed, her face as white as her lilies, and the tears hanging on her
lashes like pearls in the moonlight.
"The old gypsy has frightened her with her promise of a drunken and lazy
husband!" cried the merry girls.
"Did she promise you a rich and loving husband?" cried Love, hanging
eagerly over the pale, trembling girl.
She faltered a despairing negative; and one of the girls exclaimed,
curiously:
"Do tell us what she said, Miss Chase! It can not possibly be worse than
what she promised us!"
"Yes, tell us all about it, so that we can laugh at it together!" added
Love solicitously, seeing how unnerved she was, anxious to turn it all
into a joke.
Dainty leaned heavily on her lover, as though scarcely able to stand,
and her eyes turned mournfully to his while she faltered, fearfully:
"Oh, I shall never forget how balefully her black eyes burned on me
through the holes in her mask, as if she hated me, and what cruel glee
rang in her voice as she hissed in my ear: 'You do well to choose lilies
for your adorning, for they are funeral flowers, and you will soon be
the bride of Death!'"
And with those faltered words, the frightened girl dropped like a broken
flower and hung fainting on her lover's arm.
Instantly there was a great commotion, the girls rushing hither and
thither for restoratives, so that Dainty soon sighed and opened her
blue eyes in pathetic wonder.
"Love," she murmured, weakly; and one of the girls said, pityingly:
"There, dear; don't worry. Mr. Ellsworth has gone into the tent to scold
the old fortune-teller for telling you such wicked falsehoods."
"Just as she told all of us," added another. "Why, I never saw such a
spiteful old hag in my life, promising me a drunken, abusive husband,
when I am engaged to the dearest fellow in the world!"
Dainty suffered them to soothe her by making light of the gypsy's
predictions, while she waited uneasily for her lover's return.
Love had indeed rushed away in bitter wrath to upbraid the grewsome
fortune-teller; but on entering the tent, whose darkened interior and
somber arrangement framed the black-gowned outlines of a tall, masked
woman, he recoiled momentarily in something like awe.
"Advance, mortal!" intoned a deep, sepulchral voice: "advance, cross my
palm with silver, and hear the sentence of the stars that rule thy
destiny!"
Involuntarily Love obeyed, placing the silver on the extended palm, that
seemed to tremble as he cried, angrily:
"The silver is for charity, not that I believe any of your ill-timed
jargon."
The tall gypsy, whose brow was crowned with silvery tresses, and through
whose black mask glittered fierce black eyes, answered, gibingly:
"Whether you believe or not, your fate will be the same. Listen: you are
a favorite of fortune, and deeply beloved by two young girls. One is as
fair as a summer morn, the other dark and splendid as a moonlit summer
night. Your heart inclines to the blonde, but she is false as hell; and
if you wed her, you will rue your mistake throughout your life. The
stars command you to wed the dark beauty your friends have chosen for
you, and you will be blissfully happy."
Love Ellsworth stared curiously at the speaker, then laughed, mockingly:
"'How like an angel's sounds the tongue of woman,
When pleading in another's cause her own!'"
"What mean you?" hissed the veiled gypsy, defiantly; and he answered by
snatching a ring from her extended hand, as he cried, gibingly:
"I know you, Miss Peyton, by your voice and this ruby ring that you
borrowed from your aunt--an heirloom in the Ellsworth family. I shall
keep it to prove to Dainty that it was not a real gypsy who tried to
frighten her to death, but only her affectionate cousin masquerading in
a false guise in order to further her own plans."
And, with a scornful laugh, he left the discomfited plotter and returned
to Dainty and the girls, saying, gayly, as he held up the ruby ring:
"How cleverly Miss Peyton has fooled you all, masquerading as the gypsy,
and promising all sorts of dreadful things just to witness your terrors.
But she could not deceive me. I knew her at once by her voice, and this
ruby ring, that I snatched from her hand just to convince you all that
it was no gypsy, but simply Miss Olive Peyton, who knows no more about
the future than any of us."