held out a small-sized box containing a most exquisite set of pearls, such as he fancied would be becoming to the soft, girlish beauty Wilford had described. Something in his father's manner touched Wilford closely, making him resolve anew that if Kitty were not happy as Mrs. Cameron it should not be his fault. His mother had said all she wished to say, while his sisters had been gracious enough to send their love to the bride, Bell hoping she would look as well in the poplin and little plaid as she had done. Either was suitable for the wedding day, Mrs. Cameron said, and she might take her choice, only Wilford must see that she did not wear with the poplin the gloves and belt intended for the silk; country people had so little taste, and she did want Katy to look well, even if she were not there to see her. And with his brain a confused medley of poplins and plaids, belts and gloves, pearls and Katy, Wilford finally tore himself away, and at three o'clock that afternoon drove through Silverton village, past the little church which the Silverton maidens were decorating with flowers, pausing a moment in their work to look at him as he went by. Among them was Marian Hazelton, but she did not look up, she only bent lower over her work, thus hiding the tear which dropped from the delicate buds she was fashioning into the words, "Joy to the Bride," intending the whole as the center of the wreath to be placed over the altar just where all could see it.
"The handsomest man I ever saw," was the verdict of most of the girls as they came hack to their work, while Wilford drove on to the farmhouse where Katy had been so anxiously watching for him.
When he came in sight, however, and she knew he was actually there, she ran away to hide her blushes and the feeling of awe which had come suddenly over her for the man who was to be her husband. But Helen bade her go back, and so she went coyly in to Wilford, who met her with loving caresses, and then put upon her finger the superb diamond which he said he had thought to send as a pledge of their engagement, but had finally concluded to wait and present himself. Katy had heard much of diamonds, and seen some in Canandaigua; but the idea that she, plain Katy Lennox, would ever wear them, had never once entered her mind; and now as she looked at the brilliant gem sparkling upon her hand, she felt a thrill of something more than joy at that good fortune which had brought her to diamonds. Vanity, we suppose it was—such vanity as was very natural in her case, and she thought she should never tire of looking at the precious stone; but when Wilford showed her next the plain broad band of gold, and tried it on her third finger, asking if she knew what it meant, the true woman spoke within her, and she answered, tearfully:
"Yes, I know, and I will try to prove worthy of what I shall be to you when I wear that ring for good."
Katy was very quiet for a moment as she sat with her head nestled against Wilford's bosom, but when he observed that she was looking tired, and asked if she had been working hard, the quiet fit was broken, and she told him of the dress "we had made," that "we" referring solely to Helen and Marian, for Katy had hardly done a thing. But it did not matter; she fancied she had, and she asked if he did not wish to see her dresses. Wilford knew it would please Katy, and so, though he cared very little about it, he followed her into the adjoining room where they were still spread out upon the tables and chairs, with Helen in their midst, ready to pack them away. Wilford thought of Mrs. Ryan and the check, but he shook hands with Helen very civilly, saying to her, playfully:
"I suppose that you are willing I should take your sister with me this time."
Helen could not answer, but turned away to hide her face, while Katy showed to her lover one dress after another, until she came to the little plaid, which, with a bright blush she told him "was the very thing itself—the one intended for to-morrow, and asked if he did not like it."
Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew she wished him to do so, but in his heart he was thinking bad thoughts against the wardrobe of his bride-elect—thoughts which would have won for him the title of hen-huzzy from Helen, could she have known them. And yet Wilford did not deserve that name. Accustomed all his life to hearing dress discussed in his mother's parlor, and in his sister's boudoir, it was natural he should think more of it and notice it more than Morris Grant would do, while for the last five weeks he had heard at home of little else than the probably _tout ensemble_ of Katy's wardrobe, bought and made in the country, his mother deciding finally to write to her cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who boarded at the Revere, and have her see it before Katy left the city. Under these circumstances, it was not strange that Wilford did not enter into Katy's delight, even after she told him how Helen had made every stitch of the dress herself, and that it would on that account be very dear to her. This was a favorable time for getting the poplin off his mind, and with a premonitory ahem, he said: "Yes, it is very nice, no doubt; but," and here he turned to Helen, "after Mrs. Ryan's services were declined, my mother determined to have two dresses fitted to Sister Bell, who I think is just Katy's size and figure. I need not say"—and his eyes still rested on Helen, who gave him back an unflinching glance—"I need not say that no pains have been spared to make these garments everything they should be in point of quality and style. I have them in my trunk," and, tuning now to Katy, "it is my mother's special request that one of them be worn to-morrow. You could take your choice, she said—either was suitable. I will bring them for your inspection."
He left the room, while Helen's face resembled a dark thundercloud, whose lightnings shone in her flashing eyes as she looked after him and then back to where Katy stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong.
"Who is Mrs. Ryan?" she asked. "What does he mean?" but before Helen could command her voice to explain, Wilford was with them again, bringing the dresses, over which Katy nearly went wild.
She had never seen anything as elegant as the rich heavy poplin or the soft lustrous silk, while even Helen acknowledged that there was about them a finish which threw Miss Hazelton's quite in the shade.
"Beautiful!" Katy exclaimed; "and trimmed so exquisitely! I do so hope they will fit!"
"I dare say they will," Wilford replied, enjoying her appreciation of his mother's gift. "At all events they will answer for to-morrow, and any needful alterations can be made in Boston. Which will you wear?"
"Oh, I don't know. I wish I could wear both. Helen, which shall I?" and Katy appealed to her sister, who could endure no more, but hid her head among the pillows of the bed and cried.
Katy understood the whole, and dropping upon the floor the silk to which she inclined the most, she flew to Helen's side, and whispered to her: "Don't, Nellie, right before Wilford. I won't wear either of them. I'll wear the one you made. It was mean and vain in me to think of doing otherwise."
During this scene Wilford had stolen from the room, and with him gone Helen was herself, capable of judging candidly and sensibly. She knew the city silk, which cost three dollars per yard, and was fastened with buttons of gold, having Katy's initial upon their face, was handsomer and better suited for Wilford Cameron's bride than the country plaid, costing one dollar per yard, and trimmed with buttons at eighteen pence per dozen, and so she said to Katy: "I would rather you should wear the one they sent. It will become you better. Suppose you try it on," and in seeking to gratify her sister Helen forgot in part her own cruel disappointment, and that her work of days had been for naught. The dress fitted well, though Katy pronounced it too tight and too long. A few moments, however, accustomed her to the length, and then her mother, Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy came to see and admire, while Katy proposed going out to Wilford, but Helen kept her back. Aunt Betsy remarking, under her breath, that "she didn't see for the life on her how Catherine could be so free and easy with that man when just the sight of him was enough to take away a body's breath."
"More free and easy than she will be by and by," was Helen's mental comment as she proceeded quietly to pack the trunk which Morris had brought for the voyage across the sea, dropping into it many a tear as she folded away one article after another, and wondered under what circumstances she should see them again if she saw them ever.
Helen
