Dainty's Cruel Rivals; Or, The Fatal Birthday
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."
CHAPTER XI.
LOVE'S PRESENTIMENTS.
"Oh, friendships falter when misfortunes frown,
The blossoms vanish when the leaves turn brown,
The shells lie stranded when the tide goes down,
But you, dear heart, are ever true.
Let the silver mingle with your curls of gold,
Let the years grow dreary, and the world wax old,
But the love I bear to you will ne'er grow cold,
I love you, darling, only you!"
Olive Peyton would never forget the unpleasant notoriety of that night,
when Love Ellsworth had so coolly exposed her identity, though she
carried it off with a high hand, by explaining that the gypsy woman had
been called away by her husband's illness, and she had taken her place
for the fun of the thing, and to keep the church from losing the money
it was to have gained by the fortune-telling. Of course, she knew as
much of the future as any lying old gypsy woman; so she did not consider
that there was any harm done, as she had also earned several dollars for
the church. She had given a few of them bad fortunes, just to see if
they would really believe such stuff, meaning to tease them over their
credulity to-morrow, when she intended to declare her identity as the
gypsy.
No one ventured to dissent from Olive's declaration, that no harm had
been done by her personation of the gypsy; for no one suspected the real
truth, which was, that she had actually bribed the gypsy to give her
her place, hoping thus to work on the feelings of Dainty and her lover.
But baffled and detected in her wicked scheme, she carried it off coolly
as a joke, declaring that no harm had been done.
No one took issue with her except an old physician, who was known to
have the courage of his own opinion so strongly that he was even
ungallant enough to contradict a lady if he believed that she was in the
wrong.
So when she asserted that no harm had been done, old Doctor Platt
rumpled up his bushy-gray eyebrows severely at her, and snorted:
"I beg leave to differ with you, miss."
Olive turned on the bold doctor with an imperious frown; but he was not
in the least abashed.
He continued, testily:
"I give it as my professional opinion, without charge, that the dreadful
prediction you made to that timid, nervous girl, Miss Chase, would have
preyed so deeply on her sensitive mind as to cause her premature death,
had not the cruel joke been discovered in time to allay her fears."
"Nonsense!" Olive answered, sharply, turning her back on him in anger.
But she knew in her heart that she had counted on just what the old
doctor said, and hoped, indeed, in her cruel jealousy, to frighten poor
Dainty into an early grave.
She hated Love Ellsworth for thwarting her plans--hated and loved him,
in a breath; for his splendid, manly beauty had made an ineffaceable
impression on her heart. All his indifference did not chill the fire of
her passion; so that this love made an added incentive to become the
mistress of Ellsworth.
Though she knew he had discovered several of her schemes, and feared
that he secretly despised her; and even though she knew he was in love
with Dainty, and hoped to marry her in three weeks, she did not lose
hope of winning him yet herself. She would try plan after plan to come
between them, she vowed; and surely she must at last succeed.
So it was no part of her plan to have Love think ill of her; and after
the physician had so publicly expressed his opinion, she went up to the
lovers, where they stood a little apart, and exclaimed, sweetly:
"Doctor Platt has given me quite a scare over you, Dainty, and I am very
glad now that Mr. Ellsworth discovered my identity so soon, though
indeed I meant to reveal it myself to-morrow. But still, as you are so
weak and nervous, you might have spent a bad night, and I am glad it is
spared you. I meant no harm, only to worry you girls awhile; but I am
very sorry now, and you must forgive me, will you not, for my practical
joke?"
Dainty looked frankly surprised at this condescension, but she had too
sweet a nature to hold malice; so she murmured a gentle assent, and
Olive remained talking with them a few moments, dilating lightly on the
ridiculous fortunes she had given the girls, just to see their
consternation and disappointment over it all.