The Harvest of Years | Page 8

most gratefully, it is the prompt recognition of a need, and unobtrusive aid for it. A short time before the day appointed for us to go to the city, our Clara came down stairs dressed in a beautiful dark shade of blue Foulard silk, with a lace ruff about her throat, fastened with a lemon-colored bow.
The blood rushed with a full tide to my face when my eyes fell upon her as she entered. Simple, I presume, to those accustomed to elegant costume would her attire have seemed, but to me, as yet uninitiated in the mysteries of society, dress, etc., she was the perfection of loveliness, and the impression made upon me was an indelible one; I never saw anything half so lovely and perfect as she at that moment appeared to me.
It was an unusual thing too for her to be dressed so nicely for an afternoon at home. She had, I knew, many beautiful dresses, and had told me sometimes of the elaborate toilets of the city, but had heretofore donned as an afternoon dress the gray mohair she wore when she came, and a light blue scarf over her shoulders was the only color she wore about her. The weather was warm but the heat was never oppressive to her--her blood, she said, had never felt as it were really warm since the night her husband died. On this particular afternoon, we were talking principally of Hal, and my eyes unconsciously riveted their gaze on the folds of her dress hanging so gracefully about her, and trailing softly on the carpet if moved.
I wondered too a little at it, for I noticed it to be quite long in front as well as behind. The afternoon was far spent, and it was nearly time for Ben and father to come in to supper. Before she made any allusion to her extra toilette, extra for our little home, and nodding at me as I raised my eyes from the soft blue folds to meet the light of the blue eyes above them, she said:
"How does my dress please Mademoiselle Emily?"
"Oh!" I replied, "I never saw so beautiful a dress." She smiled one of her bright quick smiles as if some fancy struck her, and said, laying her hand over the bow at her heart,
"And this too?"
"Both are beautiful in my eyes," I said, "and so suited to you Clara."
After supper we were going to take a walk, and Clara went to her room, doffed the blue Foulard and came down in the grey mohair. We had a beautiful walk out from under the shade of the o'erarching chestnut trees before our door, along the grassy highway leading to the upper meadow, over the smooth newly-cut field on to the edge of the birch woods beyond. There we rested quiet, coming back when the moon rose over the hills and the stars hung out like lanterns on our track.
We talked. Clara had her seasons of soul-talk as she called it, and that night she read me a full page of her inner self the purport of which I shall never forget. The more she revealed to me of herself the more I loved her, and her words suggested thoughts that filled my soul--thoughts which, in depths within myself I had never dreamed of, found and swept a string that ere long broke its sweet harmonies on my spirit. I seemed, all at once, to develop in spiritual stature and to have become complex to myself.
When we said "good night" to the folks below and went up stairs together, Clara caught my hand and said,
"Come, mademoiselle, come to my room, please," and of course I went, making a mock courtesy as if I were a queen, and she my maid. She unpinned my linen collar and unhooked my dress, while I sat wonder struck, saying nothing until I felt the fleecy blue silk being thrown over my shoulders, when I essayed to articulate something. But when my head emerged from the dress, she playfully covered my mouth with her hand, and proceeded to fasten the dress which seemed just to fit; then came the delicate lace and the lemon bow. Taking my hand she led me to the glass, surveyed me from head to foot, clapped her hands like a glad child, and cried,
"A perfect fit, but I was afraid."
"Why, Clara," I said, "how, what?"
"Never, never mind, you like it, I did it myself, and I wore it first only to see how it struck you. 'Tis yours, my dear, go and put it away."
I did not say thank you even, for she would not let me. I just kissed her and went to my room, to my little room with its high-post bedstead, three wooden chairs and shabby hair-cloth