CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE MASKERS.

Meanwhile the other maskers, if not at heart happier than Patty, were at least outwardly gay. The fun was heartily entered into on all sides, and mock flirtations abounded. Flossy accepted the proffered arm of an Italian bandit, one of the Samoset party; and the pair had joined the promenaders moving up and down the long hall.

"But whom do you represent?" he asked. "I do not understand your dress."

"Oh! I'm Dame Trot and her wonderful cat," Flossy returned lightly. "I supposed that even in Italy I had been heard of."

"So you have, Dame Trot; but, not seeing your cat, I was naturally puzzled."

"My cat," she replied confidentially, "is dead."

"Indeed? How sad! When did the melancholy event take place?"

"I do not know exactly. The fact is, he disappeared one night; and, as I'm sure he couldn't live without me, I am convinced that he must be dead."

"And you were deprived of even the privilege of weeping over his grave?"

"He is like Moses," she answered impressively. "The place of his sepulchre no man knoweth to this day."

"That is a distinction," laughed the brigand. "Keep a brave heart, Dame Trot: I may hear tidings of the wonderful cat yet. Meanwhile here is some one who is evidently looking for you."

It was a huge monk, who had all the evening been searching for the white lute-string which she wore.

Some weak souls yield to omens and ill-starred presages, but heroic mortals overcome them. So far from being discouraged by the ill-luck of his penny-tossing, Burleigh was but the more firmly determined to press his suit. Tucking Flossy under his arm, he led her out of the press, and found solitude behind a stand of plants in the back hall.

"I have been trying all the evening to find you," he said. "Did I not do well to make out the lute-string dress?"

"Oh, wonderfully!" she answered, imitating him in pulling off her mask. "Dear me, how hot it is! These masks are so roasting!"

"They are close," he assented. "Look here," he continued with sudden vehemence. "I dare say you'll be angry,--you'll have a right to be,--but I love you, and I want you for my wife!"

"Mercy!" exclaimed Flossy, much as if she had been shot.

An opening among the plants let a beam of light fall upon his honest, manly face; and, as he leaned eagerly towards Flossy, his clear eyes seemed to look into the very depth of her being.

"Don't you care for me?" he pleaded. "I have loved you"--

He left his sentence incomplete, and caught her into his arms, to the great detriment of the lute-string dress. He insisted always that he saw permission in her face; but she quite as strenuously averred that she gave him no answer, and that her face could have expressed nothing but indignant surprise. But in any case they forgot the world in general and the company present in particular, until they heard people going away, and were astonished to find that supper with its unmasking had passed by, and that it was long after midnight.

"And I am so fond of supper!" Flossy said. "It was very unkind of you to keep me here."

"But I am so fond of you," he retorted, "that it was very good of you to stay."

"I've a great mind to eat you," she said.

"Do. I know I shall like it, and I'm sure I'd taste better than pop-corn."

"But I haven't promised any thing," Flossy said, speaking, as usual, quite independently of the subject in hand. "We're not engaged until you've seen father."

An hour or two later, when Burleigh was preparing to retire, his silver lucky-penny dropped to the floor.

"Ah, ha!" he cried, tossing it into the air. "You were wrong, after all, old fellow, unless you wanted to bully me into proposing; and, by George! I think that's the only way I got pluck for it."

And the great honest fellow took himself to bed, and lay awake thinking of Flossy with a simple humility that was very touching. A glow of love and happiness enveloped him like a rosy cloud; and when at last he fell asleep it was to dreams as passionately pure as had been his waking thoughts, and, like them, centring about the little maiden who had that night promised to become his wife.

Before the guests at Mrs. Toxteth's unmasked, Will encountered Putnam, and endeavored to discover his identity.

"You are evidently dumb," he said at last, after having vainly tried to make Tom speak. "'Tis a virtue more to be commended in the other sex."

"By great Cæsar's immortal ghost!" exclaimed the undisguised tones of Clarence Toxteth at his elbow, "that must be Will Sanford's voice. Where is Patty? Didn't she come?"

"She came, but I don't know where she is."

"I've hunted the whole evening for her, and have had supper put off on purpose to find her before we unmasked. I followed Emily Purdy a while, but I knew her voice the minute she spoke."

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, but still remained silent.

"For my part," Sanford said, "I shouldn't tell her dress if I knew it; but as it happens I don't. She was covered from head to foot in a waterproof when we came."

Putnam turned away with a feeling of relief. He began to hope that Patty's wild freak might pass unknown, and searched through the rooms, meaning to make a last appeal to her to leave before the masks were removed. His search was of course unsuccessful, but he encountered Emily Purdy.

"How clever Patty Sanford was in deceiving us!" he said as soon as he was sure she knew him. "We might have known she only took that man's dress as a blind. Have you seen her to-night? I think her costume the handsomest here."

"No, I haven't seen her," Emily answered. "How is she dressed?"

"You'll see when we unmask," Tom answered; adding, with quiet sarcasm, "It wouldn't be quite fair to tell before."

XXXV.

PETER MIXON.

Finding a man flung apparently lifeless at her feet, Patty applied herself in the most matter-of-fact way to the discovery whether he were dead or alive.

He had been with much violence pitched headforemost into the ditch; and her first care was to drag his head out of the mire, and to turn him over into an easy position. She loosened his cravat, and bathed his forehead with water. At last a faint groan attested that life had not departed, and the man stirred feebly.

By this time a few men panting and blowing came running up. They had heard the runaway, and pursued as rapidly as possible, humanity and curiosity alike spurring them on. By Patty's direction they carried the injured man into the house of Mrs. Brown, which chanced to be at hand; and then it was seen that he was Peter Mixon. They were obliged to deposit the unfortunate Peter on a lounge while the lady of the house had a bed prepared for him.

"I've been meaning to have a bed made up in the spare-room," that notable housekeeper said, "ever since brother Phineas's folks were here last spring. I never would have believed, Patience Sanford, that you'd have brought him here! But there! as I was telling Joe only the other day when our old gray cat died, that we've had for more than ten years, our best friends ain't to be depended upon; but they'll go off the handle when you least expect it. And it ain't as if I had a house full of copious apartments: I've only that room for company. However, carry him up."

The sufferer was at length got to bed, a messenger having meanwhile been sent for Dr. Sanford. Patty thought it best to remain until her father came; as Mrs. Brown evinced a strong disposition to stir up the wounded man, and make him tell where he was injured. Mixon lay unconscious, his heavy breathing sounding painfully through Mrs. Brown's dribble of speech. His head was badly gashed, and one of his arms hung limp and helpless. When Dr. Sanford came, he saw at a glance that the man was dangerously hurt, several of his ribs being broken, and it appearing probable that he was injured internally. Dr. Sanford made his daughter useful while he dressed the wounds in the patient's head.

"I shall stay a while," he said when this was done. "How came you here?"

"I was going home, and saw him thrown out."

"Going home? What for?"

"I had a headache, and the rooms were very warm," she replied, dropping her eyes.

"Were you alone?"

"Yes, sir."

Her father looked at her keenly.

"I won't force your confidence," he said; "but I've seen for some time that you were unhappy. Be careful, my daughter."

"I shall be as merry as a grig," she answered, "when I have slept off this headache."

The wind had risen, and the sky was overcast, as Patty hurried towards home. The leaves went scurrying by with a hollow rustle, while all the air was full of those eerie noises which haunt its bosom on All-Hallowe'en. Shivering somewhat from excitement, and more from fatigue, the girl reached her gate. The wounded man had already given place in her mind to the remembrance of her interview with Tom Putnam. Now at last she felt that every thing was ended between them. Instead of going into the house, she crossed the garden towards the brook. Just above the bridge was a pool which the children used to call Black-Clear Eddy, from the singular blackness at once and transparency of the water. Standing beside this she dropped a stone into the pool to break the thin film of ice which was forming. Then she unfastened her cloak, and drew up from beneath the bosom of her dress a silk cord, to which was fastened a hoop of gold wire. It was her secret, known to no one but herself. Years before, Tom Putnam had twisted this ring carelessly from a bit of gold broken from his sister's bracelet, and had given it to Patty for a philopena. She held it a moment in her hand, and then dropped it through the hole in the ice.

"There!" she said to herself, turning away. "That is done. I feel so much like a sensational story, that I am not sure I am not to be continued in our next. I should have done something tragic in throwing away that trumpery ring. A few lines from 'The Faithful Jewess' wouldn't have come in amiss:--

"'I raise my arms to you, ye starless skies, And cry for pity on my hapless lot. Ah, perjured one! Why hast thou left me lone?'

"Goodness, how cold it is! Good-by, old ring! Some of the witches riding about to-night may fish you up, and wear you to their sabbath."

She entered the silent house, and crept to her room, where she got quickly to bed, only to lie and toss with troubled thought, which would have ended in tears had she been of weaker mettle. She fell asleep at last: and from her mind, as from Pandora's box, slipped every thing but hope; so that she dreamed she was betrothed to Tom Putnam with the very ring she had dropped into Black-Clear Eddy.