thing greater than Love. Outside the door came voices‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe dressmaker‚Äôs tones, Helen‚Äôs soft drawl, and Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool‚Äôs finished accents. Her face went suddenly gray. The Silver Fleece was not hers! It belonged‚ÅÝ‚ÄîShe rose hastily. The door opened and they came in. The cutting must begin at once, they all agreed.
“Is it ready, Zora?” inquired Helen.
‚ÄúNo,‚Äù Zora quietly answered, ‚Äúnot quite, but tomorrow morning, early.‚Äù As soon as she was alone again, she sat down and considered. By and by, while the family was at lunch, she folded the Silver Fleece carefully and locked it in her new trunk. She would hide it in the swamp. During the afternoon she sent to town for oilcloth, and bade the black carpenter at Miss Smith‚Äôs make a cedar box, tight and tarred. In the morning she prepared Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool‚Äôs breakfast with unusual care. She was sorry for Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool, and sorry for Miss Smith. They would not, they could not, understand. What would happen to her? She did not know; she did not care. The Silver Fleece had returned to her. Soon it would be buried in the swamp whence it came. She had no alternative; she must keep it and wait.
She heard the dressmaker‚Äôs voice, and then her step upon the stair. She heard the sound of Harry Cresswell‚Äôs buggy, and a scurrying at the front door. On came the dressmaker‚Äôs footsteps‚ÅÝ‚Äîthen her door was unceremoniously burst open.
Helen Cresswell stood there radiant; the dressmaker, too, was wreathed in smiles. She carried a big red-sealed bundle.
‚ÄúZora!‚Äù cried Helen in ecstasy. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs come!‚Äù Zora regarded her coldly, and stood at bay. The dressmaker was ripping and snipping, and soon there lay revealed before them‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe Paris gown!