As for Esther, a great calm had replaced her agitation of the preceding evening. The gypsy's prediction, the Shakespearean oracle, together with the conspiracy of things in general so far as her vanity was concerned, failed to prevail against the sentiment hidden away in the depths of her heart. She had arrived at a determination and proposed to abide by it. She would go to the ball, would have as pleasant a time as she could, but she would not permit herself to be led away. She would not notice any such preconcerted signal as "The moon is risen!" She was resolved to act thus—unless at the last minute, and actuated by some new caprice, she did exactly the contrary.
Esther was ready in good time, and Mrs. Marsham, although much slower, was not behind hand in joining her in the parlor.
About nine o'clock, shortly after nightfall (for these were the longest days of the year), the women were startled by a great hubbub at the door, which resembled the hooting of children. In her curiosity and impatience Esther hastened to open the door, and discovered to her amazement, in the midst of a dozen or more boys who were throwing mud at him, a strange creature dressed like a gentleman but wearing the enormous head of an ass. The monster, who seemed either blind or intoxicated, bolted into the garden, slamming the gate behind him.
"Shut the door, quick!" muttered an indistinct voice which issued from the snout of the animal. "Can't you see they're hunting me?"
Mechanically the young girl obeyed, and then the intruder quickly removed his artificial head and displayed to the women the pale, haggard, dripping features of their friend, the music teacher.
"Mr. O'Flannigan!"
"O'Flannigan himself, astonished that he is still alive to tell the tale! Did you see those madmen?"
"Madmen! Why, the eldest was not more than twelve years of age."
"Are you sure of it?"
"Of course. But why this ass's head?"