"Ada Irvine has accepted her invitation, Dick," was Winnie's next announcement, given with ominous gravity. "No one ever imagined she would do so, and all the school-girls are talking about it."
Dick gave a low whistle.
"Depend upon it, Win," he said solemnly, "there's something in the wind. Ada Irvine's not the girl to take such a step without having a reason for so doing. I guess you and Nellie had better look out for squalls, for if Miss Ada's not up to some low dodge, my name's not Richard Blake."
And even while they were speaking, the subject of their conversation sat up in her comfortable bedroom at Mrs. Elder's, thinking over the first link she was about to forge in the long chain of bitter malice and deceit. She was seated in a low basket-chair before the fire, making a pretty picture with her long fair hair floating down her back, and her dainty figure nestling cosily amongst the soft cushions. Her blue eyes had an absent, far-away look, and the small white hands lying on her lap were nervously interlaced one with the other.
"Yes," she muttered in a low, hushed voice, "I shall have my revenge, though I cannot as yet see the way clearly before me. I hardly know towards which I bear the greater hatred, but anyhow both will suffer—Winnifred Blake for her malicious triumph and delight; Nellie Latimer for her upsetting behaviour and quiet contempt. Oh, how I detest them both!" and the girl's eyes gleamed angrily. There was a moment's silence; then she continued, knitting her white brow in a perplexed frown,—"I wonder how I shall manage? One thing is certain: I must do my best on Friday night—make a good impression on the Blake family, and cautiously poison their minds with respect to Nellie Latimer. People are so credulous in this world, it is wonderful what a word skilfully thrown in will do, and how very easily it is credited; but I must be careful, and lay my plans with the greatest caution."
She spoke all this in a low undertone, as if fearful of being overheard, and her eyes wandered round the room with an uneasy light shining in their depths. The fire-flames leaped and crackled, the pretty room was full of warmth and comfort; yet the girl shivered violently, and gave a scared glance towards the window as the wind went wailing round the house like a sobbing child. What gave her that strange, restless feeling—that weariness of heart? She could hardly tell; only somehow the world seemed all changed of late, and the Christmas-tide so close at hand failed to afford the same joy and gladness it had done heretofore. A great black cloud seemed to be hiding all the sunshine from her sight; a heavy weight would keep dragging at her heart-strings, and a continual thirst after revenge persisted in haunting her every footstep.
Yet this time was a season of peace and holy joy—a time when hand should clasp hand with the fervour of warm friendship, and all past slights and wrongs be blotted out for ever, leaving room for naught in the heart save the pure Christ-like love which makes this world a heaven on earth. Night after night, as the Christmas-tide drew near, the sky spread itself over all—one curtain, of misty blue, studded with the bright, scintillating twinkle of myriads of happy stars. Every evening the quiet, peaceful moon shone forth rounder and mellower; the north wind tempered its cutting blasts and touched the sleeping earth gently, gently with its icy fingers; and the frost-sparkles, glistering from lofty steeple and sloping roof, changed the dingy town to a veritable fairyland.
At first Nellie had often wondered why Miss Latimer took such an interest in the outside world, and what beauty she could see in the busy city with its constant din and bustle. But that was over now, for she had learned that the nature-world was as an open book to Aunt Judith—a treasury from which she brought forth gold, silver, and precious stones, and scattered them throughout the world in the shape of grand, beautiful thoughts.
Nellie found life very pleasant just now at the little cottage in Broomhill Road. Miss Latimer and Aunt Debby vied with each other in every endeavour to add to her comfort and happiness; while even Aunt Meg roused herself occasionally from her selfish torpor and tried to brighten the tiny home. She could gladden it wonderfully when she chose, for Miss Margaret possessed many pleasing traits of character; but, alas! she seldom did choose, and, as Miss Deborah quaintly expressed it, "one had to endure innumerable showers of rain for one gleam of sunshine." Nellie had become so accustomed, however, to the invalid's whims and caprices, that she thought little, if at all, about them, and in the meantime her whole attention was engrossed with Winnie's party. Miss Latimer had bought her a soft white muslin for the occasion, and Miss Deborah was busy converting it into the prettiest party-dress imaginable. The young girl had been at first slightly dubious about Aunt Debby's dress-making capabilities; but her doubts were fast disappearing as she watched the gradual progress made under that lady's skilful fingers, and noted how beautifully and tastefully the work was done.
"I am sure no one will have such a pretty dress, Aunt Debby," she said one afternoon, coming into the parlour and finding Miss Deborah busy over the dainty garment. "It is so good of you to put yourself to all this trouble for me, and I shall never be able to thank you as I ought." Nellie's eyes glistened as she spoke.