When some belovèd voice that was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence against which you dare not cry
Aches round you like a strong disease and new—
What hope? what help? what music will undo
That silence to your sense?
—E. Barrett Browning.
Hilda Merton stood in a rather irresolute fashion in her bedroom. Several people were coming to dine at the Rectory to-night, and she, as the young mistress of the establishment, ought to be in the drawing room even now, waiting to receive her guests. The Rector was a very wealthy man, and all those luxuries surrounded Hilda which are the portion of those who are gently nurtured and well-born. Her maid had left the room, the young girl's simple white dress was arranged to perfection, her lovely hair was coiled becomingly around her shapely head. She was standing before her looking-glass, putting the final touches to her toilet.
For some reason they took a long time to put. Hilda gazed into the reflection of her own pretty face as if she saw it not. Her brown eyes looked through the mirrored eyes in the glass with an almost abstracted expression. Suddenly a smile flitted across her face.
"I'll do it," she exclaimed. "I'll wear his white rose. He may think what he pleases. I—I do love him with all my heart and soul."
She blushed as she uttered these last words, and looked in a half-frightened way across the room, as if by chance someone might have overheard her.
The next moment the white rose was snugly peeping out from among the coils of her rich hair. Her dress was fastened at the throat with a pearl brooch. She was in simple white from top to toe.
"How late you are, Hilda," said Aunt Marjorie. "I was getting quite nervous. You know I hate to be alone in the drawing room when our visitors come; and really, my love, what a simple dress—nothing but a washing muslin. Did not you hear your father say that the Dean and Mrs. Sparks were coming to dinner to-night?"
"Of course I did, Aunt Marjorie. The cook also knows that the Dean is coming to dine. Now don't fret, there's a dear. I look nice, don't I? that's the main thing."
"Yes, Hilda, you look beautiful," said Aunt Marjorie solemnly; "but after all, when you have a new pink chiffon and—and——"