So musing, he proceeded to the shop of Mrs. Crofton, the most
fashionable dressmaker in the place, and forgot his momentary scruples
in the consultation as to the proper materials for Helen's dress,
which was to be a present from him, and which he determined should be
worthy her grace and beauty.

The ball was over, and Helen stood in her festal costume, before the
ample mirror in her chamber, holding in one hand a white kid glove she
had just withdrawn. She had indeed been the belle of the ballroom.
Simplicity of life, and a joyous spirit, are the wonder-workers, and
she was irresistibly bright and fresh among the faded and hackneyed of
heated assembly rooms. The most delicate and intoxicating flattery had
been offered her, and wherever she turned, she met the glances of
admiration. Her brother, too, had been proudly assiduous, had followed
her with his eyes so perpetually as to seem scarcely conscious of the
presence of another; and there she stood, minute after minute, lost in
the recollections of her evening triumph.

Almost queenlike looked she, the rich folds of her satin robe giving
fullness to her slender form, and glittering as if woven with silver
threads. A chain of pearls lay on her neck, and gleamed amid the
shading curls, which floated from beneath a chaplet of white roses.
She looked up at length, smiled at her lovely reflection in the
mirror, and then wrapping herself in her dressing-gown, took up a
volume of sacred poems. But when she attempted to read, her mind
wandered to the dazzling scene she had just quitted. She knelt to
pray, but the brilliant vision haunted her still, and ever as the wind
stirred the vines about the window, there came back that alluring
music.