a good cry, and then came a wild rush to
get John Taylor's cloth ready. Still, Helen was querulous. She decided
that silk embroidery must embellish the skirt. The dressmaker was in
despair.

"I haven't a single spare worker," she declared.

Helen was appealing to Mrs. Vanderpool.

"I can do it," said Zora, who was in the room.

"Do you know how?" asked the dressmaker.

"No, but I want to know."

Mrs. Vanderpool gave a satisfied nod. "Show her," she said. The
dressmaker was on the edge of rebellion. "Zora sews beautifully," added
Mrs. Vanderpool.

Thus the beautiful cloth came to Zora's room, and was spread in a glossy
cloud over her bed. She trembled at its beauty and felt a vague inner
yearning, as if some subtle magic of the woven web were trying to tell
her its story.

She worked over it faithfully and lovingly in every spare hour and in
long nights of dreaming. Wilfully she departed from the set pattern and
sewed into the cloth something of the beauty in her heart. In new and
intricate ways, with soft shadowings and coverings, she wove in that
white veil her own strange soul, and Mrs. Vanderpool watched her
curiously, but in silence.

Meantime all things were arranged for a double wedding at Cresswell
Oaks. As John and Mary Taylor had no suitable home, they were to come
down and the two brides to go forth from the Cresswell mansion.
Accordingly the Taylors arrived a week before the wedding and the home
took on a festive air. Even Colonel Cresswell expanded under the genial
influences, and while his head still protested his heart was glad. He
had to respect John Taylor's undoubted ability; and Mary Taylor was
certainly lovely, in spite of that assumption of cleverness of which the
Colonel could not approve.

Mary returned to the old scenes with mingled feelings. Especially was
she startled at seeing Zora a member of the household and apparently
high in favor. It brought back something of the old uneasiness and
suspicion.

All this she soon forgot under the cadence of Harry Cresswell's pleasant
voice and the caressing touch of his arm. He seemed handsomer than ever;
and he was, for sleep and temperance and the wooing of a woman had put a
tinge in his marble face, smoothed the puffs beneath his eyes, and given
him a more distinguished bearing and a firmer hand. And Mary Taylor was
very happy. So was her brother, only differently; he was making money;
he was planning to make more, and he had something to