Cruel As The Grave

False--from the head's crown to the foot's sole--false!

To think I never knew it until now,

Nor saw thro' him e'en when I saw him smile;

Saw that he meant this when he wed me,

When he caressed me! Yes, when he kissed my lips!--BROWNING While this busy scene was being enacted below stairs, equally important,

if quieter dramas were being performed in the dressing-rooms up-stairs,

where the maskers were putting the last finishing touches to their

toilets.

In Mrs. Berners' dressing-room, Sybil, the queen of the festival, was

alone. Mr. Berners, who had assumed the character of "Harold, the last

of the Saxon Kings," had already completed his toilet and gone below

stairs, as he said, to take his place near the door to welcome his

guests as they should enter the drawing-room.

So Sybil was alone in her apartment. She also had just completed her

toilet, and now she stood before the large cheval mirror, surveying the

reflection of her figure from its clear surface, where it looked like a

framed picture.

Ah! far the most beautiful, far the most terrible figure in the

pageantry of the evening would be that of Sybil Berners! She had chosen

for her character the unprecedented part of the impersonation of the

Spirit of Fire. It suited well with her whole nature. She was a true

child of the sun--a fervent Fire Worshipper, if ever there lived one in

a Christian community. And now her costume was but the outward sign of

the inward fervor. Let me try to describe it.

She wore a robe of chameleon-hued satin, so artfully woven, with a warp

of golden thread and woof of crimson silk, that, as with every change of

light and shade, it glowed in ruby coals or blazed in amber flames; and

as with every motion of her graceful form it flashed around her, she

seemed to be clothed in living fire.

She wore a burning garnet, like a live coal on her bosom; and on her

brow a golden circle set with garnets, and having golden points set with

amber and topaz, and tipped with diamonds, and flashing like little

tongues of flame from a circle of fire.

Her mask was of golden gauze, perfectly moulded to her beautiful

features.

Never had Sybil Berners worn a dress so perfectly expressive of herself

as this, for she herself was Fire!

She had confided the secret of her costume to no one but to her husband,

not even to her guest--courtesy did not oblige her to do that; and in

order to preserve the secret inviolate, she had on this occasion dressed

herself without the assistance of her maid.

Being now ready to join the maskers, she slipped a large dark cloak

over her dress, opened the chamber door cautiously to see that the hall

was clear, found it to be so at that moment, and slipped out, glided

down the front stairs, elbowing crowds that were pushing up, and so

passed down to the lower hall, and stole through the multitude that

filled it up, back to the rear door. She passed around the outside of

the house to the front door, and entered with the swarm of new arrivals.

Would the ushers, Joe Joy and Miss Tabby, recognize their lady? That was

the question, and that was the test. She passed up with the rest,

letting her black cloak slip down to reveal her robe and crown of fire.