Patty was the last to come down from dressing that night. She had refused to share with any one the secret of her costume; and even Flossy was ignorant, that beneath the long cloak which completely enveloped her cousin was concealed male attire. She supposed Patty had discarded entirely the suits used in the theatricals, and had manufactured one. And indeed she had seen signs of dress-making in her cousin's chamber; Patty's resolution having at one time so faltered, that she had begun a page's costume, which by its short skirt compromised between propriety and the dress she had chosen. A bundle from Putnam containing the dress he wished her to wear had been sufficient to strengthen her faltering courage; and in full masculine array, knee-breeches and all, Mistress Patience started for the masquerade.

Very pretty and jaunty she looked in the dress, her fine form displayed to the best advantage; but under the embroidered waistcoat and velvet frock beat a very miserable heart, as sad as it was proud. She smarted under what she received as a slur upon her modesty. Conscious of the innocence with which she had chosen the costume, she assumed that the lawyer had impugned her delicacy, when in truth he had merely reproved her thoughtlessness. In carrying out her original intent, and refusing to consider her resolve unmaidenly, she fancied herself protesting and demonstrating the whiteness of her thought; not recognizing, that, on the contrary, she was championing the act itself, of which, in a calmer mood, she would have herself disapproved.

Light streamed from all the windows of the Toxteth mansion, brightening up the sear lawn and leafless trees with a warm glow. Sounds of laughter and snatches of music were already heard, as the Sanfords were rather late in arriving.

"Let us separate," Patty suggested. "I'll stand in the shadow of the piazza a moment, and go in with somebody else. People will be less likely to know us."

"Very well," Will said; and then, as Flossy stepped across the piazza, he added, "What is the trouble with you, Pit-pat? You've been glum as a ghost all day, and now your tone is awfully lugubrious."

"Nothing, nothing," she answered. "Go in quick, before these folks come. You are good to care, but really nothing is the matter."

A group of maskers came up the path as she dismissed her brother with this well-intentioned fib, and with them she entered. Familiar with the house, she slipped past the dressing-room, and went into a sort of recess at the head of the back-stairway. Here in the dark she adjusted her dress as well as she was able, and then seated herself upon her cloak, holding her head in her hands. She dreaded going down to encounter the lights, and the eyes of the company. She shrank from possible discovery, and lingered until the fear of having to enter the parlors alone drove her from her hiding-place. She saw a lady emerging from the dressing-room, and with a swaggering bow Patty offered her arm. The lady, taking it, murmured "Thanks." By the voice Patty recognized Dessie Farnum. The two descended the stairs together.

They found Mrs. Toxteth receiving at the parlor-door. Near her stood a mask whom Patience did not recognize. He was tall and slender, with a figure which his motions seemed to indicate supple and well knit. His dress, which was admirably adapted to display his figure, was that of a Florentine courtier of Lorenzo de' Medici's day. Patty recalled Clarence's speaking of friends from Samoset who were to be present, and set the unknown down as one of the party. As she moved away, however, she felt a touch on her shoulder. She started violently, but by a strong effort endeavored to regain her composure. She felt that at any cost she must preserve her incognito; and, resolutely steadying herself, she turned to see who had arrested her. It was the Florentine chevalier. Taking her hand in one of his, with the finger of the other he traced upon her palm the letters "P. S." She shook her head; but, as she did so, it flashed upon her that the unknown was Tom Putnam. She had not considered that it would be necessary for him to procure a dress in place of the one he had taken to exchange with her; and now, in despite her agitation, she concluded that he must have sent to Boston for the costume he wore, and she admired him in it. Her next thought was that he must have been waiting for her. She refused the arm which he proffered, but followed as he led the way into a small back-parlor which chanced to be empty. There he stood looking at her without speaking.

"Well," she said, when she had endured the silence as long as she could. "What has my Lord Mentor to say now?"

"Nothing," he answered. "The Chevalier Sorrowful might present a petition, but certainly my Lord Mentor is silent."

"I am glad of that at least. Still I should like to be informed if the Chevalier Sorrowful has ever had dealings with Paul Pry."

"The Chevalier," the other said, parrying her thrust, "needs no dealings with Paul Pry. He has eyes for but one lady, and her he can detect under any disguise."

"What keenness of vision!" Patty retorted. Then, hoping to give the conversation a less personal character, she added, "Hark! Who is that singing?"

A voice affecting the Scotch accent was appealing more frantically than tunefully to "Douglas, Douglas, tender and true."

"It is Miss Yamfert from Samoset," the lawyer said. "She is dressed in Scotch costume."

The voice sang on,—

"Very pretty," Putnam remarked rather savagely. "But, if Douglas is comfortable where he is, he'd much better remain there. If she really loved him, she would have shown it while he was in the flesh. I've no faith in a love which expends itself only in tormenting its object."

"How harsh you are!" Patty said. "Doesn't your scheme of life allow any space for repentance?"

"Yes; but I've the smallest possible faith in it. If she hadn't love enough for Douglas to treat him decently, he was better off with no love at all. No doubt she would think herself sincere in making frantic promises over his grave; but, if he were back, it would be the same dreary story over again."

"Then Douglas had better leave her, and have done," Patty answered.

She felt, that, under the guise of allusions, they were discussing their own relations.

"You are right," he said. "But suppose he cannot choose? What if he be so bound up in her, that he would endure any thing, would forgive any thing?"

"Forgiveness," she retorted bitterly, "is sweet to the forgiver."

"It may at least show him his own weakness. If the lady's love for Douglas is not sufficient to make her glad of a small sacrifice for him, or at least to make her endure it, he has small reason to flatter himself upon the depths of her affection; and he must despise himself for wearing his heart upon his sleeve for her daws to peck at."

"Well," she said irrelevantly, her heart leaping at the assurance that after all he still loved her, "who laughs last laughs best."

"Not always," he returned. "The last laugh may have a bitterness from which the first was happily free."

"Pooh!" she laughed, turning a pirouette, her cue standing out behind her. "How like two owls we are, talking in this gloomy room! Let us get out among people."

She had suddenly recovered her spirits. Since he loved her, she forgot that she was wounding him, and that he was unhappy. At another time the thought would have produced tenderness: now it brought a reaction from her despondency, and for the moment she was her most piquant, saucy self. She hummed a snatch of song,—

"Patty!" her lover cried, catching her wrist, "are you perfectly heartless?"

"I shall have a post mortem made to discover," she returned flippantly. "It will be too late for my own information, but it will satisfy the curiosity of my friends."

"If you do not begin soon to cultivate some show, either of delicacy or sensibility," he said almost brutally, "your friends will cease to be interested. For my part," he went on, his voice showing more and more emotion, "though I can't help being a fool, I shall try to help amusing you with exhibitions of my folly. I have never flattered myself that you could have any particular reason for caring for me; and I may thank my stars, I suppose, that the question is settled. But I tell you this, Patience Sanford, you will go far before you will find a man who will give his heart for you to set your feet on so absolutely as I have done. If it is any satisfaction for you to know that, you are welcome to the knowledge. Perhaps some time I shall be unselfish enough to hope you may be happy without me. Just now I have an absurd fancy that it would be pleasant to strangle you. If you ever love anybody but yourself, you may know what that means. Good-night, and good-by."

The cup whose sweet foam Patty had a moment before set laughing to her lips proved more bitter than wormwood in its depths. Never had she so thrilled with passion as while her lover cast her off. Never before had she seen him so moved. The dress he wore, setting off as it did his fine figure, gave an appropriate setting for his words, and by its strangeness half explained them. Had he remained a moment longer, Patty felt that she must have thrown herself at his feet, and begged him to forgive and love her still. As it was she burst into tears, but in a moment resolutely suppressed them, and followed her lover into the crowd of maskers.

Dessie Farnum, having seen that her escort did not come from the dressing-rooms above, supposed herself to have been escorted down stairs by Clarence Toxteth, and as such pointed out her companion. Several approached Patty, and crossed her palm with a "T;" but she shook her head, and made her way from the parlors as quickly as possible. She desired nothing now but to get out of the house; and, wrapping herself up, she effected her escape by a side-door, and walked rapidly away. She removed her mask to let the night-air cool her heated cheeks and brow; and, struggling hard to repress the tears which forced themselves into her eyes, she went on towards home.

Suddenly a clatter broke the stillness of the night, the noise of wheels and trampling mingled with oaths and cries. A carriage dashed by her, the horse plunging forward, evidently beyond the control of the driver. Another moment, and the vehicle was overturned. She heard a cry followed by a heavy fall. The horse rushed madly on, with the carriage half dragging behind him, the noise of his frantic hoof-beats dying away in the distance, leaving a stillness more intense than before.

Patty ran forward, and discovered the lifeless body of a man lying on the ground.