'Come, sober old Sally, my sweetheart! I've taken a whim in my head, and
you shall dress me, for to the ball I'll go.'
'Tut, tut, Miss Lily, darling,' said old Sally, with a smile and a shake
of the head. 'What would the doctors say?'
'What they please, my darling.'
And up stood little Lily, with her bright colour and lustrous eyes.
'Angel bright!' said the old woman, looking in that beloved and lovely
young face, and quite 'filling up,' as the saying is, 'there is not your
peer on earth--no--not one among them all to compare with our Miss
Lilias,' and she paused, smiling, and then she said--'But, my darling,
sure you know you weren't outside the door this five weeks.'
'And is not that long enough, and too long, to shut me up, you cruel old
woman? Come, come, Sally, girl, I'm resolved, and to the ball I'll go;
don't be frightened. I'll cover my head, and send in for Aunt Becky, and
only just peep in, muffled up, for ten minutes; and I'll go and come in
the chair, and what harm can I take by it?'
Was it spirit? Did she want to show the folk that she did not shrink
from meeting somebody; or that, though really ill, she ventured to peep
in, through sheer liking for the scrape of the fiddle, and the fun, to
show them that at least she was not heart-sick? Or was it the mysterious
attraction, the wish to see him once more, just through her hood, far
away, with an unseen side glance, and to build endless speculations, and
weave the filmy web of hope, for who knows how long, out of these airy
tints, a strange, sad smile, or deep, wild glance, just seen and fixed
for ever in memory? She had given him up in words, but her heart had not
given him up.
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