As on two former occasions, Miss Merlin called in the aid of her three favorite ministers—­Vourienne, Devizae, and Dureezie.

On the morning of the last day of June Vourienne and his assistants decorated the dining room.  On the evening of the same day Devizae and his waiters laid the table for the wedding breakfast.  And then the room was closed up until the next day.  While the family took their meals in their small breakfast room.

During the evening relatives from a distance arrived and were received by Bee, who conducted them to their rooms.

By this inroad of visitors Bee herself, with the little sister who shared her bed, were driven up into the attic to the plain spare room next to Ishmael’s own.  Here, early in the evening, as he sat at his work, he could hear Bee, who would not neglect little Lu for anything else in the world, rocking and singing her to sleep.  And Ishmael, too, who had just laid down his pen because the waning light no longer enabled him to write, felt his great trouble soothed by Bee’s song.

CHAPTER LXIV.

CLAUDIA’S WOE

  Ay, lady, here alone
    You may think till your heart is broken,
  Of the love that is dead and done,
    Of the days that with no token,
  For evermore are gone.

  Weep, if you can, beseech you! 
    There’s no one by to curb you: 
  His heart cry cannot reach you: 
    His love will not disturb you: 
  Weep?—­what can weeping teach you?

  —­Meredith.

Sifting within the recess of the dormer window, soothed by the gathering darkness of the quiet, starlight night, and by the gentle cadences of Bee’s low, melodious voice, as she sung her baby sister to sleep, Ishmael remained some little time longer, when suddenly Bee’s song ceased, and he heard her exclamation of surprise: 

“Claudia, you up here! and already dressed for dinner!  How well you look!  How rich that maize-colored brocade is!  And how elegant that spray of diamonds in your hair!  I never saw you wear it before!  Is it a new purchase?”

“It is the viscount’s present.  I wear it this evening in his honor.”

“How handsome you are, Lady Vincent!  You know I do not often flatter, but really, Claudia, all the artist in me delights to contemplate you.  I never saw you with such brilliant eyes, or such a beautiful color.”

“Brilliant eyes! beautiful color!  Ha! ha! ha! the first frenzy, I think!  The last—­well, it ought to be beautiful.  I paid ten dollars a scruple for it at a wicked French shop in Broadway!  And I have used the scruple unscrupulously!” she cried, with a bitter laugh as of self-scorn.

“Oh, Claudia—­rouged!” said Bee, in a tone of surprise and pain.

“Yes, rouged and powdered! why not?  Why should the face be true when the life is false!  Oh, Bee,” she suddenly broke forth in a wail of anguish; “lay that child down and listen to me!  I must tell someone, or my heart will break!”