His hand was on the latch, when some one knocked.  He threw open the door,—­and had to look twice before recognizing Nurse.  Her dingy anomalous drapery had been exchanged for another sort of costume.  Her scars strove to be hidden beneath the yellow lace and crumpled feathers of an antique head-dress.  She wore a satin gown of an old fashion, whose pristine whiteness was much impaired by time.  An aged fan, ragged, but of tasteful pattern, dangled at her wrist.  She resembled some forgotten Ginevra, reappearing after an age’s seclusion in the oaken chest.  Her aspect was painfully repellent, the more for this pathetic attempt at good looks.  The former unlovely garb had a sort of fitness to the blasted features; but so soon as she forsook that uncanny harmony and tried to be like other women, she became undesirably conspicuous.

“The bridesmaid!” came to Balder’s lips,—­but did not pass them.  He would not hurt the poor creature’s feelings by the betrayal of surprise or amusement.  She was a woman,—­and Gnulemah was no more.  According to his love for his wife, must he be tender and gentle towards her sex.

When, therefore, Nurse gave him to understand that she was to marshal him to the altar, Balder, never more heroic than at that moment, offered her his arm, which she accepted with an air of scarecrow gentility.  Either the change of costume had struck in, or it was the symbol of inward change.  She seemed struggling against her torpor, her dimness and deadness.  She tried, perhaps, to recall the day when that dress was first put on,—­the day of Helen’s marriage, when Salome had attended her mistress to the altar,—­when she hoped before many weeks to stand at an altar on her own account.—­Not yet, Salome, nor in this world.  Perchance not in another; for they who maim their earthly lives may not enjoy in heaven the happiness whose seed was not planted here.  The injury is justly irreparable; else had angels been immediately created.

But Salome was practising deception on herself.  Airs and graces which might have suited a coquettish lady’s-maid, but were in her a ghastly absurdity, did she revive and perpetrate.  Struggling to repress the ugly truth, she was in continual dread of exposure.  Fain would she dream for an hour of youth and beauty, knowing, yet veiling the knowledge, that it was a dream.  Divining her desire, Balder helped out the masquerade as best he might.  She was thankfully aware of his kindness, yet shunned acknowledgment, as a too bare betrayal of the cause of thanks.

As they passed a cracked cheval-glass in an intervening room, the bridesmaid stole a glance at her reflection, flirting her fan and giving an imposing whisk to the train of her gown.  Helwyse, whom, three days before, this behavior would simply have amused, felt only pitying sympathy to-day.  Gnulemah was always before him, and charmed his eyes and thoughts even to the hag on his arm.  He brought himself to address courteous and pleasant remarks to his companion, and to meet unwincingly her one-eyed glance; and was as gallant as though her pretence had been truth.