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WYLLARD'S WEIRD
WEDDING GARMENTS.
Hilda's presence at Penmorval was full of comfort and solace for Dora Wyllard. She had known Hilda all her life, had seen her grow from childhood to womanhood, had loved her with a sisterly love, trusting her as she trusted no one else. Hilda had been only a child at the time of Dora's engagement to Edward Heathcote; yet, even at eleven years of age, Hilda's tender heart had been full of sympathy for her brother when that engagement was broken off, and when Dora became the wife of another man. She had been angry, with vehement, childish anger. That Dora should like any man better than him who, in the fond eyes of the younger sister, seemed the prince and pattern of fine gentlemen, was an unpardonable offence.
Hilda at eleven was precocious in her knowledge of books, and very self-opinionated in her judgment of people. She told her brother she would never speak to Dora again, that she would run a mile to avoid even seeing her: and then, a few months after Dora's marriage, finding that her brother had forgiven that great wrong with all his heart, Hilda melted one day suddenly, at meeting Mrs. Wyllard on the moor, and fell into her old friend's arms.
"I have tried to hate you for being so wicked to my brother," she sobbed, as Dora bent over her and kissed her.
"Your brother forgave me ever so long ago, Hilda," said Dora. "Why should you be less generous than he?"
"Because I love him better than he loves himself," cried Hilda, in her vehement way; "because I know his value better than he does. O Dora, how could you like any one else better than Edward?"
"You must not ask me that, my darling. Those things cannot be explained. Fate willed it so."
"And I suppose you are very happy in your grand house?" said Hilda sullenly.
"I am very happy with the husband I love, Hilda. The grand house makes no difference. And now we are going to be good friends, aren't we, dear? and we are never going to talk of the past. How you have grown, Hilda!"
"Out of all my frocks," answered Hilda, glancing contemptuously at her ankles. "It is perfectly degrading never to have a frock long enough for one--and never to have one's waist in the right place. The dressmaker says I have no waist yet. Dressmakers are so insulting to girls of my age. I think I shall positively trample upon my dressmaker when I am grown up, to revenge myself for all I have suffered from the tribe."
"My Hilda, what an old-fashioned puss you have grown!"
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