"A Cresswell married in cotton!" Helen was almost in tears lest the
Paris gown be delayed, and sure enough a cablegram came at last saying
that there was little likelihood of the gown being ready by Easter. It
would be shipped at the earliest convenience, but it could hardly catch
the necessary boat. Helen had a good cry, and then came a wild rush to
get John Taylor's cloth ready. Still, Helen was querulous. She decided
that silk embroidery must embellish the skirt. The dressmaker was in
despair.
"I haven't a single spare worker," she declared.
Helen was appealing to Mrs. Vanderpool.
"I can do it," said Zora, who was in the room.
"Do you know how?" asked the dressmaker.
"No, but I want to know."
Mrs. Vanderpool gave a satisfied nod. "Show her," she said. The
dressmaker was on the edge of rebellion. "Zora sews beautifully," added
Mrs. Vanderpool.
Thus the beautiful cloth came to Zora's room, and was spread in a glossy
cloud over her bed. She trembled at its beauty and felt a vague inner
yearning, as if some subtle magic of the woven web were trying to tell
her its story.
She worked over it faithfully and lovingly in every spare hour and in
long nights of dreaming. Wilfully she departed from the set pattern and
sewed into the cloth something of the beauty in her heart. In new and
intricate ways, with soft shadowings and coverings, she wove in that
white veil her own strange soul, and Mrs.
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