Molly sat down with an air of resigned patience. “I promised Mr. Pierson,” she observed quietly, “that the box should not be touched until he was here to superintend matters.”
“Oh, Pierson be blowed!” elegantly observed her brother. But Reuel Briggs suddenly dropped his work, walked over, and sided with Molly.
“You are quite right, Miss Molly; and you Charlie and Aubrey and the rest of you men, if you want to open the box tonight you must first decorate the ballroom. Business before pleasure.”
“Saved!—saved! See my brave, true knight defends his lady fair.” Molly danced, practising the step she was about to astonish the company with on Christmas-night. “I think I am what the Scotch call ‘fey,’ ” she laughed. “I don’t know why I feel so awfully jolly tonight. I could positively fly from sheer excitement and delight.”
“Don’t you know why?” observed Cora. “I will tell you. It is because this is your last Christmas as Molly Vance; next year—”
“Ah, do not!” interrupted Molly, quickly. “Who knows what a year may bring forth. Is it not so, Dr. Briggs?” she turned appealingly to Reuel.
“Grief follows joy as clouds the sunlight. ‘Woe! woe! each heart must bleed, must break,’ ” was his secret thought as he bowed gravely. But on his face was a look of startled perplexity, for suddenly as she spoke to him it appeared that a dark veil settled like a pall over the laughing face at his side. He shivered.
“What’s the matter, Briggs?” called out Adonis. They had reached the ballroom and were standing over the piles of holly and evergreen, ready for an onslaught on the walls.
“Don’t be surprised if Briggs acts strangely,” continued Charlie. “It is in order for him to whoop it up in the spirit line.”
“Why, Charlie! What do you mean?” questioned Molly with an anxious glance at Reuel.
“Anything interesting, Charlie?” called out a jolly girl across the room.
“Briggs is our ‘show’ man. Haven’t you heard, girls, what a celebrity is with you tonight? Briggs is a philosopher—mesmerism is his specialty. Say, old man, give the company a specimen of your infernal art, can’t you? He goes the whole hog, girls; can even raise the dead.”
“Let up, Charlie,” said Aubrey in a low tone. “It’s no joking matter.”
There were screams and exclamations from the girls. With reckless gaiety Adonis continued,
“What is to be the outcome of the great furore you have created, Briggs?”
“Nothing of moment, I hope,” smiled Reuel, good-naturedly. “I have been simply an instrument; I leave results to the good angels who direct events. What does Longfellow say about the arrow and the song?
‘Long, long afterwards, in an oak
I found the arrow still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found in the heart of a friend.’
May it be so with my feeble efforts.”
“But circumstances alter cases. In this case, the ‘arrow’ is a girl and a devilish handsome one, too; and the ‘air’ is the whole scientific world. Your philosophy and mysticism gave way before Beauty. Argument is a stubborn man’s castle, but the heart is still unconvinced.”
“ ‘I mixed those children up, and not a creature knew it,’ ” hummed Bert Smith. “Your ideas are mixed, Don; stick to the ladies, you understand girls and horseflesh; philosophy isn’t in your line.”
“Oh, sure!” said Adonis unruffled by his friend’s words.
“Charlie Vance,” said Molly severely, “if we have any more swearing from you tonight, you leave the room until you learn to practice good manners. I’m surprised at your language!”
“Just the same, Briggs is a fraud. I shall keep my eye on him. It’s a case of beauty and the beast. Oh,” he continued in malicious glee, “wouldn’t you girls turn green with envy, every man jack of you, if you could see the beauty!”
Thereupon the girls fell to pelting him with holly wreaths and evergreen festoons, much to the enjoyment of Mr. Vance, who had entered unperceived in the general melee.
“What is it all about, Dr. Briggs?” asked Molly in a low voice.
“It is the case of a patient who was in a mesmeric sleep and I was fortunate enough to awaken her. She is a waif; and it will be months before she will be well and strong, poor girl.”
“Do you make a study of mesmerism, Doctor?” asked Mr. Vance from his armchair by the glowing fire.
“Yes sir; and a wonderful science it is.”
Before Mr. Vance could continue, Livingston said: “If you folks will be still for about ten minutes, I’ll tell you what happened in my father’s house when I was a very small boy; I can just remember it.”
“If it’s a ghost story, make it strong, Aubrey, so that not a girl will sleep tonight. Won’t the dears look pretty blinking and yawning tomorrow night? We’ll hear ’em, fellows, in the small hours of the morning, ‘Molly, Molly! I’m so frightened. I do believe someone is in my room; may I come in with you, dear?’ ”
“Charlie, stop your nonsense,” laughed his father, and Adonis obediently subsided.
“My father was Dr. Aubrey Livingston too,” began Aubrey, “and he owned a large plantation of slaves. My father was deeply interested in the science of medicine, and I believe made some valuable discoveries along the line of mesmeric phenomena, for some two or three of his books are referred to even at this advanced stage of discovery, as marvellous in some of their data.
“Among the slaves was a girl who was my mother’s waiting maid, and I have seen my father throw her into a trance-state many times when I was so small that I had no conception of what he was doing.
“Many a time I have known him to call her into the parlor to perform tricks of mind-reading for the amusement of visitors, and many wonderful things were done by her as the record given in his books shows.
“One day there was a great dinner party given at our place, and the êlite of the county
