ver knew it until now,
Nor saw thro' him e'en when I saw him smile;
Saw that he meant this when he wed me,
When he caressed me! Yes, when he kissed my lips!--BROWNING

While this busy scene was being enacted below stairs, equally important,
if quieter dramas were being performed in the dressing-rooms up-stairs,
where the maskers were putting the last finishing touches to their
toilets.

In Mrs. Berners' dressing-room, Sybil, the queen of the festival, was
alone. Mr. Berners, who had assumed the character of "Harold, the last
of the Saxon Kings," had already completed his toilet and gone below
stairs, as he said, to take his place near the door to welcome his
guests as they should enter the drawing-room.

So Sybil was alone in her apartment. She also had just completed her
toilet, and now she stood before the large cheval mirror, surveying the
reflection of her figure from its clear surface, where it looked like a
framed picture.

Ah! far the most beautiful, far the most terrible figure in the
pageantry of the evening would be that of Sybil Berners! She had chosen
for her character the unprecedented part of the impersonation of the
Spirit of Fire. It suited well with her whole nature. She was a true
child of the sun--a fervent Fire Worshipper, if ever there lived one in
a Christian community. And now her costume was but the outward sign of
the inward fervor. Let me try to describe it.

She wore a robe of chameleon-hued satin, so artfully woven, with a warp
of golden thread and woof of crimson silk, that, as with every change of
light and shade, it glowed in ruby coals or blazed in amber flames; and
as with every motion of her graceful form it flashed around her, she
seemed to be clothed in living fire.

She wore a burning garnet, like a live coal on her bosom; and on her
brow a golden circle set with garnets, and having golden points set with
amber and topaz, and tipped with diamonds, and flashing like little
tongues of flame from a circle of fire.

Her mask was of golden gauze, perfectly moulded to her beautiful
features.

Never had Sybil Berners worn a dress so perfectly expressive of herself
as this, for she herself was Fire!

She had confided the secret of her costume to no one but to her husband,
not even to her guest--courtesy did not oblige her to do that; and in
order to preserve the secret inviolate, she had on this occasion dressed
herself without the assistance of her maid