She had scarcely slept at all. The thought had kept her awake that Ida
might vanish as mysteriously as she had come, and be gone at morning.
From sheer weariness, however, she had at last fallen into a doze. On
awaking she had gone to call Ida, and finding her chamber empty, had
hurried downstairs full of apprehension.
Immediately after breakfast, Miss Ludington, to whom Ellen's mistake, if
mistake it could be called, had been related, took Ida upstairs, and
made her exchange her white dress of the fashion of half a century before
for one of her own, in order that her appearance might excite less remark
among the servants pending the obtaining of a suitable wardrobe from the
city.
There was another consideration which made the change of costume not only
desirable, but necessary.
Ida's dress, which had not seemed the night before, to casual
examination, to differ from other cloth, had begun to crumble away in a
very curious manner. The texture seemed strangely brittle and
strengthless. It fell apart at a touch, and was reduced to a fine powder
under the pressure of the fingers.
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