The Old Chest at Wyther Grange Page #2

"The Old Chest at Wyther Grange" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming short story that explores themes of nostalgia, memory, and the passage of time. Set in the picturesque setting of Wyther Grange, the tale revolves around a young girl who discovers an old chest filled with forgotten treasures. As she unravels the mysteries held within, she learns about the lives and dreams of those who came before her, prompting reflections on her own aspirations and the connections that bind generations. Montgomery's lyrical writing and rich characterizations evoke a sense of longing and wonder, making this story a delightful read for fans of her work.

• Short story

								

chest and selected a key from the bunch at her belt.

"Would it not be too provoking, Amy, if this key should not fit after
all? Well, I do not believe you would be any more disappointed than
I."

She turned the key and lifted the heavy lid. I bent forward eagerly. A
layer of tissue paper revealed itself, with a fine tracing of sifted
dust in its crinkles.

"Lift it up, child," said my aunt gently. "There are no ghosts for
you, at least, in this old chest."

I lifted the paper up and saw that the chest was divided into two
compartments. Lying on the top of one was a small, square, inlaid box.
This Mrs. DeLisle took up and carried to the window. Lifting up the
cover she laid it in my lap.

"There, Amy, look through it and let us see what old treasures have
lain hidden there these forty years."

The first thing I took out was a small square case covered with dark
purple velvet. The tiny clasp was almost rusted away and yielded
easily. I gave a little cry of admiration. Aunt Winnifred bent over my
shoulder.

"That is Eliza's portrait at the age of twenty, and that is Willis
Starr's. Was she not lovely, Amy?"

Lovely indeed was the face looking out at me from its border of
tarnished gilt. It was the face of a young girl, in shape a perfect
oval, with delicate features and large dark-blue eyes. Her hair,
caught high on the crown and falling on her neck in the long curls of
a bygone fashion, was a warm auburn, and the curves of her bare neck
and shoulders were exquisite.

"The other picture is that of the man to whom she was betrothed. Tell
me, Amy, do you think him handsome?"

I looked at the other portrait critically. It was that of a young man
of about twenty-five; he was undeniably handsome, but there was
something I did not like in his face and I said so.

Aunt Winnifred made no reply--she was taking out the remaining
contents of the box. There was a white silk fan with delicately carved
ivory sticks, a packet of old letters and a folded paper containing
some dried and crumpled flowers. Aunt laid the box aside and unpacked
the chest in silence. First came a ball dress of pale-yellow satin
brocade, made with the trained skirt, "baby" waist and full puffed
sleeves of a former generation. Beneath it was a case containing a
necklace of small but perfect pearls and a pair of tiny satin
slippers. The rest of the compartment was filled with household linen,
fine and costly but yellowed with age--damask table linen and webs of
the uncut fabric.

In the second compartment lay a dress. Aunt Winnifred lifted it out
reverently. It was a gown of rich silk that had once been white, but
now, like the linen, it was yellow with age. It was simply made and
trimmed with cobwebby old lace. Wrapped around it was a long white
bridal veil, redolent with some strange, old-time perfume that had
kept its sweetness all through the years.

"Well, Amy, this is all," said Aunt Winnifred with a quiver in her
voice. "And now for the story. Where shall I begin?"

"At the very beginning, Aunty. You see I know nothing at all except
her name. Tell me who she was and why she put her wedding dress away
here."

"Poor Eliza!" said Aunt dreamily. "It is a sorrowful story, Amy, and
it seems so long ago now. I must be an old woman. Forty years ago--and
I was only twenty then. Eliza Laurance was my cousin, the only
daughter of Uncle Henry Laurance. My father--your grandfather, Amy,
you don't remember him--had two brothers, each of whom had an only
daughter. Both these girls were called Eliza after your
great-grandmother. I never saw Uncle George's Eliza but once. He was a
rich man and his daughter was much sought after, but she was no
beauty, I promise you that, and proud and vain to the last degree.
Her home was in a distant city and she never came to Wyther Grange.

"The other Eliza Laurance was a poor man's daughter. She and I were of
the same age and did not look unlike each other, although I was not so
pretty by half. You can see by the portrait how beautiful she was, and
it does her scant justice, for half her charm lay in her arch
expression and her vivacious ways. She had her little faults, of
course, and was rather over much given to romance and sentiment. This
did not seem much of a defect to me then, Amy, for I was young and
romantic too. Mother never cared much for Eliza, I think, but everyone
else liked her. One winter Eliza came to Wyther Grange for a long
visit. The Grange was a very lively place then, Amy. Eliza kept the
old house ringing with merriment. We went out a great deal and she was
always the belle of any festivity we attended. Yet she wore her
honours easily; all the flattery and homage she received did not turn
her head.

"That winter we first met Willis Starr. He was a newcomer, and nobody
knew much about him, but one or two of the best families took him up,
and his own fascinations did the rest. He became what you would call
the rage. He was considered very handsome, his manners were polished
and easy, and people said he was rich.

"I don't think, Amy, that I ever trusted Willis Starr. But like all
the rest, I was blinded by his charm. Mother was almost the only one
who did not worship at his shrine, and very often she dropped hints
about penniless adventurers that made Eliza very indignant.

"From the first he had paid Eliza marked attention and seemed utterly
bewitched by her. Well, his was an easy winning. Eliza loved him with
her whole impulsive, girlish heart and made no attempt to hide it.

"I shall never forget the night they were first engaged. It was
Eliza's birthday, and we were invited to a ball that evening. This
yellow gown is the very one she wore. I suppose that is why she put it
away here--the gown she wore on the happiest night of her life. I had
never seen her look more beautiful--her neck and arms were bare, and
she wore this string of pearls and carried a bouquet of her favourite
white roses.

"When we reached home after the dance, Eliza had her happy secret to
tell us. She was engaged to Willis Starr, and they were to be married
in early spring.

"Willis Starr certainly seemed to be an ideal lover, and Eliza was so
perfectly happy that she seemed to grow more beautiful and radiant
every day.

"Well, Amy, the wedding day was set. Eliza was to be married from the
Grange, as her own mother was dead, and I was to be bridesmaid. We
made her wedding dress together, she and I. Girls were not above
making their own gowns then, and not a stitch was set in Eliza's save
those put there by loving fingers and blessed by loving wishes. It was
I who draped the veil over her sunny curls--see how yellow and creased
it is now, but it was as white as snow that day.

"A week before the wedding, Willis Starr was spending the evening at
the Grange. We were all chattering gaily about the coming event, and
in speaking of the invited guests Eliza said something about the
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