Sharing Her Crime Part 22

"Good-evening, Guardy!" was her salute. "Nice night!"

"Stop!" said the squire, catching her by the arm as she was about to run past--"stop! I've an account to settle with you, my lady!"

"Oh, any time at your convenience, Squire Erliston; I'll not be hard on you."

"Silence, Miss Impertinence! You have the impudence of Satan to face me after what you have done!"

"Now, Guardy, don't be unreasonable, but look at the matter in its proper light. All fashionable people paint."

"Silence!" exclaimed the squire, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with rage. "Silence!

before I brain you, you little villain! You have made me the laughing-stock of the country for miles around. I can never dare to show my face after what has occurred, without being jeered and mocked at. And all through you--the creature of my bounty--the miserable little wretch who would have been a common street-beggar if I had not clothed, and fed, and educated you!--through you, you brazen-faced, good-for-nothing little pauper, whom I would have kicked out long ago to the workhouse where you belong, if I had not feared the opinion of the world. Begone from my sight, before I am tempted to brain you!"

His face was perfectly livid with the storm of pa.s.sion into which he had wrought himself. As he ceased, he raised his hand and brutally struck her a blow that sent her reeling across the room.

Then all the demon in her fiery nature was aroused. With the shriek of a wounded panther, she leaped toward him, with clenched hands, blazing eyes, hard-ground teeth, ghastly face, convulsed brow, and eyes that fairly scintillated sparks of fire. She looked a perfect little fiend, as she glared upon him, quivering in every nerve with frenzied pa.s.sion.

The old sinner drew back appalled, frightened into calmness by that dark, fierce face. For a moment he expected she would spring at his throat like a tigress and strangle him. But, with a long, wild cry, she clasped her hands above her head, and fled swiftly up-stairs, disappearing like some elfin sprite in the darkness beyond.

"Good Lord!" muttered the squire, wiping the drops of terror off his face. "What a perfect little devil! Did ever any one see such a look on a human face before! It's my opinion she's allied to Old Nick, and will carry me off some night in a brimstone of cloud and fire--I mean a fire of cloud and brimstone. Good gracious! I'm palpitating like a hysterical girl. I never got such a fright in my life. I vow it's a danger to go to bed with that desperate little limb in the house. I shouldn't wonder if she set the place on fire about our ears and burned us all in our beds, or cut our throats, or something. She looked wild and crazy enough to do it. Well, I reckon, I'll be more careful how I chastise her for the future, that's certain."

So saying, the squire took his night-lamp and went off to bed, taking the precaution to double lock his door, lest the "little imp" should take it into her head to carry him off bodily during the night.

No such catastrophe occurred, however, and when the squire went down to breakfast, he found everything going on as usual. Lizzie lay on a lounge, immersed in the pages of a novel, and Louis sat by the window busily sketching, as was his custom.

"I say, Lizzie, have you seen anything of Gipsy this morning?" he inquired, as he entered.

"No, papa."

"I'd rather think she rode off before any of us were up this morning,"

said Louis, raising his head. "Mignonne is not in the stable."

This was nothing unusual, so without waiting for her, the family sat down to breakfast.

But half an hour after, Totty came running in alarm to Mrs. Gower, to say Miss Gipsy's bed had not been slept in all night. This fact was self-evident; and the worthy housekeeper sought out the squire to learn whether Gipsy had returned home the night before.

"Yes, yes, to be sure she did. 'Night brings home all stragglers,' as Solomon says. Why?"

"Because she has not slept in her bed the livelong night."

"No!" shouted the squire, springing from his seat, as if some one had speared him. "Lord bless me! where can she have gone?"

"Ah, Squire Erliston, you do not think anything has happened to the dear child, do you?" said Mrs. Gower, clasping her hands.

"Fiddle-de-dee, woman, of course not. She's gone back to Deep Dale, I'll lay a wager. Oh, here comes young Rivers, now we'll know."

"Archie, my dear," said Mrs. Gower, as that young gentleman entered the room, "did Gipsy go back to Deep Dale last night?"

"Go back! Why, of course she didn't."

"Oh, Squire Erliston, you hear that. Oh, where can that crazy creature have gone?" exclaimed Mrs. Gower, twisting her fingers in distress.

"Why, what's wrong? Where is Gipsy?" asked Archie, in surprise.

"Oh, I don't know. She came home late last night, and must have gone away somewhere, for she never went to bed at all. Oh, I am sure she has been killed, or drowned, or shot, or something! I always knew it would happen," and Mrs. Gower fairly began to cry.

"Knew what would happen?" said Archie, perplexed and alarmed.

"Something or other. I always said it; and now my words have come true,"

replied Mrs. Gower sobbing.

"Mrs. Gower, ma'am, allow me to tell you, you're a fool!" broke out the squire. "Most likely she didn't feel sleepy, and rode off before you were out of your bed this morning, just like the young minx. Ring the bell, and we'll see what time she started."

Archie obeyed, and Totty made her appearance.

"Tott," said the master, "be off with you, and send Jupiter here immediately."

Totty ducked her wooly head by way of reply, as she ran off, and presently Jupiter made his appearance in evident trouble.

"Jupe, you black rascal, what time did Gipsy ride off this morning?"

asked the squire.

"Please, mas'r, it warn't dis mornin' she rid off," said Jupiter, holding the door ajar, in order that he might retreat if his master grew violent.

"What do you mean, sir?" roared his master, in rising terror.

"'Deed, mas'r, I couldn't stop the young wixen--de young lady, I mean--she don't mind me, no how, she don't."

"Nor anybody else, for that matter," groaned the squire, inwardly.

"You see, mas'r, arter she come home, I tuk Minnon inter de stable, and 'gan rubbin' him down, 'caze he was all in a foam she done rid him so hard. Well, 'bout half an hour arter, as I was goin' to bed, I hears a noise in de yard, an' when I looks out, dar was Miss Gipsy takin' de horse out again. 'Deed she was, mas'r, an' 'fore I could get out she war gone--'twan't no fault of mine."

"Oh, Gipsy! Gipsy!" shouted the squire, jumping to his legs and stamping up and down the floor in an agony of remorse and sorrow. "And I've driven you from home, old monster that I am! I'm a brute! an alligator!

a crocodile! a wretched old wretch! a miserable, forsaken old sinner!

and I'll knock down any man that dare say to the contrary! Oh, Gipsy, my dear little plague! where are you now? My darling little wild eaglet!

friendless in the wide world!" Here catching sight of Jupiter still standing in the doorway, he rushed upon him and shook him until the unfortunate darkey's jaws chattered like a pair of castanets. "As for you, you black rascal! I have a good mind to break every bone in your worthless skin. Why didn't you wake me up, sir, when you saw her going, eh? Answer me that!"

"Mas'r--ma--ma--mas'r," stuttered poor Jupiter, half strangled, "'deed de Lord knows I was 'fraid to 'sturb ye. Ma--ma--ma--mas'r----"

"Silence, sir! Up with you and mount--let every man, woman, and child in the place be off in search of her. And Mrs. Gower, ma'am, do you stop snuffling there. 'No use crying for spilled milk,' as Solomon says.

We'll have her home and soundly thrashed before night, or my name's not Magnus Theodoric Erliston. Ha! there! Louis! Archie! the rest of you, mount and off! And Mrs. Gower, ma'am, do you run out and saddle my horse, and bring him round while I draw on my boots."

"Squire Erliston," sobbed the poor old lady, "you know very well I can't saddle your horse. Oh, Gipsy! Gipsy!" she added, with a fresh burst of tears.

"Well, fly and tell some of the rest, then. Women are such worthless creatures--good for nothing but crying. There they go, with Louis and young Rivers at their head, to scour the country. 'In the days when we went gipsying,' as Solomon says. I do believe that little minx will be the death of me yet--I know she will! I'm losing flesh; I'm losing temper; I'm losing cash! I'm losing rest, and losing patience every day.

She'll bring my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, as Solomon says, only I happen to wear a wig, Ah! there's my horse. Now for it! Gipsy Gower, you little torment, you, _won't_ I tell you a piece of my mind when I catch you!"

But the squire was destined not to catch her; for, though they continued the search for the lost one until night, no trace of her could be found.

All that could be learned of her was from an innkeeper in a neighboring town, some twenty miles distant. He said a young girl answering the description given of Gipsy had arrived there about daylight, and, after taking a hasty breakfast, had left her horse--which was utterly exhausted by the pace with which she had ridden him--and started in the mail coach for the city.