Sharing Her Crime Part 26

The moonlight that night fell on Celeste, kneeling in her own little room, praying for Louis and Archie, and sobbing in unrestrained grief whenever her eye fell upon the bright gold cross--_his_ parting gift.

Appropriate gift from one who seemed destined to never lay aught but _crosses_ upon her!

It fell upon Minnette, sitting still by the window, with a face as cold and white as the moonlight on which she gazed. She did not love Louis Oranmore; but she admired him--liked him better than any one else she knew, perhaps, because he was handsome. But she hated Celeste; and his evident preference for her kindled up the flames of jealousy in her pa.s.sionate soul, until she could have killed her without remorse.

The next morning the gay party set out for New York; and in due course of time they reached that city, and put up at one of the best hotels.

"Suppose we go to the opera to-night?" said Lizzie to the squire, as she sat--all her languor gone--looking out of the window at the stream of life flowing below.

"Just as you like--it's all one to me," said the squire, with most sublime indifference.

"Then the opera be it," said Lizzie, and the opera, accordingly, it was.

And a few hours later found them comfortably seated, listening to the music, and gazing on the gayly-attired people around them.

"How delightful this is!" exclaimed Lizzie, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"Humph!--delightful! Set of fools! 'All is vanity,' as Solomon says.

Wonder who foots the bills for all this glittering and shaking toggery?"

grunted the squire.

"I've heard them say that the young _danseuse_, 'La Pet.i.te Eaglet,' is going to dance to-night," said Louis. "Everybody's raving about her."

"Why? Is she so beautiful?" inquired Lizzie.

"No, I believe not; it's because she dances so well," replied Louis.

At this moment the curtain arose, a thunder of applause shook the house, and La Pet.i.te Eaglet herself stood before them. A little straight, lithe figure, arrayed in floating, gauzy robes of white silver tissue, and crowned with white roses--a small, dark, keen, piquant face--bright, roguish eyes, that went dancing like lightning around the house.

Suddenly her eye fell on our party from St. Mark's; a slight start and a quick removal of her eyes followed. The applause grew deafening as the people hailed their favorite. She bowed. The music struck merrily up, and her tiny feet went glancing, like rain-drops, here and there. She seemed floating in air, not touching the ground, as she whirled, and flew, and skimmed like a bird in the sunshine. The squire was dizzy--absolutely dizzy--looking at her. His head was going round, spinning like a top, or like her feet, as he gazed. Lizzie and Louis were entranced, but Archie, after the first glance, sat with dilating eyes and parted lips--incredulous, amazed, bewildered--with a look of half-puzzled, half-delighted recognition on his face.

Still the little dancer whirled and pirouetted before them; and when she ceased a shout of applause thundered through the building, shaking it to its center. Flowers, wreaths, and bouquets fell in showers around her; ladies waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their little hands in the excitement of the moment. The opera-going world seemed to have gone mad.

And there stood the little Eaglet, bowing to the delighted audience, the very impersonification of self-possession and grace.

Suddenly, rising as if to speak, she removed the crown of roses from her head. There was a profound, a dead silence, where lately all had been uproar. Every eye was bent in wonder--every neck was strained to see what she was about to do.

Taking one step forward, she fixed her eyes on the box occupied by the squire and his family. Every eye, as a matter of course, turned in that direction likewise. Raising the wreath, she threw it toward them, and it alighted in triumph on the brow of the squire.

In a moment she was gone. Up sprang Archie, quite regardless of the thousands of eyes upon him, and waving his cap in the air above his head, he shouted, in wild exultation:

"I knew it! I knew it! _It's our Gipsy!--it's Gipsy Gower!_"

CHAPTER XVII.

GIPSY'S RETURN TO SUNSET HALL.

"This maiden's sparkling eyes Are pretty and all that, sir; But then her little tongue Is quite too full of chat, sir."--MOORE.

The effect of Archie's announcement on our party may be imagined. Lizzie uttered a stifled shriek and fell back in her seat; the squire's eyes protruded until they seemed ready to burst from their sockets; Louis gazed like one thunderstruck, and caught hold of Archie, who seemed inclined to leap on the stage in search of his little lady-love.

"Let me go into the green-room--let us go before she leaves," cried Archie, struggling to free himself from the grasp of Louis.

The crowd were now dispersing; and the squire and his party arose and were borne along by the throng, headed by Archie, whose frantic exertions--as he dug his elbows right and left, to make a pa.s.sage, quite regardless of feelings and ribs--soon brought them to the outer air; and ten minutes later--the squire never could tell how--found them in the green-room, among painted actresses and slip-shod, shabby-looking actors.

Archie's eyes danced over the a.s.sembled company, who looked rather surprised, not to say indignant, at this sudden entrance, and rested at last on a straight, slight, little figure, with its back toward them.

With one bound he cleared the intervening s.p.a.ce betwixt them, and without waiting to say "by your leave," clasped her in his arms, and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek.

"Dear me, Archie, is that you? Take care! you're mussing my new dress dreadfully!" was the astoundingly cool salutation, in the well-known tones of our little Gipsy.

"Oh, Gipsy, how _could_ you do it? Oh, Gipsy, it was _such_ a shame,"

exclaimed Archie, reproachfully.

At this moment she espied Louis advancing toward her, and accosted him with:

"How d'ye do, Louis?--how's Celeste and Minnette, and Mignonne, and all the rest? Pretty well, eh?"

"Gipsy! Gipsy! what a way to talk after our long parting," said Louis, almost provoked by her indifference. "You don't know how we all grieved for you. Poor Mrs. Gower has become quite a skeleton crying for her 'monkey.'"

"Oh, poor, dear aunty! that's too bad now. But here comes Guardy and Lizzie. I don't think Guardy was breaking his heart about me anyway! He looks in capital condition yet."

At this moment the squire came over with Lizzie leaning on his arm.

"Hallo! Guardy, how are you? How did you like the opera?" exclaimed Gipsy, in the same tone she would have used had she parted from him an hour before.

"Oh, Gipsy! you little wretch you! I never thought it would come to this," groaned the squire.

"No, you thought I wasn't clever enough! Just see how easy it is to be deceived! Didn't I dance beautifully, though, and ain't I credit to you now? I'll leave it to Archie here. Aunt Lizzie, I'll speak to you as soon as I get time. Here comes old Barnes, the manager, to know what's the matter."

"Oh, Gipsy, you'll come home with us, my love, you really must,"

exclaimed Lizzie.

"Couldn't, aunty, by no manner of means," replied Gipsy, shaking her head.

"But I'll be shot if you _don't_, though," shouted the squire, "so no more about it. Do you think I'm going to let a ward of _mine_ go with a gang of strolling players any longer?"

"I'm no ward of yours, Squire Erliston; I'm my own mistress, thanks be to goodness, free and independent, and so I mean to stay," exclaimed Gipsy, with sparkling eyes.

"But, oh, my dear! my _dear_ Gipsy, do come home with us to-night,"

pleaded Lizzie, taking her hand.

"You will, Gipsy, just for to-night," coaxed Louis. And: "Ah, Gipsy, _won't_ you now?" pleaded Archie, looking up in her saucy little face, with something very like tears shining in his usually merry blue eyes.

"Well--maybe--just for to-night," said Gipsy, slowly yielding; "but mind, I must go back to-morrow."

"And may I be kicked to death by gra.s.shoppers, if ever I _let_ you go back," muttered the squire to himself.

"Here comes the manager, Mr. Barnes," said Gipsy, raising her voice; "these are my friends, and I am going home with them to-night."