Sharing Her Crime Part 28

"Well, maybe there's something in that," said Gipsy, thoughtfully.

"And you know, my love," said Lizzie, "that, though a little girl may be a dancer, it's a dreadful life for a young woman--which you will be in two or three years. No one ever respects a dancing girl; no gentleman ever would marry you."

"Wouldn't they, though!" said Gipsy, so indignantly that Archie once more fell back, convulsed. "If they wouldn't, somebody 'd lose the smartest, cleverest, handsomest young lady on this terrestrial globe, though I say it, as 'hadn't oughter.' Well, since you all are going to commit suicide if I don't go with you, I suppose old Barnes must lose the 'bright particular star' of his company, and I must return to St.

Mark's, to waste my sweetness on the desert air."

This resolution was greeted with enthusiastic delight by all present; and the night was far advanced before the squire could part with his "little vixen," and allow her to go to rest.

Old Barnes--as Gipsy called him--was highly indignant at the treatment he had received, and, going to the hotel, began abusing Gipsy and the squire, and everybody else generally; whereupon the squire, who never was noted for his patience, took him by the collar, and, by a well-applied kick, landed him in the kennel--a pleasant way of settling disputes which he had learned while dealing with his negroes, but for which an over-particular court made him pay pretty high damages.

Three days after, Louis and Archie bade them farewell, and entered college; and the squire, after a pleasure-trip of a few weeks, set out for St. Mark's.

In due course of time he arrived at that _refugium peccatorum_; and the unbounded delight with which Gipsy was hailed can never be described by pen of mine.

Good Mrs. Gower could scarcely believe that her darling was really before her; and it was only when listening to the uproar that everywhere followed the footsteps of the said darling, that she could be convinced.

As for Celeste, not knowing whether to laugh or cry with joy, she split the difference, and did both. Even Miss Hagar's grim face relaxed as Gipsy came flashing into their quiet cottage like a March whirlwind, throwing everything into such "admired disorder," that it generally took the quiet little housekeeper, Celeste, half a day to set things to rights afterward.

And now it began to be time to think of completing the education of the two young girls. Minnette had left for school before the return of Gipsy, and it became necessary to send them likewise. Loath as the squire was to part with his pet, he felt he must do it, and urged Miss Hagar to allow Celeste to accompany her.

"Gipsy will defend her from the malice of Minnette, and the two girls will be company for each other," said the old man to the spinster.

"Girls _must_ know how to chatter French, and bang on a piano, and make worsted cats and dogs, and all _such_! So let little Snowdrop, here, go with my monkey, and I'll foot the bill."

Miss Hagar consented; and a month after found our little rustic la.s.ses--our fair "Star of the Valley" and our mountain fairy, moving in the new world of boarding-school.

CHAPTER XVIII.

ARCHIE.

"His youthful form was middle size, For feat of strength or exercise Shaped in proportion fair; And dark-blue was his eagle eye, And auburn of the darkest dye His short and curling hair.

Light was his footstep in the dance, And firm his stirrup in the lists, And oh! he had that merry glance That seldom lady's heart resists."--SCOTT.

Five years pa.s.sed. And the children, Gipsy and Celeste, we can never see more; for those five years have changed them into young ladies of seventeen. Strange to say, neither Louis nor Archie has met Minnette, Gipsy, or Celeste, since the time they parted to go to college: and with all the change that years have made in their appearance, it is doubtful whether they would even recognize one another now, if they met.

The way of it was this: Louis and Archie, after the life and excitement of the city, began to think that Sunset Hall was an insufferably dull place; and with the usual fickleness of youth, instead of going home to spend their vacation, invariably went with some of their school-fellows.

This troubled the old squire very little; for without Gipsy, in the quiet of Sunset Hall, he was falling into a state of stupid apathy, and gave Master Louis _carte blanche_ to go where he pleased. Lizzie was too indolent to trouble herself much about it, and as she generally went on a visit to New York every winter, she contented herself with seeing her son and heir then, and knowing he was well. As for Gipsy and Celeste, their faithless boy-lovers seemed to have quite outgrown their early affection for them.

Then, when the time came for them to graduate, and make choice of a profession, Squire Erliston found that young Mr. Oranmore would neither be doctor, lawyer, nor clergyman; nor even accept a post in the army or navy.

"Why not," said the squire, during an interview he had with him; "what's your objection?"

"Why, my dear grandfather," replied Louis, "you should have too much regard for your suffering fellow-mortals to make a doctor of me. As for being a lawyer, I haven't rascality enough for that _yet_; and I've too much respect for the church to take holy orders. Neither does the camp nor forecastle agree with me. I have no particular love for forced marches or wholesale slaughter; nor do I care over much for stale biscuit, bilge-water, and the cat-o'-nine-tails; so I must e'en decline all."

"Then what in the name of Heaven _will_ you be?" exclaimed the squire.

"An artist, sir; an artist. Heaven has destined me for a painter. I feel something within me that tells me I will yet win fame and renown. Let me go to Europe--to Germany and Italy, and study the works of the glorious old masters, and I will yet win a name you will not blush to hear."

"Glorious old fiddlesticks! Go, if you like, but I never expected to find a grandson of mine such a fool! The heir of Mount Sunset and its broad lands, the heir of Oranmore Hall, and old Mother Oranmore's yellow guineas, can do as he pleases, of course. Go and waste your time daubing canvas if you will, I'll be hanged if _I_ care!"

Therefore, six months before the return of the girls from school, Louis, accompanied by a friend, sailed for Europe without seeing them.

"And you, sir," said the squire, turning to Archie; "are _you_ going to be a fool and turn painter, too?"

"No, sir," replied Master Archie; "I'm not going to be a fool, but I'm going to be something worse--a knave; in other words, a lawyer. As for painting, thank fortune, I've no more talent for it than I have for turning milliner, beyond painting my face when acting charades."

So Archie went to Washington, and began studying for the bar.

Gipsy, who was a universal favorite in school, began, for the last few years, to copy the example of the boys, and spend her vacations with her friends. Minnette and Celeste always returned home; for Minnette, cold, and reserved, and proud, was disliked and feared by all; and though Celeste was beloved by everybody, duty and affection forbade her to leave Miss Hagar for her own pleasure.

Our madcap friend, Gipsy, had lost none of her wicked nor mischief-loving propensities during those years. Such a pest and a plague as she was in the school, driving teachers and pupils to their wits' end with her mad pranks, and yet liked so well. There was usually a downright quarrel, about the time of the holidays, to see who would possess her; and Gipsy, after looking on and enjoying the fun, would, to the surprise and chagrin of all, go with some one who least hoped for the honor.

Gipsy was spending the winter with a school-friend, Jennie Moore, at Washington. The three girls, whose united fortunes are the subject of this history, had graduated; Minnette, with the highest honors the school could give; Celeste, with fewer laurels, but with far more love; and Gipsy--alas, that I should have to say it!--most wofully behind all. The restless elf _would_ not study--was _always_ at the foot of her cla.s.s, and only laughed at the grave lectures of the teachers; and yawned horribly over the rules of syntax, and the trying names in her botany. So poor Gipsy left little better than when she entered.

The folding-doors of Mr. Moore's s.p.a.cious drawing-room were thrown open, blazing with light and radiant with brilliantly-dressed ladies. Miss Jennie had resolved that the first ball should surpa.s.s anything that had taken place that winter. All the _elite_ of the city, wealth, beauty, fashion, gallantry, and talent, were mingled in gay confusion. There were soft rustling of silks, and waving of perfumed handkerchiefs, and flirting of fans, and flirting of _belles_; and bright ladies cast killing glances from their brilliant eyes; and gentlemen bowed and smiled, and paid compliments, and talked all sorts of nonsense, and

"All went merry as a marriage bell."

Near the upper end of the room the belle, _par excellence_, seemed to be; for in her train flowed all that were wittiest, and gayest, and loveliest there. Whenever _she_ moved, a throng of admirers followed; and where the laughter was loudest, the mirth highest, the crowd greatest, there might you find the center of attraction, this belle of whom I am speaking.

And yet she was not beautiful; at least, not beautiful when compared with many there who were neglected for her. She is floating now in a gay waltz round the room with a distinguished foreigner, and "I will paint her as I see her."

A small, slight, straight, lithe figure, airy and bird-like in its motions, skimming over the floor without seeming to touch it; never at rest; but quick, sudden, abrupt, and startling in all its motions, yet every motion instinct, glowing with life. A dark, bright, laughing little face, that no one knows whether it is handsome or not, it is so radiant, so bewitching, so sparkling, so full of overflowing mirth and mischief. Short, crisp black curls, adorning the sauciest little head in the world; wicked brown eyes, fairly _twinkling_ with wickedness; a rosy little mouth, that seemed always laughing to display the little pearly teeth. Such was the star of the evening. Reader, do you recognize her?

As she seated herself after the dance, tired and a little fatigued, Jennie Moore, a pretty, graceful girl, came up to her, saying, in a low voice:

"Oh, Gipsy, I have a stranger to introduce to you--a most _distinguished_ one. One of the cleverest and most talented young lawyers in Washington."

"Distinguished! Now, I'm tired to death of 'distinguished' people; they're all a set of bores--ugly as sin and pedantic as schoolmasters.

Don't stare--it's a fact!"

"Oh, but Mr. Rivers is not; he is young, handsome, agreeable, witty, a regular lady-killer, and worth n.o.body knows how much."

"Mr.--worth what?" exclaimed Gipsy, springing to her feet so impulsively that her friend started back.

"Why, what's the matter?" said Jennie in surprise.

"Nothing! nothing!" said Gipsy, hastily. "_Who_ did you say it was?"

"Mr. Archibald Rivers, student-at-law."

"Jennie, they say I've changed greatly of late. Do you think I look anything like I did when you first saw me?"

"Why, not much. You were a tawny little fright then; you're _almost_ handsome now," said the candid Jennie.