Sharing Her Crime Part 39

"But Gipsy, my dear, do you not know that we are to be turned out, if you refuse?" said Lizzie, in blank dismay.

"Well, let us be turned out, then. I will be turned out, but I won't marry that old death's-head. I'm young and smart, and able to earn my own living, thank goodness!"

"Oh, ungrateful girl, will you see me die? For, Gipsy, if I am deprived now, in my illness, of the comforts to which I have always been accustomed, I shall die."

"Oh, no, you won't, aunty. I don't think that things are as bad as Guardy makes them appear; and, even if they were, Dr. Wiseman, old wretch as he is, would let you remain."

"No, he would not, child; you don't know the revengeful disposition of that man. Oh, Gipsy, by the memory of all we have done for you, I beseech you to consent!"

"Aunty, aunty, I cannot; it is too dreadful even to think about. Oh, aunty, I cannot tell you how I loathe, abhor, and detest that hideous old sinner!"

"Gipsy, that is wrong--that is sinful. Dr. Wiseman is a highly respectable gentleman--rather old for you, it is true--but of what difference is a few years? He is rich, and loves you well enough to gratify your every wish. What more would you have?"

"_Happiness_, aunty. I should be utterly miserable with him."

"Nonsense, child, you only think so. It is not as if you were older, and loved somebody else. People often marry those they don't care about, and grow quite fond of them after a time. Now, I shouldn't be surprised if you grew quite fond of Dr. Wiseman by and by."

Gipsy laughed her own merry laugh again as she heard Lizzie's words.

"Oh, Gipsy, you thoughtless creature! is this your answer to my pet.i.tion?" said Lizzie, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "Leave me, then. I will not long survive your ingrat.i.tude; but, mark me, your name will become a by-word, far and near, and descend to posterity branded with the disgrace of your ungrateful conduct. Go--leave me! Why should you stay to witness the misery you have caused?"

Poor Gipsy! how these reproaches stung her. She started to her feet, and began pacing the floor rapidly, crying wildly:

"Oh, Heaven help me! I know not what to do! I wish I were dead, sooner than be branded thus as an ingrate!"

Lizzie's sobs alone broke the stillness of the room. At last, unable to endure them longer, she rushed out and sought refuge in her own chamber.

As she entered she saw Mrs. Gower seated by the window--a look of trouble and sadness on her usually happy, good-natured face.

"Oh! aunty, what _shall_ I do? Oh! aunty, I am going crazy, I think!"

cried Gipsy, distressedly, half maddened by the sight of Lizzie's tears.

"My dear, it is very plain what you must do. You must marry Dr.

Wiseman," said Mrs. Gower, gravely.

"Oh! aunty, have you turned against me, too? Then I have no friend in the wide world! Oh! I wish--I _wish_ I had never been born!"

"My love, don't talk in that way; it is not only very foolish, but very sinful. Dr. Wiseman is certainly not the man I would wish to see you married to; but, you perceive, there is no alternative. Gipsy, I am getting old, so is the squire; Mrs. Oranmore is ill, and I do not think she will live long. Will you, therefore, allow the old man and woman--who love you above all human beings--and a poor, weak invalid, to be turned upon the charity of the cold world to die? Gipsy, you know if we could save you from misery, we would coin our very hearts' blood to do it."

"And, oh, aunt! could there be greater misery for me than that to which you are urging me?"

"You talk like the thoughtless girl you are, Gipsy. How often, for wealth or social position merely, or to raise their friends from want, do young girls marry old men! Yet, _you_ refuse to save us from worse than want, from disgrace and death--yes, _death_! I know what I am saying, Gipsy--you obstinately refuse. Gipsy, my child, for my sake do not become such a monster of ingrat.i.tude, but consent."

"Oh, aunty! leave me. I feel as if I were going mad! Every one in the world seems to have turned against me--even _you_! Oh, aunty, dear, good aunty! don't talk to me any more; my very brain seems on fire."

"Yes; your cheeks are burning, and your eyes are like fire--you are ill and feverish, my poor little fairy. Lie down, and let me bathe your head."

"No, no, aunty, don't mind. Oh! what matter is it whether I am ill or not? If it wasn't for you, and Guardy, and all the rest, I feel as if I should like to lie down and die!"

"My own little darling, you must not talk of dying; every one has trouble in this world, and you cannot expect to escape!"

"Yes; I know, I know! Hitherto, life has been to me a fairy dream; and now this terrible awakening to reality! Life seemed to me one long, golden summer day; and now--and now----"

"You are excited, love; lie down, and try to sleep--you talk too much."

"Yes, I know; I always did talk too much; but I do not think I will ever talk much again. Oh, aunty! I have heard of the heart-ache, but I never knew what it was before!"

"My love, you must not feel this so deeply. How wild your eyes are! and your hands are burning hot! Do lie down, and try to rest."

"Rest! rest! Shall I ever find rest again?"

"Of course you will, my dear. Now what shall I tell the squire is your decision about this? I promised him to talk to you about it."

"Oh, aunty, don't--_don't_! Leave me alone, and let me think--I cannot talk to you now!"

"Shall I bring you up ice for your head, my dear?"

"No, no; you have already brought ice for my heart, aunty--that is enough."

"You talk wildly, love; I am afraid your mind is disordered."

"Don't mind my talk, dear aunty, I always was a crazy, elfish changeling, without a heart, you know. n.o.body minds what I say. Only leave me now; I will be better by and by."

With a sigh Mrs. Gower left the room. It was strange that, loving her poor little fay as she did, she should urge her to this wretched marriage; but the squire had talked and persuaded her until he brought her to see the matter with his eyes. And poor Gipsy was left alone to pace up and down the room like one deranged, wringing her hands, while her cheeks and eyes burned with the fire of fever.

"Oh, if Archie would only come!" was the wild cry of her aching heart, as she walked restlessly to and fro.

But Archie was away; she knew not even his present address, and she was left to battle against the dark decree of fate alone.

"I will seek Dr. Wiseman; I will beg, I will implore him to spare me, and those who would have me make this fatal sacrifice. Surely his heart is not made of stone; he cannot resist my prayers!"

So, waiting in her room until she saw him ride up to the Hall, she descended the stairs and entered the parlor, where he and the squire sat in close conversation together, and formally desired the honor of a private interview.

He arose, and, bowing, followed her into the drawing-room. Motioning him to a seat she stood before him, her little form drawn up to its full height, her defiant, dark eyes fixed on his repulsive face with undisguised loathing.

"Dr. Wiseman," she began, "I have heard of this proposal which you have honored me by making. Believe me, I fully appreciate the honor you have done me"--and her beautiful lip curled scornfully--"even while I must decline it. A silly little girl like me is unworthy to be raised to the dignity of the wife of so distinguished a gentleman as Dr. Wiseman!"

The doctor acknowledged the compliment by a grave bow, while Gipsy continued:

"My guardian has informed me that, unless I consent to this union, he will lose Mount Sunset, be reduced to poverty, and, consequently, die, he says. You, it seems, will prevent this, if I marry you. Now, Dr.

Wiseman, knowing this marriage is not agreeable to me, I feel that you will withdraw your claim to my hand, and still prevent Guardy from being reduced to poverty!"

"Miss Gower, I regret to say I cannot do so. Unless you become my wife, I shall be obliged to let the law take its course; and all that Squire Erliston has told you will prove true."

"Dr. Wiseman, you will not be so cruel? I beg--I implore you to prevent this catastrophe!"

"I will, with pleasure, Miss Gower, if you will be my wife."

"That I can never be, Dr. Wiseman! I would not, to save my head from the block, consent to such a thing! What in the name of heaven can make a man of _your_ age wish to marry a silly little thing like me?"