Sharing Her Crime Part 41

Gipsy--small, fair and fragile, with her little wan face and unnaturally l.u.s.trous eyes--lay moaning restlessly on her low couch, like some tempest-tossed soul quivering between life and death. Like an angel of light, by her side knelt Celeste, with her fair, pitying face and her soft blue eyes, from which the tears fell on the small brown fingers that tightly clasped hers.

"Dear Gipsy, I will not leave you; but you know you must get up and dress soon."

"Oh, yes; but not yet. It is so nice to lie here, and have you beside me. I am so tired, Celeste--I have never rested since I made that promise. It seems as if ever since I had been walking and walking on through the dark, unable to stop, with such an aching here."

And she pressed her hand to the poor quivering heart that was fluttering to escape from the heavy chain fate was drawing tighter and tighter around it.

"What can I do for you, Gipsy?" said Celeste, stooping and kissing her pale lips, while two pitying drops fell from her eyes on the poor little face below her.

"Don't cry for me, Celeste. I never wept for myself yet. Sing for me, dear friend, the 'Evening Hymn' we used to sing at the Sisters' school, long ago."

Forcing back her tears, Celeste sang, in a voice low and sweet as liquid music:

"Ave sanctissima!

We lift our souls to thee-- Ora pro n.o.bis, Bright star of the sea!

Watch us while shadows lie Far o'er the waters spread; Hear the heart's lonely sigh-- Thine, too, hath bled!"

Gipsy listened, with her eyes closed, an expression of peace and rest falling on her dark, restless face, until Celeste ceased.

"Oh, Celeste, I always feel so much better and happier when you are with me--not half so much of a heartless imp as at other times," said Gipsy, opening her eyes. "I wish I could go and live with you and Miss Hagar at Valley Cottage, or enter a convent, or anywhere, to be at peace. While you sang I almost fancied myself back again at school, listening to those dear, kind sisters singing that beautiful 'Evening Hymn.'"

She paused, and murmured, dreamily:

"Watch us while shadows lie Far o'er the waters spread; Hear the heart's lonely sigh-- Thine, too, hath bled!"

"Dear Gipsy, do not be so sad. Our Heavenly Father, perhaps, has but sent you this trial to purify your heart and make it His own. In the time of youth and happiness we are apt ungratefully to forget the Author of all good gifts, and yield the heart that should be His to idols of clay. But in the days of sorrow and suffering we stretch out our arms to Him; and He, forgetting the past, takes us to his bosom. And, dearest Gipsy, shall we shrink from treading through trials and sufferings in the steps of the sinless Son of G.o.d, to that home of rest and peace that He died to gain for us?"

Her beautiful face was transfigured, her eyes radiant, her lips glowing with the fervor of the deep devotion with which she spoke.

"I cannot feel as you do, Celeste," said Gipsy, turning restlessly. "I feel like one without a light, groping my way in the dark--like one who is blind, hastening to my own doom. I cannot look up; I can see into the dark grave, but no farther."

"Light will come yet, dear friend. Every cloud has its silver lining."

"Never for me. But, hark! What is that?"

Celeste arose, and went to the window.

"It is the carriages bringing more people. The parlors below are full.

You must rise, and dress for your bridal, Gipsy."

"Would to heaven it were for my burial! I am _so_ tired, Celeste. _Must_ I get up?"

"Yes, dear Gipsy; they are waiting for you. I will dress you myself,"

said Celeste, as Gipsy, pale, wan, and spirituelle, arose from her couch, her little, slight figure smaller and slighter than ever.

Rapidly moved the nimble fingers of Celeste. The dancing dark locks fell in short, shining curls around the superb little head, making the pale face of the bride look paler still by contrast. Then Celeste went into her wardrobe and brought forth the jewels, the white vail, the orange blossoms, and the rich robes of white brocade, frosted with seed pearls, and laid them on the bed.

"What is that white dress for?" demanded Gipsy, abruptly, looking up from a reverie into which she had fallen.

"For you to wear, of course," replied Celeste, astonished at the question.

"A white dress for me! Ha! ha! ha!" she said, with a wild laugh. "True, I forgot--when the ancients were about to sacrifice a victim, they robed her in white and crowned her with flowers. But I will differ from all other victims, and wear a more suitable color. _This_ shall be my wedding-dress," said Gipsy, leaving the room, and returning with a dress of _black_ lace.

Celeste shrank back from its ominous hue with something like a shudder.

"Oh, not in black! Oh, Gipsy! any other color but black for your wedding. Think how you will shock every one," said Celeste, imploringly.

"Shock them! Why, Celeste, I've shocked them so continually ever since I was a year old, that when I cease to shock them they won't know Gipsy Gower. And that reminds me that after to-day I will be 'Mad Gipsy Gower'

no longer, but Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman. Ha! ha! ha! Wiseman! how appropriate the name will be! Oh! _won't_ I lead him a life--_won't_ I make him wish he had never been born--_won't_ I teach him what it is to drive a girl to desperation? He thinks because I am a little thing he can hold me up with one hand--and, by the way, Celeste, his hands always remind me of a lobster's claw stuck into a pump-handle--that he can do what he pleases with me. We'll see! Hook my dress, Celeste. It's a pity to keep my Adonis waiting, and disappoint all these good people who have come to see the fun."

"Dear Gipsy, do not look and talk so wildly. And pray, take off that black dress, and wear any other color you wish. People _will_ talk so, you know."

"Let 'em talk then, my dear. They'll only say it's one of Gipsy's whims.

Besides, it will shock Spider, which is just what I want. He'll get a few more shocks before I have done with him, I rather think. Hook my dress, Celeste."

With a sigh at the elf's perversity, Celeste obeyed; and with a sad face, watched the eccentric little bride shake out the folds of her black robe, and fasten a dark crimson belt around her waist.

"Now, if I had a few poppies or marigolds to fasten in my hair, I'd look bewitching; as I haven't, these must do." And with a high, ringing laugh, she twined a dark, purplish pa.s.sion-flower amid her shining curls. "Now for my rouge. I must look blooming, you know--happy brides always should. Then it will save me the trouble of blushing, which is something I never was guilty of in my life. No, never mind those pearls, Celeste; I fear Dr. Wiseman might find them brighter than my eye, which would not do by 'no manner of means.' There! I'm ready. Who ever saw so bewildering a bride?"

She turned from the mirror, and stood before Celeste, her eyes shining like stars, streaming with an unnaturally blazing light, the pallor of her face hidden by the rouge, the dark pa.s.sion-flower drooping amid her curls, fit emblem of herself. There was an airy, floating lightness about her, as if she scarcely felt the ground she walked on--a fire and wildness in her large, dark eyes that made Celeste's heart ache for her.

Very beautiful she looked, with her dark, oriental face, shaded by its sable locks, the rich, dark dress falling with cla.s.sic elegance from her round, little waist. She looked, as she stood, bright, mocking, defiant, scornful--more like some fairy changeling--some fay of the moonlight--than a living creature, with a woman's heart. And yet, under that daring, bright exterior, a wild, anguished heart lay crushed and quivering, shedding tears of blood, that leaped to the eyes to be changed to sparks of fire.

"Let us go down," said Celeste, with a sigh.

"Yes, let us go. Do you know, Celeste, I read once of a man whom the Indians were going to burn to death at the stake, and who began cursing them when they led him there for making him wait so long. Now I feel just like that man; since I _am_ to be doomed to the stake--why, the sooner the torture is over the better."

She looked so beautiful, so bewitching, yet so mocking and unreal, so like a spirit of air, as she spoke, that, almost expecting to see her vanish from her sight, Celeste caught her in her arms, and gazed upon her with pitying, yearning, love-lit eyes, from which the tears were fast falling.

"Don't cry for me, Celeste; you make me feel more like an imp than ever.

I really think I must be a family relation of the goblin page we read about in the 'Lay of the Last Minstrel,' for I feel like doing as he did, throwing up my arms, and crying, 'Lost!' I'm sure that goblin page would have made his fortune in a circus, since his ordinary mode of walking consisted of leaps of fifty feet high or so. Crying still, Celeste! Why, I thought I'd make you laugh. Now, Celeste, if you don't dry your eyes, I'll go right up to where Aunty Gower keeps prussic acid for the rats, and commit suicide right off the reel. I've felt like doing it all the time lately, but never so much so as when I see you crying for me. Why, Celeste, I never was worth one tear from those blue eyes, body and bones. What's the use of anybody's grieving for a little, mad, hare-brained thing like me? _I'll_ do well enough; I'll be perfectly happy--see if I don't! It will be such glorious fun, you know, driving Spider mad! And, oh, _won't_ I dose him! Tra! la, la, la, la, la!" and Gipsy waltzed airily around the room.

At this moment there came a knock at the door. Celeste opened it, and Mrs. Gower, in the well-preserved silk and lace cap she had worn years before to Lizzie Oranmore's wedding, stood in the doorway.

"Oh, Celeste! why don't you hurry? Where is Gipsy? Oh, good gracious, child! not dressed yet? What on earth have you been doing? The people have been waiting these two hours, almost, in the parlors! Do hurry, for mercy sake, and dress!"

"Why, aunty, I _am_ dressed. Don't you see I am all ready to become Mrs.

Wiseman?"

"But my _dear_ child, that black dress----"

"This black dress will do very well--suits my complexion best, which is rather of the mulatto order than otherwise; and it's a pity if a blessed bride can't wear what she likes without such a fuss being made about it.

Now, aunty, don't begin to lecture--it'll only be a waste of powder and a loss of time; and I'm impatient to arrive at the place of execution."

Mrs. Gower sank horrified into a chair, and gazed with a look of despair into the mocking, defiant eyes of the elfin bride.

"Oh, Gipsy! what ever will the people say? In a _black dress_! Good heavens! Why, you'll look more like the chief mourner at a funeral than a bride! And what will Dr. Wiseman say?"

"Oh, don't, aunty! I hope he'll get into a pa.s.sion, and blow me and everybody else up when he sees it!" cried Gipsy, clapping her hands with delight at the idea.