Sharing Her Crime Part 53

Great was their consternation as they listened to the rapidly-told tale. There was no time left to congratulate her on her narrow escape, for she impetuously commanded Louis to mount immediately and take three or four of the servants to bring away the body.

With a rapidity almost as great as her own, her counsels were obeyed, and Gipsy, with Louis beside her, started back to the scene of the catastrophe, followed by four of the servants.

They reached the spot at last, and Gipsy drew back in dismay as she discovered the body was gone.

"Who can have carried it off?" she exclaimed, aghast.

"I rather think he has carried himself off," said Louis, who had been attentively examining the ground.

"Oh, impossible! He was dead, I tell you--just as _dead_ as ever he could be," said Gipsy.

"Well, dead or not, he has made his escape," said Louis. "See, the gra.s.s is dyed with blood all along, showing the way he has gone. Come, the trail is plain enough, let us follow it."

All dismounted and followed Louis. Not far had they to go, for lying by the fire was the burly form of the negro. He had evidently, with much difficulty, dragged himself thus far, and then sank down exhausted.

He rolled his glaring eyes fiercely on the faces bending over him, and gnashed his teeth in impotent rage as he saw Gipsy.

"Thank G.o.d! I have not killed him!" was her first fervent e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

Then, while Louis and the servants began making a sort of litter, she knelt beside him, and strove to stanch the flowing blood, undeterred by the wild, ferocious glare of his fiery eyes.

"Now, Tom, look here," said Gipsy, as she composedly went on with her work, "there's no use in your looking daggers at me that way, because it don't alarm me a bit. You needn't be mad at me either, for though I fired on you first, it was to save the life of an old woman, who might have been a loss to the world; and if I made use of your knife afterward, it was to save the life of Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman, who would have been a greater loss still. So you see I couldn't help myself, and you may as well look at the matter in the same light."

By this time the rest came back with a sort of litter; and groaning and writhing with pain, the heavy form of the wounded giant was lifted on their shoulders, and borne toward the village, where it was consigned to the care of the sheriff, who was thunderstruck when he heard of Gipsy's daring.

On their return to Sunset Hall, they learned from the old woman, who seemed threatened with a severe illness, how it had all occurred.

She was a "poor, lone woman," she said--a widow, named Mrs. Donne, living by herself for ten odd years, in a little cottage beyond St.

Mark's.

She was reputed to be rich--a rumor she never contradicted, as it made her neighbors treat her with distinction, in the hope that she would remember them in her will.

Big Tom, hearing the rumor, and believing it, came to her cottage, and demanded money. She had none to give him, and told him so, which exasperated him beyond measure. He threatened to kill her if she persisted in refusing, and gagged her to stifle her cries. Then, finding her still obstinate, he carried her off with him to the spot where Gipsy had found them, and again offered her her life if she would deliver up her money. Still she was forced to refuse, and maddened with rage and disappointment, he was about to murder her, when Gipsy providentially appeared, and saved her life.

Not without many interruptions was this story told; and ere it was concluded, Mrs. Donne was in a high fever. Gipsy installed herself as nurse, and listened in wonder and surprise to her raving of infants left to perish in snow-storms, and her wild words of sorrow and remorse for some past crime.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

CELESTE'S TRIAL.

"This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.

He turned his charger as he spoke, Upon the river sh.o.r.e; He gave the reins a shake, and said, Adieu forevermore, My love!

Adieu forevermore."

"Marry Celeste Pearl!--a girl without a farthing! a beggar! a foundling!

I'm astonished, thunderstruck, _speechless_, sir, at your audacity in proposing such a thing! I _have_ objections, sir--most _de_-cided objections, sir! Don't ever let me hear you mention such a thing again!"

And Squire Erliston stamped up and down, red with rage and indignation.

Louis stood with darkening brows, flashing eyes, and folded arms, before him--outwardly quiet, but compressing his lips to keep down the fiery tide of his rising pa.s.sion.

"What are your objections, sir?" he asked, with forced calmness.

"Objections! Why, sir, there's so many objections that I can't enumerate them. First place, she hasn't a cent; second, n.o.body knows who or what she is; third, she'll never do for my granddaughter-in-law. Therefore, sir, please drop the subject; I never want to hear anything more about it--for I shouldn't consent if you were to plead on your knees. The girl's a good girl enough in her place, but she won't do for the wife of Louis Oranmore. What, sir, consent that you, the heir to the richest landed estate this side the north pole, should marry a poor, unknown beggar-girl, who has lived all her life on the charity of others! No, sir, never!" said the squire, furiously, flinging himself into his chair, and mopping his inflamed visage.

The face of Louis was white with suppressed rage, and with an expression of ungovernable anger, he burst from the room. In his fierce excitement he saw not whither he went, until he ran full against Totty, who was entering, with a letter in her hand.

"Lor', Mas'r Lou, how you scare me! You like to knock me upside down.

Hi! here's a 'pistle for you, what Curly, old Miss Ager's gal, brought over, an' told me her young Miss 'Sless sent you."

"From Celeste," exclaimed Louis, s.n.a.t.c.hing it from her hand and tearing it open. His gifts fell to the floor; and scarcely able to believe his senses, he read its contents--his brow growing darker and darker as he read. He crushed it fiercely in his hand as he finished, and paced up and down the long hall like a madman.

"And such is woman's love!" he exclaimed, with a scornful laugh. "She gives me up, and bids me be happy with Minnette. What drove that jealous girl to love me; and to make Celeste believe I loved her first?

Everything seems to cross my path--this mad girl's pa.s.sion, and my grandfather's obstinate refusal. Well, she shall be mine, in spite of fate. I will marry her privately, and take her with me to Italy. Yes, that is the only plan. I will ride over to the cottage, and obtain her consent; and then, let those I leave behind do as they will, my happiness will be complete."

So saying, he quitted the house, mounted his horse, and rode rapidly toward the cottage.

Celeste was in the garden, binding up a broken rose-bush--looking paler, but lovelier than ever. She uttered a half-stifled cry as she saw him, and the last trace of color faded from her face as he leaped from his horse and stood beside her.

"Celeste, what means this?" he demanded, impetuously. "Do you really believe this tale told you by Minnette?"

"Oh, Louis, is it not true?" exclaimed Celeste, clasping her hands.

"True! Celeste, Celeste! do you take me to be such a villain? As heaven hears me, I never spoke a word of love to her in my life!"

This was true in the letter, but not in the spirit. He had never _spoken_ of love to Minnette, but he had _looked_ it often enough.

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Celeste, impulsively, while she bowed her face in her hands and wept.

"Dear Celeste," said Louis, drawing her gently toward him, "do you retract those cruel words you have written? You will not give me up, will you?"

"Oh, no! not _now_," replied Celeste, yielding to his embrace. "Oh, Louis, what do you suppose made Minnette say such dreadful things to me last night?"

"Because--I beg you will not think me conceited, dearest--she fancies she loves me, and is jealous of you. Perhaps, too, she thinks if I did not love you, I might return her affection; and the only way to end her chimerical hopes is by our immediate union. Say, dear love, when will you be mine?"

"Oh, Louis! I do not know," said Celeste, blushing scarlet. "I do not want to be married so soon, and--you must ask your grandfather."

"I have asked him, dearest."

"And he----"

"_Refused!_ I knew it would be so. He is obstinate and eccentric. But, Celeste, his refusal need make no difference to us."

She raised her blue eyes to his face, with a look of unconcealed wonder.

"We can be privately wedded, and I will take you with me to Europe, where we will reside until I have succeeded in pacifying the squire with my course."