CHAPTER VIII.
Gipsy.
"A little, wild-eyed, tawny child, A fairy sprite, untamed and wild, Like to no one save herself, A laughing, mocking, gipsy elf."
Year after year glides away, and we wonder vaguely that they can havepassed. On our way to the grave we may meet many troubles, but timeobliterates them all, and we learn to laugh and talk as merrily again asthough the grass was not growing between our face and one we could neverlove enough. But such is life.
Ten years have passed away at St. Mark's since the close of our lastchapter; ten years of dull, tedious monotony. The terrible sight thathad met Lizzie Oranmore's eyes that morning, was the dead form of heryoung husband. He had been riding along at his usual reckless, headlongpace, and had been thrown from his horse and killed.
Under the greensward in the village church-yard, they laid hisworld-weary form to rest, with only the name inscribed on the cold,white marble to tell he had ever existed. And no one dreamed of theyouthful romance that had darkened all the life of Barry Oranmore. Lyingon the still heart, that had once beat so tumultuously, they found theminiature of a fair young face and a long tress of sunny hair. Wonderingsilently to whom they belonged, good Mrs. Gower laid them aside, littledreaming of what they were one day to discover.
Lizzie, with her usual impulsiveness, wept and sobbed for a timeinconsolably. But it was not in her shallow, thoughtless nature togrieve long for any one; and ere a year had passed, she laughed as gaylyand sang as merrily as ever.
Sometimes, it may be, when her child--her boy--would look up in her facewith the large dark eyes of him who had once stolen her girlish heartaway, tears for a moment would weigh down her golden eyelashes; but thenext instant the passing memory was forgotten, and her laugh again rangout merry and clear.
And so the ten years had passed, and no change had taken place at SunsetHall save that it was far from being the quiet place it had beenformerly.
Has the reader forgotten Aurora, the little foundling of yellingnotoriety? If so, it is no fault of hers, for that shrill-voiced younglady never allowed herself to be pushed aside to make room for any one.Those ten years at least made a change in her.
See her now, as she stands with her dog by her side, for a moment, torest, in the quaint old porch fronting Sunset Hill. She has been rompingwith Lion this morning, and now, panting and breathless, she pauses foran instant to prepare for a fresh race. There she stands! A little,slight, wiry, agile figure, a little thin, dark, but bright andsparkling face, with small, irregular features, never for a moment atrest. With a shower of short, crisp, dark curls streaming in the breeze,every shining ring dancing with life, and fire, and mirth, and mischief.And with such eyes, looking in her face you forgot every other featuregazing in those "bonny wells of brown," that seemed fairly scintillatingwickedness. How they did dance, and flash, and sparkle, with youth, andglee, and irrepressible fun--albeit the darker flame that now and thenleaped from their shining depths bespoke a wild, fierce spirit, untamedand daring, slumbering in her heart, quiet and unaroused as yet, butwhich would one day burst forth, scathing, blighting all on whom itfell.
And such is Aurora Gower. A wild, dark, elfish changeling, not at allpretty, but the most bewitching sprite withal, that ever kept ahousehold in confusion. Continually getting into scrapes and makingmischief, and doing deeds that would have been unpardonable in any oneelse, Aurora, in some mysterious way of her own, escaped censure, andthe most extravagant actions were passed over with the remark, that itwas "just like her--just what you might expect from a gipsy." Owing toher dark skin and wild habits, "Gipsy" was the name by which Mrs.Gower's _protegee_ was universally known. With every one she was afavorite, for though always saucy, often impertinent, and invariablyprovoking, it was impossible to be angry with a little fairy of acreature whom they could almost hold up between their finger and thumb.
As for the burly old squire, he could as soon think of getting alongwithout his brandy as without Gipsy. For though they continuallyquarreled, he abusing her unmercifully, and she retorting impudently,yet, when Gipsy at the end would flounce out in a towering passion, shewas sure a few hours after to find a peace-offering from the old man, inthe shape of a costly gift, lying on her table. After some coaxing shewould consent to forgive him, and Squire Erliston and his little wardwould smoke the calumet of peace (figuratively speaking); but, alas! forthe short-lived truce--ere another hour the war of words would be raging"fast and furious" once more.
Good Mrs. Gower zealously strove to impress on the wayward elf abecoming respect for the head of the household; and sometimes, in a fitof penitence, Aurora would promise "not to give Guardy any more bile,"but being by nature woefully deficient in the bump of reverence, thepromise had never been kept; and at last the worthy housekeeper gave upthe task in despair.
And so Aurora was left pretty much to follow her "own sweet will," andno one need wonder that she grew up the maddest, merriest elf that everdanced in the moonlight. At the age of eleven she could ride with thebest horseman for miles around, hunt like a practiced sportsman, bringdown a bird on the wing with her unerring bullet, and manage a boat withthe smartest fisherman in St. Marks. Needle-work, dolls, and otheramusements suitable for her age, she regarded with the utmost contempt,and with her curls streaming behind her, her hat swinging in her hand,she might be seen flying about the village from morning till night,always running, for she was too quick and impetuous to walk. In thestormiest weather, when the winds were highest and the sea roughest, shewould leap into one of the fishermen's boats, and unheeding storm anddanger, go out with them, in spite of commands and entreaties to thecontrary, until danger and daring became with her second nature. Butwhile Aurora has been standing for her picture the rest of the familyhave assembled in the breakfast-parlor of Mount Sunset Hall. Languidlystretched on a sofa lay Lizzie Oranmore. Those ten years have made nochange in her; just the same rose-leaf complexion, the same round,little graceful figure, the same coquettish airs and graces as when wesaw her last. She might readily have been taken for the elder sister ofher son, Louis, who stood by the window sketching the view before him.
There was a striking resemblance between Louis and his dead father; thesame clear, olive complexion, the same sable locks and bold black eyes,the same scornful, curving upper lip, and the same hot, rash, impetuousnature. But with all his fiery impetuosity he was candid, open andgenerous, the soul of honor and frankness, but with a nature which,according as it was trained, must be powerful for good or evil.
Sitting propped up in an easy-chair, with his gouty leg, swathed inflannel, stretched on two chairs, was the squire, looking in no verysweet frame of mind. The morning paper, yet damp from the press, laybefore him; but the squire's attention would wander from it every momentto the door.
"Where's that little wretch this morning?" broke out the squire, atlast, throwing down his paper impatiently.
"I really can't say," replied Lizzie, opening her eyes languidly. "I sawher racing over the hills this morning, with those dreadful dogs ofhers. I expect she will be back soon."
"And we must wait for her ladyship!" growled the squire. "I'll cane herwithin an inch of her life if she doesn't learn to behave herself.'Spare the child and spoil the rod,' as Solomon says."
"Here she comes!" exclaimed Louis, looking up. "Speak of Satan and he'llappear."
"Satan! She's no Satan, I'd have you know, you young jackanapes!" saidthe squire, angrily, for though always abusing the "little vixen,"Aurora, himself, he would suffer no one else to do it.
"Look, look how she dashes along!" exclaimed Louis, with kindling eyes,unheeding the reproof. "There! she has leaped her pony over the gate,and now she is standing up in her saddle; and--bravo! well done, Gipsy!She has actually sprung over black Jupe's head in a flying leap."
While he spoke Gipsy came running up the lawn toward the house, singing,in a high, shrill voice, as she ran:
"He died long, long ago, long ago-- He had no hair on the top of his
head, The place where the wool ought to grow, Lay down the shovel and the hoe-o-o, Hang up----"
"Stop that, stop that, you vixen! Stop it, I tell you, or I'll hang_you_ up!" said the squire, angrily. "Where do you learn those vulgardoggerels?"
"Make 'em up, Guardy--every one of 'em. Ain't I a genius?"
"I don't believe it, you scapegrace."
"No wonder you don't, seeing there never was a genius in the familybefore; but 'better late than never,' you know."
"None of your impertinence, miss. Give an account of yourself, if youplease. Where were you this morning? Answer me _that_!"
"Nowhere, sir."
"Don't tell stories, you little sinner. Where is nowhere?"
"Over to Doctor Spider's."
"Gipsy, my dear, why will you persist in calling Doctor Wisemannicknames?" remonstrated Lizzie.
"Why, Aunt Liz, because he's just like a spider, for all the world--alllegs," flippantly replied Gipsy.
"And what business had you there, monkey? Didn't I tell you not to go? Ithought I told you _never_ to go there!" said the squire, in risingwrath.
"Know it, Guardy, and that's just the reason I went."
"Because I forbade you, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"You--you--you disobedient little hussy, you! Aren't you ashamed ofyourself?"
"Ashamed!--what of? I haven't got the gout in my leg."
"Gipsy, you dreadful child, hush!" said Lizzie, in alarm.
"Oh, let her go on! She's just as you taught her, madam. And as to you,Miss Gipsy, or Aurora, or whatever your name is, let me tell you, thegout is nothing to be ashamed of. It runs in the most respectablefamilies, miss."
"Lord, Guardy! What a pity I can't have it, too, and help to keep up therespectability of the family!"
Louis turned to the window, and struggled violently with a laugh, whichhe endeavored to change into a cough, and the laugh and cough meeting,produced a choking sensation. This sent Gipsy to his aid, who, afteradministering sundry thumps on his back with her little closed fists,restored him to composure, and the squire returned to the charge.
"And now, to 'return to our mutton,' as Solomon says; or--hold on aminute--was it Solomon who said that?"
The squire paused, and placed his finger reflectively on the point ofhis nose, in deep thought; but being unable to decide, he looked up, andwent on:
"Yes, miss, as I was saying, what took you over to Deep Dale so earlythis morning? Tell me that."
"Well, if I must, I must, I s'pose--so here goes."
"Hallo, Gipsy!" interrupted Louis. "Take care--you're making poetry."
"No, sir! I scorn the accusation!" said Gipsy, drawing herself up. "But,Guardy, since I _must_ tell you, I went over to see--ahem!--Archie!"
"You did!" grunted Guardy. "Humph! humph! humph!"
"Don't take it so much to heart, Guardy. No use grieving--'specially asthe grief might settle in your poor afflicted leg--limb, I mean."
"And may I ask, young lady, what you could possibly want with him?" saidthe squire, sternly.
"Oh, fifty things! He's my beau, you know."
"Your beau!--_your_ beau!--your BEAU! My conscience!"
"Yes, sir, we're engaged."
"You are? 'Oh, Jupiter,' as Solomon says. Pray, madam (for such Ipresume you consider yourself), when will you be twelve years old?"
"Oh, as soon as I can. I don't want to be an old maid."
"So it seems, you confounded little Will-o'-the-wisp. And will you begood enough to inform us how this precious engagement came about?" saidthe squire, with a savage frown.
"With pleasure, sir. You see, we went out to gather grapes in the woodone day, and we had a splendiferous time. And says I, 'Archie, ain'tthis nice?'--and says he 'Yes'--and says I, 'Wouldn't it be nice if we'dget married?'--and says he, 'Yes'--and says I, '_Will_ you have me,though?'--and says he, 'Yes'--and says I----"
"'Ain't we a precious pair of fools?' and says he, 'Yes,'" interruptedthe squire, mimicking her. "Oh, you're a nice gal--you're a pretty younglady!"
"Yes, ain't I, now? You and I are of one opinion there, exactly. Ain'tyou proud of me?"
"_Proud_ of you, you barefaced little wretch! I'd like to twist yourneck for you!" thundered the squire.
"Better not, Guardy; you'd be hung for _man_-slaughter if you did, youknow."
"_You_ don't call yourself a man, I hope!" said Louis.
"Well, if I don't, I'm a girl--which is a thousand times nicer. Andspeaking of girls, reminds me that Miss Hagar's got the dearest,darlingest, _beautifulest_ little girl you ever set your eyes on."
"Miss Hagar?" they all exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes, to be sure. Law! you needn't look so astonished; this is a freecountry. And why can't Miss Hagar have a little girl, if she wants to,as well as anybody else, I'd like to know?" exclaimed Gipsy, ratherindignantly.
"To be sure," said Louis, who took the same view of the case as Gipsy.
"Where did she get it?--whose little girl is it?" inquired Lizzie,slightly roused from her languor by the news.
"Don't know, I'm sure; nobody don't. She was off somewhere poking roundall day yesterday, and came home at night with this little girl. Oh,Louis, she's such a dear little thing!"
"Is she?" said Louis, absently.
"Yes, indeed--with a face like double-refined moonlight, and long,yellow hair, and blue eyes, and pink dress, and cheeks to match. She'stwice as pretty as Minette; and Miss Hagar's going to keep her, andteach her to tell fortunes, I expect."
"I wonder Dr. Wiseman allows Miss Hagar to fill the house with littlebeggars," said Lizzie.
"Oh, Spider's got nothing to do with it. Miss Hagar has money of herown, and can keep her if she likes. Pity if she'd have to ask permissionof that 'thing of legs and arms,' everything she wants to do."
"Gipsy, my dear, you really must not speak so of Dr. Wiseman: it'spositively shocking," said the highly-scandalized Mrs. Oranmore.
"Well, I don't care; he _is_ a 'thing of legs and arms.' There, now!"
"What's the little girl's name, Gipsy?" inquired Louis.
"_Celeste_--isn't it pretty? And she--oh, she's a darling, and nomistake. _Wouldn't_ I marry her if I was a man--maybe I wouldn't."
"What's her other name?"
"Got none--at least she said so; and, as I didn't like to tell her shetold a story, I asked Miss Hagar, and _she_ told me to mind my ownbusiness; yes, she actually did. Nobody minds how they talk to me.People haven't a bit of respect for me; and I have to put up with _sass_from every one. I won't stand it much longer, either. There!"
"No, I wouldn't advise you to," said Louis. "Better _sit_ down; no usein standing it."
"Wiseman's a fool if he lets that crazy tramp, his sister, supportbeggars in his house," exclaimed the squire, in a threatening tone."Lunatics like her should not be allowed to go at large. He has nobusiness to permit it."
"I'd like to see him trying to stop it," said Gipsy. "I'd be in hiswool."
"_You!_" said the squire, contemptuously. "What could a little Tom Thumbin petticoats, like you, do?"
"Look here, now, Guardy, don't call a lady names. When you speak of TomThumb, you know, it's getting personal. What could I do? Why, I'd sethis house on fire some night about his ears, or some day, when outshooting, a bullet might strike him accidentally on purpose. It takes meto defend injured innocence," said Gipsy, getting up, and squaring-offin an attitude of defiance, as she exclaimed: "Come on, old Wiseman, I'mready for you!"
"Well, I can't allow you to associate with beggars. You must never go toDeep Dale again. I can't countenance his proceedings. If he choose tomake a fool of himself, it's no reason why I should do so too."
"None in the world, sir--especially as nature has saved you thattrouble."
"You audacious little demon, you! what do you mean?"
"Ahem! I was just observing, sir, that it's time for breakfast," saidGipsy, demurely.
"Humph! humph! well, ring for Mrs. Gower, and hold your tongue."<
br />
"Sorry I can't oblige you, Guardy. But how can I hold my tongue andeat?"
"I wish I could find something to take the edge off it; it's altogethertoo sharp," growled the old man to himself.
Mrs. Gower, fat and good-natured as ever, entered at this moment; and,as they assembled round the table, the squire--who, though he generallygot the worst of the argument, would never let Gipsy rest--again resumedthe subject.
"Mind, monkey, you're not to go to Deep Dale again; I forbidyou--positively forbid you."
"Lor! Guardy, you don't say so!"
"Don't be disrespectful, minx. If I'm your guardian, you shall obey me.You heard me say so before, didn't you?"
"Why, yes, I think so; but, then, you say so many things, a body can'tbe expected to remember them all. You _must_ be talking, you know; andyou might as well be saying that as anything else."
"But I am determined you shall obey me this time. Do you hear? At yourperil, minion, _dare_ to go there again!" thundered the squire.
"That very pretty, Guardy, won't you say it over again," replied thetantalizing elf.
"Gipsy! oh, Gipsy, my dear!" chanted the ladies Gower and Oranmore, in ahorrified duet.
"You--you--you--little, yellow abomination you! You--you--skinny----"
"Squire Erliston," said Gipsy, drawing herself up with stately dignity,"let me remind you, you are getting to be personal. How would you likeit if I called _you_--you--you red-faced old fright--you--you--yougouty-legged----"
"There! there! that'll do," hastily interrupted the squire, while auniversal shout of laughter went round the table at the ludicrous mannerin which the little imp mimicked his blustering tone. "There, there!don't say a word about it; but mind, if you dare to go to Dr. Wiseman's,you'll rue it. Mind that."
"All right, sir; let me help you to another roll," said Gipsy, with hersweetest smile, as she passed the plate to the old man, who looked, notonly daggers, but bowie-knives at the very least.
Sharing Her Crime: A Novel Page 9
