Sharing Her Crime: A Novel

by May Agnes Fleming

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  "THE OLD, OLD STORY."

  "I have loved thee, thou gentlest, from a child, And borne thine image with me o'er the sea-- Thy soft voice in my soul! Speak! oh, yet live for me!" --HEMANS.

  A gay party gathered around the breakfast-table at Sunset Hall the nextmorning.

  There was Mrs. Oranmore--fair, fragile, but still pretty; then Mrs.Gower, over-shadowing the rest with her large proportions until they allshrank into skeletons beside her, with the exception of the squire, whowas in a state of roaring good humor. There was Mrs. Doctor NicholasWiseman--our own little Gipsy--as usual, all life, bustle and gayety,keeping up a constant fire of repartee--laughing and chattingunceasingly, poor little elf! to drown thought.

  Then there was Louis--gay, gallant and handsome--setting himself andeverybody else at ease by his stately courtesy and polished manners. Byhis side sat our favorite Celeste, fair and fresh, and bright as arosebud, smiling and blushing at the compliments showered upon her. Andlast, there sat Minnette, pale, and cold, and silent, with the long,black lashes falling over her eyes to hide the dusky fire that filledthem.

  "I wish you would stay all day with us, Celeste," said Mrs. Oranmore. "Ialways feel twice as well when I can look upon your bright face. Itseems to me you must have drank at the fountain of beauty and youth."

  "In that I agree with you, madam," said Louis.

  Minnette bit her lip till the blood started.

  "Oh! I really cannot stay, Mrs. Oranmore," said Celeste, blushingvividly. "Miss Hagar is always very lonely during my absence; andbesides----"

  "You are engaged to make gowns and nightcaps for all the old women ofthe parish! I know all about it," broke in Gipsy. "Formerly _I_ used tobe prime favorite in St. Mark's; but since our return from school I amthrown aside like an old shoe, to make room for your ladyship. I'llleave it to the world in general if I wasn't quoted as an oracle onevery occasion. There wasn't a baby spanked, nor an old dress turnedupside down, but I was consulted about it. Now, just look at thedifference; it's Miss Celeste here, and Miss Celeste there, and MissCeleste everywhere; while I'm nothing but a poor, dethroned,misfortunate little wretch! I won't put up with it--I just won't. I'llleave it to my daughter-in-law over there, if it isn't unbearable."

  "Ha, ha, ha! What do you say, Miss Wiseman?" said the squire, laughing.

  "I know nothing about it," coldly replied Minnette.

  "And care less, I suppose," said Gipsy. "That's just the way! Even myown children treat me with disrespect. Well, never mind; perhaps thetables will turn yet."

  "I am to attend you home, am I not, Celeste?" said Louis, in a lowvoice, as they arose from the table.

  "I am sure I do not know. I suppose you may, if you wish," she replied,ingenuously.

  "Oh, go, by all means," said Gipsy, who overheard them. "Anything tokeep them away from Minnette," she muttered inwardly.

  Accordingly, shortly after the carriage was brought round. Louis handedCeleste in, took the reins, and drove off, unconscious that Minnette,from her chamber window, was watching them, with a look that would haveappalled him had he seen it.

  That drive home--to what an unheard-of length was it prolonged! Had hebeen training his horses for a funeral, Louis could not have driven themslower. He had so many things to tell her; wild yet beautiful Germanlegends--of the glorious skies of glorious Italy--of the vine-clad hillsof sunny Spain--of gay, gorgeous Paris--and of the happy homes of"merrie England." And Celeste, lying back among the cushions, withhalf-closed eyes, drank in his low-toned, eloquent words--listened tothe dangerous music of his voice--with a feeling unspeakably delicious,but hitherto unknown. She saw not the burning glances of his dark eyes,as they rested on her fair face, but yielded herself up to his magneticinfluence without attempting to analyze her feelings.

  They reached Valley Cottage all too soon. Louis handed her out, andentered the cottage after her.

  Miss Hagar sat in her old seat, as though she had never moved from it.

  "Good-morning, dear Miss Hagar," said Celeste, kissing her soaffectionately that Louis inwardly wished he could become an old womanforthwith. "See--I have brought a stranger home with me."

  Louis stood smiling before her. She raised her solemn, prophetic grayeyes to his face, with a long, earnest gaze.

  "Louis Oranmore!" she exclaimed--"welcome home!"

  He raised the withered hand she extended so respectfully to his lipsthat a radiant glance of gratitude from the blue eyes of Celesterewarded him.

  How that morning slipped away, Louis could never tell; but seated,talking to Miss Hagar, with his eyes fixed on the rosy fingers ofCeleste flying with redoubled velocity to make up for what was lost, he"took no note of time," until the little clock on the mantel struck two.

  "By Jove! so it is!" exclaimed Louis, horrified at his prolonged visit."What will they think of me at home?"

  "Stay and take dinner with us," said Miss Hagar, hospitably.

  He hesitated, and glanced at Celeste.

  "Pray do," she said, lifting her sunshiny face with an enchanting smile.

  Inwardly rejoicing, he consented; and the long summer afternoon vanishedas the morning had done--unnoticed.

  "I fear your cottage is enchanted, Miss Hagar," he said, laughingly, ashe at last arose to go; "I find it next to impossible to tear myselfaway from it. Or perhaps there is some magnet concealed that keepspeople here against their will."

  Miss Hagar smiled good-humoredly, and invited him to repeat hisvisit--an invitation, it is unnecessary to say, the young gentlemancondescended to accept.

  Celeste accompanied him to the door. As they passed out, he said:

  "On this very spot we parted years ago. Do you remember that parting,Celeste?"

  "Yes," she said, softly, while her fair face grew crimson as sheremembered how wildly she had wept and clung to his neck then.

  He read what was passing in her mind, and smiled slightly.

  "Your farewell gift, that shining ring of gold, I have kept ever since,as a talisman against all evil," he said, with a slight twinge ofconscience as he remembered where it was--at the bottom of one of histrunks, with some scores of other tresses, severed from other fairheads, their owners long since forgotten.

  "I am glad you did not forget me during your absence," said Celeste,feeling very much confused, and not knowing very well what she wasexpected to reply.

  "Forget you, Celeste! Who could ever do so after beholding you once?"Then, seeing how painfully she was embarrassed, he turned gayly away,saying: "Good-bye, fairest Celeste! When shall we meet again?"

  "I know not. Next Sunday, at church, perhaps."

  "As if I could exist so long without seeing my fair Star of the Valley!May I not come to-morrow, Celeste?"

  "Yes, if you will bring Gipsy."

  "Oh, never mind Gipsy! She will most probably be 'over the hills and faraway' long before I open my eyes on this mortal life in the morning.Therefore, to-morrow will behold me once more by the side of my liegelady."

  And bowing lightly, he sprang into the saddle and galloped off, followedby Celeste's eyes until he was out of sight.

  The gloaming was falling when he reached Sunset Hall. He entered theparlor. It was dark and untenanted, save by a slender, black-robedfigure, seated by the window, as motionless as a statue. It wasMinnette--her white hands clasped tightly together, and resting on thewindow-sill, her forehead leaned upon them, her long black hair fallingin disorder over her shoulders.

  A pang of remorse shot through his heart at the sight of that despairingfigure. He went over and laid his hand gently on her arm.

  "Minnette!" he said, softly.

  At the sound of that loved voice, at the touch of that dear hand, shestarted up, and, flinging back her long hair, confronted him, with sucha white, haggard face, such wild, despairing eyes, that involuntarily hestarted back.

  "Dear Minnette, what is the matter?" he said, gently taking her hand.
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  She wrenched it from his grasp, with a bitter cry, and sinking back intoa seat, covered her face with her hands.

  "Minnette, are you ill? What is the matter?" he asked, afraid to acceptthe answer that his own heart gave.

  "The matter!" she cried, bitterly. "Oh, you may ask! _You_ do not know._You_ were not by my side from morning till night, whispering your wilywords into my ear, until this fair, this angelic, Celeste came! _You_ donot know what it is to have led a cold, loveless life, until some onecame and won all the wealth of love that had all your days laindormant, and then cast it back as a worthless gift at your feet! _You_do not know what it is to discover first you have a heart by its aching!Oh, no! All this is unknown to you. 'Ill!'"

  She laughed wildly.

  "Minnette! Minnette! do not talk so passionately! In the name of heaven,what have I done?"

  "Done!" she repeated, springing fiercely to her feet. "No need to askwhat you have done! Was not this heart marble--harder than marble--ay,or granite--till you came? Did you not read it as you would an openbook? Did you not strike the rock with a more powerful wand than that ofMoses, and did not all the flood of life and love spring forth at yourcommand? You never said in so many words: 'I love you.' Oh, no--you tookcare not to commit yourself; but could I not read it in every glance ofyour eye. Yes, deny it if you will, you _did_ love me, until thisfair-faced seraph--this 'stray angel,' as I heard you call her--came,and then, for the first new face, I was cast aside as worthless. I wastoo easy a conquest for this modern hero; and for this artful littlehypocrite--for her pink cheeks, her blue eyes, and yellow hair--theheart that loves you ten thousand times more than she can ever do, istrampled under foot! But I tell you to beware, Louis Oranmore; for if Iam a 'tigress,' as you often called me in my childhood, I can tear andrend in pieces all those who will cause my misery."

  She looked like some beautiful fiend, in her fierce outburst of stormypassion; her face livid, save two dark purple spots on either cheek; hereyes flaming, blazing; her lips, white; her wild black hair falling likea vail of darkness around her white face.

  "Minnette--_dear_ Minnette!"--like a magic spell his low-toned wordsfell on her maddened spirit--"you are mistaken. I never loved you asyou fancy; I admired your beauty. I might have loved you, but I wellknew the fierce, jealous nature that lay smoldering in your heart, underthe living coals of your passions. Minnette, the woman I love must begentle and _womanly_, for that means all; the fawn, not the lioness,suits me. Extremes meet, they say; and my own nature is too hot,passionate, and fiery, ever to mate with a spirit like to itself. InCeleste, gentle, tender, and dove-like--sit still, Minnette, you _must_hear me out." He held her down, writhing in anguish, by the force of hisstronger will. "In her, I say, I find all that I would ask of a woman.Therefore my heart was drawn toward her. Had I found the same qualitiesin you, I would have loved you, instead of her. And now, dear Minnette,forgive me if I have occasioned you pain; but for your own peace ofmind, it was necessary that I should tell you this."

  She was quivering, writhing in intense anguish, crouching in her seat ina strange, distorted attitude of utter despair. His eyes were full ofdeep pity as he gazed upon her.

  "Minnette, do you forgive me?" he said, coming over and trying to raiseher head.

  "Oh, leave me--leave me!" was her reply, in a voice so full of intensesuffering that he started.

  "Only say you forgive me."

  "Never! May God never forgive me if I do!" she cried, with suchappalling fierceness that he quailed before her. "Leave me, I tell you!"she cried, stamping her foot, "leave me before I go mad!"

  He quitted the room: and Minnette was alone, with her own uncontrolledpassions for company. The agony of ages seemed to be concentrated intothose moments; every fiber of her heart seemed tearing from its place,and lay quivering and bleeding in her bosom.

  * * * * *

  Weeks passed. Day after day found Louis at Valley Cottage, reading andtalking, or walking with Celeste. And she--there was no mistaking thatquick flushing, that involuntary smile, that sudden brightening of theeye, at the sound of his footstep or the tones of his voice. Yes, theStar of the Valley was wooed and won. And all this time Minnette sat inher own room, alone, wrapped in her own gloomy thoughts as in amantle--the same cold, impassible Minnette as ever. Yet there was alurid lightning, a blazing fire, at times, in her eye, that might havestartled any one had it been seen.

  One bright moonlight night in July Louis and Celeste were wanderingslowly along the rocky path leading to the cottage. Even in themoonlight could be seen the bright flush that overspread her fair face,as she listened, with drooping head and downcast eyes, to his low,love-toned words.

  "And so you love me, my sweet Celeste, better than all the world?" heasked softly.

  "Oh, yes!" was the answer, almost involuntarily breathed.

  "And you will be my wife, Celeste?"

  "Oh, Louis! Your grandfather will never consent."

  "And if he does not, what matter?" cried Louis, impetuously. "I am myown master, and can marry whom I please."

  "Louis--Louis! do not talk so. I would never marry you against hiswill."

  "You would not?"

  "No, certainly not. It would be wrong, you know."

  "Wrong! How would it be wrong, Celeste? I am sure my mother would notobject; and as for him, what right has he to interfere with mymarriage?"

  "Oh, Louis! you know he has a guardian's right--a parent's right--tointerfere. Besides," she added, blushing, "we are both too young to bemarried. Time enough these seven years."

  "Seven years!" echoed Louis, laughing; "why, that would be as bad asJacob and--Rachel. Wasn't that the name? Come, my dear Celeste, bereasonable. I cannot wait seven years, though very likely you could.During all those long years of absence the remembrance of you hascheered my loneliest hours. I looked forward impatiently to the timewhen I might return and see my Star of the Valley again. And now that Ihave come, you tell me to wait seven years! Say, Celeste, may I not askmy grandfather--and if he consents, will you not be mine?"

  "I don't know--I'll think about it," said Celeste, timidly.

  "And I know how that thinking will end. Here we are at the cottage.Good-night, my little white dove! To-morrow I will see you, and tell youhis decision."

  One parting embrace, and he turned away. Celeste stood watching himuntil he was out of sight, then turned to enter the cottage. As she didso, an iron grasp was laid on her shoulder, and a hoarse, fierce voicecried:

  "Stop!"

  Celeste turned, and almost shrieked aloud, as she beheld Minnettestanding like a galvanized corpse before her.