Sharing Her Crime Part 20

Her face was convulsed with pa.s.sion. With a cry of terror, Celeste fled from the room to weep alone in her own chamber, while Minnette sat by the window, watching the stars come out in their splendor, one by one, with the germs of that jealousy taking deep root in her soul, that would grow and bear fruit for evermore!

CHAPTER XIII.

GIPSY ASTONISHES THE NATIVES.

"What mighty mischief glads her now?"--FIRE WORs.h.i.+PERS.

Among the villagers of St. Mark's, the mad-headed, wild-eyed, fearless Gipsy Gower was a universal favorite. Not one among them but had received from her warm heart and generous hand some service. The squire furnished his "imp" plentifully with pocket-money, which was invariably bestowed with careless generosity upon the poor of the parish; but given in a way that precluded all thanks. Sometimes the door would be thrust open with such violence as to wake the inmates, thinking a troop of horse was about to favor them with a visit, and her purse flung into the middle of the floor; and away she would ride like a flash. But on these occasions they were never at a loss to know the donor. If, on her next visit, they began to thank her for her gift, Gipsy indignantly denied all knowledge of it, and positively refused to listen to them.

Dr. Wiseman, who was a pretty extensive land-owner, had several tenants in the remotest part of the village, whom he forced to pay an exorbitant rent, giving them to understand that unless they paid it on the very day it came due, out they must go! One evening, about dusk, Gipsy, who had been riding out, was overtaken by a storm of wind and rain, and sought shelter in one of the cottages.

On entering she found the whole family in deep distress. The head of the family sat gazing moodily at the fire: his wife, surrounded by her children, was weeping; and they, following her example, had set up a clamorous cry.

"Why, what's up now? What's the matter, Mrs. Brown?" inquired Gipsy, in surprise.

"Oh, Miss Gipsy! is it you? Sit down. Alas, it's the last time we can ever ask you!" said the woman, with a fresh burst of tears.

"Why, are you going to turn me out the next time I come?" said Gipsy, taking the proffered seat.

"Heaven forbid we'd ever turn you out, Miss Gipsy, after all you've done for us!" said the woman; "but after to-night we'll no longer have a roof to shelter us."

"You won't, eh? Do you intend to set fire to this old shanty, and burn it down?" inquired Gipsy.

"No, no; but Dr. Wiseman was here for his rent (this is pay-day, you know), and we haven't a cent in the house to give him. Mr. Brown's been sick mostly all summer, and all we could make it took to feed the children. And now Dr. Wiseman says he'll turn us out, to starve or beg, to-morrow," replied the woman through her tears.

"The old sinner!" exclaimed Gipsy, through her hard-closed teeth. "Did you ask him to give you time to pay?"

"Yes, I went on my knees, and begged him to spare us for a few months, and we would pay him every cent; but he wouldn't. He said he would give us until to-morrow morning, and if we didn't have it then, out we must go."

For a moment Gipsy was silent, compressing her lips to keep down her fiery wrath, while the woman wept more pa.s.sionately than ever.

"Have his other tenants paid him?" inquired Gipsy, at length.

"Yes, all but us."

"When did he start for home?"

"Not five minutes ago?"

"Which way did he take?" said Gipsy, springing to her feet, and beginning to examine her pistols.

"He went over the hills," said the man at the fire, speaking now for the first time; "I heard them say he was afraid to be robbed if he went round by the road, as he had all the money he got from the tenants with him."

"All right, then, Mrs. Brown, my dear woman. Keep up heart; and if some good fairy gets you out of this sc.r.a.pe, don't say a word about it. Good night."

"You had better not venture alone in the storm," said Mrs. Brown, anxiously; "one of the boys will go with you."

"Thank you, there's no necessity. I feel safer on Mignonne's back than with all the boys that ever afflicted the world for its sins for a body-guard. So mind my words, 'hold on to the last,' as the shoemaker said, and don't despair."

The last words were lost in the storm of wind and rain, as she opened the door. Springing on the back of Mignonne, she turned his head in the direction of the hills, and sped over the ground as rapidly as her fleet-footed Arabian could carry her.

Through the night, and wind, and rain, over the dangerous hilly path jogged Dr. Wiseman. He scarcely felt the storm, for a talisman in the shape of a well-filled pocket-book lay pressed to his avaricious heart.

His mare, a raw-boned old brute, as ugly as her master, walked along slowly, manifesting a sublime contempt for storm and wind that would have done the heart of a philosopher good. What her thoughts were about it, would be hard to say; but her master's ran on money, robbers, highwaymen, and other such "knights of the road."

"There are many desperate characters in the village who know I have a large sum of money about me, and who would no more mind waylaying, robbing, and perhaps murdering me, than I would of turning the Brown's out to-morrow. Luckily, however, they'll think I've taken the village road," said the doctor to himself, in a sort of soliloquy, "and so I'll escape them. But this road is a dismal one, and seems just the place for a rendezvous of robbers. Now, if a highwayman were to step up from behind one of these rocks, and cry----"

"Your money or your life!" cried a deep, sepulchral voice at his ear, with such startling suddenness that, with an exclamation of horror and fear, the doctor nearly fell from his seat.

Recovering himself, he strove to see the robber, but in the deep darkness and beating rain it was impossible. But though he couldn't see, he could hear, and the sharp click of a pistol distinctly met his ear.

"Your money or your life!" repeated the low, hoa.r.s.e voice, in an imperious tone.

For reply, the doctor, rendered desperate by the fear of losing his money, drew a pistol and fired. As it flashed, he saw for a moment a horse standing before him, but the rider seemed to have lain flat down, for no man was there. Ere he could draw his second pistol, his horse was grasped by the bridle-rein, and the cold muzzle of a pistol was pressed to his temple.

"Your money or your life!" cried a fierce, excited voice that terror alone prevented him from recognizing. "Deliver up your money, old man, or this instant you shall die."

"Oh, spare my life!" cried the wretched doctor, in an agony of terror, for the cold ring of steel still pressed his temple like the deadly fang of a serpent. "Spare my life, for G.o.d's sake, and you shall have all!

I'm a poor man, but you shall have it."

"Quick, then," was the imperious rejoinder, as the doctor fumbled in his pockets, and at last, with a deep groan of despair, surrendered the plump pocket-book to the daring outlaw.

"That is all I have; now let me go," cried the miserable doctor.

"Yes; but first you must solemnly swear never to speak to man, woman, or child of what has occurred to-night. Swear by your own miserable soul!"

"I swear!" groaned the unhappy doctor.

"And lest you should be tempted to commit perjury, and break your oath, let me tell you that the very first attempt to do so will be followed by instant _death_. Mind! I will watch you day and night, dog your steps like a blood-hound, and if you dare to breathe it to living mortal, that moment will be your last."

"I'll never mention it! I'll never speak of it. Oh, let me go," implored the agonized Galen.

"Very well, then. I have the honor to wish you good-night. If you don't ride straight home, I'll send a bullet through your head."

And with this cheering a.s.surance the robber put spurs to the horse, and rode off in the direction opposite to that leading to Deep Dale.

Little need was there to exhort the terror-stricken doctor to ride straight home. Never before had the spavined old mare fled over the ground with the velocity she did that night, and Doctor Wiseman did not breathe freely until he was double-locked in his own room.

The Browns paid their rent the next day, and would no longer remain tenants of the doctor. If he suspected any one, the robber's threat caused him prudently to remain silent; but his wretched look was an unfailing subject of mirth for Gipsy Gower for a month after, and the cunning twinkle of her eye said as plainly as words:

"I know, but I won't tell."

One day, Gipsy fell into deeper disgrace with the squire than had ever occurred before. In fact, it was quite an outrageous thing, and the only apology I can offer for her is, that she meant no harm.

The Bishop of B., Senator Long, and a number of distinguished gentlemen and ladies from the city had come to St. Mark's to spend a few days.

Squire Erliston, as a matter of course, immediately called to see his friends, and a few days after gave a large dinner-party, to which they were all invited.