Sharing Her Crime Part 36

"Look here, aunty," said Gipsy, following Mrs. Gower, as she wandered through the house, brush in hand, "what brings that old spider here so often of late? He and Guardy appear to be as thick as two pickpockets--though, a few years ago, Guardy detested the sight of him.

They are for everlasting closeted together, plotting something. Now, aunty, it looks suspicious, don't it?"

"I am afraid Dr. Wiseman is drawing your guardian into some rash speculation," said Mrs. Gower. "The squire is always muttering about 'stocks,' and 'interest,' and such things. I am afraid the doctor is using him for his own purposes. Heaven forgive me if I wrong him!"

"Wrong him! I tell you, aunty, that Spider's a regular snake. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could see him. He has a way of looking at me that I don't half like. Whenever I'm in the room he stares and stares at me, as if I were some natural curiosity. Perhaps he's falling in love with me. There! I tell you what, aunty--I've just hit the right thing in the middle--he's meditating whether or not he'll raise me to the dignity of Mrs. Spider Wiseman--I know he is!" exclaimed Gipsy, laughing, little dreaming how near she had stumbled to the truth.

"Nonsense, child. A man of Dr. Wiseman's age and habits has little thought of taking a wife, much less such a wild one as you. I hope it may all turn out well, though I have my doubts."

"So have I," said Gipsy; "and I'm going to keep a bright lookout for breakers ahead. If that yellow old ogre tries to bamboozle poor, dear, simple Guardy, he'll find himself in a worse sc.r.a.pe than when I saved him from drowning. I know I was born to be a knight-errant, and protect innocent old men, and astonish the world generally. And now I must run up stairs, and see if I can do anything for poor little Aunt Liz."

While Gipsy was conversing with Mrs. Gower, a dialogue of a different nature was going on in the parlor betwixt the squire and the doctor.

Artfully had Dr. Wiseman's plans been laid, and skillfully were they executed. With his oily, persuasive words, and flattering tongue, he had got the squire completely and irrecoverably in his power, in order that the hand of his ward might be the price of his freedom.

Dr. Wiseman knew the squire always had a mania for speculating. Taking advantage of this, he entrapped him into investing in some mad scheme, which failed, as the doctor well knew it would, leaving the squire hopelessly in debt. Of all his creditors he owed the doctor himself the most; for that obliging man had insisted on lending him large sums of ready money. And now the time of payment was at hand, and where should he obtain the money?

Squire Erliston was rich--that is, the estate of Mount Sunset was in itself a princely fortune; but this was to descend to his grandson; and the squire had too much pride to allow it to go to him burdened with debt. Neither could he mortgage any part of it to pay off the debt. He felt that his heir ought not to suffer for his own madness. Besides, he did not wish his grandson to know how egregiously he had allowed himself to be duped by a set of sharpers. Therefore he now sat listening to the doctor, half-stupefied at learning the extent of his losses--the amount of debts which he had no means of paying; while the doctor condoled with him outwardly, and chuckled inwardly at the success of his plans.

"Moore, to whom you are indebted to the amount of twenty thousand dollars, even goes so far as to threaten law proceedings if he is not immediately paid," said the doctor, continuing the conversation.

The squire groaned.

"I told him it might not be convenient for you to meet so many heavy liabilities at once; but he would not listen to reason--said he would give you a week to deliberate, and if at the end of that time the money was not forthcoming, your _rascality_, as he termed it, should be openly proclaimed to the world, and the law would force you to pay."

"Oh, Lord!" said the squire, writhing inwardly.

"His intention, without doubt, is to obtain a claim on Mount Sunset; and, your other creditors joining him, the whole estate will finally become theirs."

"Never!" shouted the squire, leaping fiercely to his feet. "I will shoot every villain among them first! Mount Sunset has been in our family for years, and no gang of swindlers shall ever possess it."

"My dear sir," said the doctor, soothingly, "do not be excited. It is useless, and will only make matters worse. You see you are completely in their power, and there is no possible hope of escape. In spite of all you can do, I fear Mount Sunset will be theirs, and you and your family will be turned out upon the world, comparatively speaking, beggars."

The unhappy squire sank back in his chair; and, covering his face with his hands, writhed and groaned in mental torture.

"Your only course now," continued the merciless doctor, fixing his snake-like eyes with lurking triumph on his victim, "is to write to your grandson, confess all to him, and bring him home. He is an artist of some note, they say. Most probably, therefore, he will be able to support you--though it may seem strange to him first to work for his living."

"Work for his living!" shouted the squire, maddened by the words. "Louis Oranmore work for his living! No, sir! he has not sunk so low as that yet. If need be, he has the property of his grandmother Oranmore still remaining."

"The property of Mrs. Oranmore will not be his until her death, which may not be this ten years yet. She is hard and penurious, and would hardly give him a guinea to keep him from starving. Besides, would _you_, Squire Erliston, live on the bounty of Mrs. Oranmore?" said the doctor, with a sarcastic sneer.

"No, sir; I would die of starvation first!" replied the squire, almost fiercely. "But she, or some one else, might lend me the money to pay off these accursed debts."

"Not on such security as you would give, Squire Erliston," said the doctor, calmly. "In fact, my dear sir, it is useless to think of escaping your fate. Mount Sunset _must_ be given up to satisfy these men!"

"Oh, fool! fool! fool!--miserable old fool that I was, to allow myself to be so wretchedly duped!" groaned the squire, in bitter anguish and remorse. "Better for me had I never been born, than that such disgrace should be mine in my old age! And Louis!--poor Louis! But I will never see him again. If Mount Sunset be taken from me it will break my heart.

Every tree and picture about the old place is hallowed by the memory of the past; and now that I should lose it through my own blind, miserable folly! Oh! woe is me!" And, burying his great head in his hands, the unhappy old man actually sobbed outright.

Now had the hour of Dr. Wiseman's triumph come; now was the time to make his daring proposal. Awhile he sat gloating over the agonies of his victim; and then, in slow, deliberate tones, he said:

"But in all this darkness, Squire Erliston, there still remains one ray of light--_one_ solitary hope. What would you do if I were to offer to cancel what you owe me, to pay off all your other debts, and free you once more?"

"Do!" exclaimed the squire, leaping in his excitement from the chair.

"_Do_, did you say? I tell you, Dr. Wiseman, there is nothing under heaven I would _not_ do. But you--you only mock me by these words."

"I do not, Squire Erliston. On one condition your debts shall every one be paid, and Mount Sunset still remain yours."

"And that condition! For Heaven's sake name it!" cried the squire, half maddened by excitement.

"Will you agree to it?"

"Yes, though you should even ask my life!"

"_That_ would be of little service to me," said the doctor, with a dry smile. "No; I ask something much easier."

"For Heaven's sake name it!" exclaimed the squire, wildly.

"It is----"

"What?"

"_The hand of your ward, Gipsy Gower._"

The squire stood like one transfixed with amazement, his eyes ready to shoot from his head with surprise and consternation. And calmly before him sat the doctor, his leathern countenance as expressionless as ever.

"_What_ did you say?" said the squire, at length, as though doubting the evidence of his senses.

"My words were plainly spoken. I will free you from all your debts on condition that you bestow upon me in marriage the hand of your young ward, Gipsy Gower."

"But--Lord bless me! my _dear_ sir, what in the world can _you_ want with that chit of a child--that mad girl of the mountains--for a wife?"

exclaimed the squire, still aghast.

"I _want_ her, let that suffice," said the doctor, with a frown. "Do you agree to this proposal?"

"Why, _I'm_ willing enough, but _she_--oh, Dr. Wiseman, the thing is hopeless--she'd never consent in this world. She can be as obstinate as a little mule when she likes. 'When a woman won't, she won't, and there's the end on't,' as Solomon says."

"You must make her."

"Me! Why, she doesn't mind _me_----"

"Squire Erliston," angrily broke in the doctor, "listen to me; either you lose Mount Sunset and are publicly disgraced, or you will compel this girl to marry me. Do you hear?"

"There! there! don't be hasty! I'll do what I can. It won't be my fault if she don't. But who'd ever think of _you_ wanting to marry little Gipsy. Well, well, well, 'Wonders will never cease,' as Solomon says."

"You can explain the matter to her--urge her by her grat.i.tude, her love for you, to consent," said the doctor; "try the sentimental dodge--commands in this case will be worse than useless. Enlist the women on your side; and above all things keep it a profound secret from Archibald Rivers and Louis Oranmore. If none of your arguments move her, I have still another in reserve that I know will clinch the business.

Give her no rest, day or night, until she consents; and if she complains of cruelty, and all that, don't mind her. All girls are silly; and she, being half-crazy, as she is, it seems to me the greatest favor you can do her is to marry her to a man of sense and experience like myself.

Keep in mind what you lose by her refusal, and what you gain by her consent. If she will not marry me, I will add my claims to those of your other creditors, and no earthly power will be able to save you from total ruin," said the doctor, with grim, iron determination.

"She shall consent! she shall--she _must_!" said the squire, startled by his last threat; "she shall be your wife, that is settled. I think I can manage her, though it _will_ be a desperate struggle."