Sharing Her Crime Part 38

With all the eloquence and pa.s.sion of intense selfishness he spoke, while each word burned into the heart and soul of his listener. She was pacing up and down the floor, half-maddened by his words, while the word _ingrat.i.tude_ seemed dancing in living letters of fire before her.

"Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?" she cried, wringing her hands wildly.

"Let me advise you; I am older and have had experience, and a claim on your obedience. Marry Doctor Wiseman; he is, I know, somewhat older than you, but you _need_ a man of age and wisdom. He is rich, and loves you; and with him, conscious that you have done your duty, you will be blessed by G.o.d, and be happy."

"Happy!" she broke in, scornfully, "and with him! Happy!"

"It is the first favor I ever asked of you, Gipsy, and I know you will not refuse. No one must know of it, not one, save Lizzie and Mrs. Gower.

You must not breathe it to a living soul, save them."

"Guardy, there is some guilt or mystery connected with this debt. What is it?"

"I cannot tell you now, child; when you have obeyed me, I will. Come, Doctor Wiseman will be here for your answer to-morrow. Shall I tell him you have consented?"

"Oh! no, no! no, no! Good heavens!" she cried, shudderingly.

"Gipsy! Gipsy! consent. I implore you, by all you hold dear on earth, and sacred in heaven, to consent!" he said, with wild vehemence.

"Oh! I cannot! I cannot! I _cannot_! Oh, Guardy, do not urge me to this living death," she cried pa.s.sionately.

"Then you can see me die, child. This, then, is your grat.i.tude!" he said, bitterly.

"Oh, Guardy, you will not die! I will work for you--yes, I will toil night and day, and work my fingers to the bone, if need be. I can work more than you would think."

"It would be useless, worse than useless. I should not live to make you work for me. Refuse, if you will, and go through life with the death of a fellow-creature on your soul."

"Oh! I wish I had never been born," said Gipsy, wringing her pale fingers in anguish.

"Consent! consent! Gipsy, for my sake! For the sake of the old man who loves you!"

She did not reply; she was pacing up and down the room like one half-crazed, with wild, excited eyes, and flushed cheeks.

"You do not speak. 'Silence gives consent,' as Solomon says," said the squire, the ruling habit still "strong in death."

"Let me think! You must give me time, Guardy! I will go to my room now, and to-morrow you shall have my answer."

"Go, then; I know it will be favorable. I dare not think otherwise.

To-morrow morning I will know."

"Yes, to-morrow," said Gipsy, as she left the room and fled wildly up stairs.

"To-morrow," said the old sinner, looking after her. "And what will that answer be? 'Who can tell what a day may bring forth?' as Solomon says."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE BIRD CAGED.

"Lay on him the curse of a withered heart, The curse of a sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."--SCOTT.

Morning came. The squire sat in the breakfast parlor, impatiently waiting for the coming of Gipsy. He waited in vain. The moments flew on; still she came not.

Losing patience at last, he caught the bell-rope and rang a furious peal. Five minutes after the black face and woolly head of Totty appeared in the doorway.

"Totty, where's your young mistress?"

"Here!" answered the voice of Gipsy herself, as she stood, bright and smiling, behind Totty.

Somehow, that smile alarmed the old man, and he began trembling for the decision he had so anxiously been expecting.

"Well, come in. Clear out, Totty. Now, Gipsy, your decision."

"Now, Guardy, wait until after breakfast. How is any one to form an opinion on an empty stomach, I'd like to know? There, don't get into a fidget about it, as I see you're going to do, because it's no use."

"But, Gipsy, tell me--will it be favorable?"

"That depends upon circ.u.mstances. If I have a good appet.i.te for my breakfast I may probably be in good-humor enough to say yes to everything you propose; if not, I tremble for you, Guardy. Visions of blunt pen-knives and bulletless pistols flash in 'awful array' before my mind's eye. Shall I ring the bell for Aunty Gower?"

"I suppose so," growled the old man; "you are as contrary as Balaam's a.s.s."

"Guardy, look out! Don't compare me to any of your ancestors."

At this moment Mrs. Gower entered, followed by Lizzie, now an invalid, wrapped up in numberless shawls, until she resembled a mummy.

The squire had informed them both, the night before, how matters stood; and they glanced anxiously at Gipsy, as they entered, to read, if possible, her decision in her countenance. Nothing could they guess from that little dark, sparkling face, as vivacious and merry as ever.

When breakfast was over Mrs. Gower and Mrs. Oranmore quitted the room, leaving Gipsy alone with the squire.

"Now, Gipsy, now," he exclaimed, impatiently.

"Guardy," said Gipsy, earnestly, "all last night I lay awake, trying to find out where my path of duty lay; and, Guardy, I have come to the conclusion that I cannot add to your sin, if you have committed one, by a still greater crime. I cannot perjure myself, before G.o.d's holy altar, even to save you. Guardy, I always loathed and detested this man--this Dr. Wiseman; and now I would sooner die by slow torture than be his wife. Your threat of suicide I know you will not fulfill--'twas but idle words. But even had you been serious, it would be all the same; for sooner than marry that man I would plunge a dagger into my own heart and let out my life's blood. I do not speak hastily, for I have done that which I seldom do--thought before I spoke. If we really, as you say, become poor, I am willing to leave my wild, free life, my horses, hounds, and the 'merry greenwood,' to become a toiling kitchen brownie for your sake. Do not interrupt me, Guardy; nothing you can say can change my purpose. I am not ungrateful, but I cannot commit a crime in the face of high heaven, even for the sake of those I love best. Tell my decision to Dr. Wiseman. And now, Guardy, this subject must be forever dropped between us, for you have heard my ultimatum."

And without waiting for the words that were ready to burst forth, she arose, bent her graceful little head, and walked out of the room.

As she went up-stairs, on her way to her own room, she pa.s.sed Lizzie's chamber. Mrs. Oranmore caught sight of her through the half-opened door, and called her.

"Gipsy, my love, come in here."

Gipsy went in. It was a pleasant, cheerful room, with bright pictures on the walls, and rich crimson damask hangings in the window. Lizzie Oranmore, as she lies on her lounge, enveloped in a large, soft shawl, is not much like the Lizzie, the bright little coquette, we once knew. A pale, faded creature she is now, with sallow cheeks, and thin, pinched face.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Oranmore, anxiously, "papa has mentioned this shocking affair to me. What has been your answer to Dr. Wiseman's proposal?"

"Oh, aunty, what could it be but _no_? You didn't suppose I'd marry that ugly old daddy-long-legs, did you? Why, aunty, when I get married--which I never will if I can help it--for I would be ever free--it must be to a lord, duke, or a Sir Harry, or something above the common. Just fancy such a little bit of a thing like me being tied for life to a detestable old Bluebeard like Spider. Not I, indeed!" said the elf, as she danced around the room and gayly sang:

"An old man, an old man, will never do for me, For May and December can never agree."