CHAPTER XXII.
FETTERS FOR THE EAGLET
"I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young —
I'm o'er young to marry yet.
I'm o'er young; 'twould be a sin
To take me from my mammy yet." – Burns.
"Gipsy, my dear, come here and sit beside me. I have something very important to say to you," said the squire, as, half an hour later, he caught sight of Gipsy, running, singing, down stairs.
"Why, Guardy, what's the matter? You look as solemn as a coffin," said Gipsy, coming in and sitting down on a stool at his side.
"Gipsy, marriage is a solemn subject."
"Shockingly solemn, Guardy. And who are you thinking of marrying?"
"I'm thinking of marrying you – "
"Marrying me? Oh, Jerusalem! Well, if aunty consents, I'm willing. La! won't it be fun? Just fancy Louis calling me grandmother! Ha, ha!
"Hush, you chatterbox – don't interrupt me. As I was saying, I have been thinking of marrying you to some discreet, sensible man. You are too wild and giddy, and you must get married and settle down."
"Just so, Guardy; I've been thinking of it myself."
"Now, there's Doctor Wiseman, for instance. He'd be an excellent husband for you. He's a pleasant gentleman, possessing many sound, sterling qualities, learned, and not bad looking – "
"Exactly, Guardy – useful as well as ornamental. For instance, he'd do to put in a corn-field to scare away the crows."
"Don't be impertinent, Miss Gower! Doctor Wiseman is a serious man, self-balanced and grave – "
"Grave! I guess so! He always reminds me of death and his scythe whenever I see him."
"Silence, and listen to me! Now what objection could you possibly make to Doctor Wiseman as a husband?"
"As a husband? Ha, ha, ha! Why, Guardy, you don't mean to say that that yellow-skinned, spindle-shanked, dwarfed old ogre, with one leg in the grave, and the other over the fence, is thinking of marrying – do you?"
"Hold your tongue, or you'll lose it, you little wretch! Doctor Wiseman is no old ogre, but a dark-complexioned – "
"Saffron, saffron, Guardy! Tell the truth, now, and shame your master. Isn't it saffron?"
"I'll brain you if you don't stop! A man can't get in a word edgeways with you. Dr. Wiseman, minx, has done you the honor to propose for your hand. I have consented, and – "
But the squire broke off suddenly, in a towering rage – for Gipsy, after an incredulous stare, burst into a shout of laughter that made the house ring. Pressing her hands to her sides, she laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks; and, at last, unable to stop, she rolled off her seat on to the floor, and tumbled over and over in a perfect convulsion.
"Oh, you little aggravation! Will you stop?" cried the squire, seizing her by the shoulder, and shaking her until she was breathless.
"Oh, Guardy, that's too good! Marry me? Oh, I declare, I'll split my sides!" exclaimed Gipsy, going into another fit of laughter, as she essayed in vain to rise.
"Gipsy Gower! Cease your folly for a moment, and rise up and listen to me," said the squire, so sternly that Gipsy wiped the tears from her eyes, and pressing her hands to her sides, resumed her seat.
"Gipsy, I do not wish you to consider me a boaster, but you know I have done a great deal for you, brought you up, educated you, and intended leaving you a fortune at my death – "
"Thank you, Guardy; couldn't you let me have part of it now?"
"Silence, I tell you! Gipsy, this is what I intended doing; but, child, I have become involved in debt. Mount Sunset will be taken from me, and you, and Louis, and the rest of us will be beggars."
Up flew Gipsy's eyebrows, open flew her eyes, and down dropped her chin, in unfeigned amazement.
"Yes," continued the squire, "you may stare, but it's true. And now, Gipsy, since you told me you were not ungrateful – now is the time to prove it, by saving me and all your friends from ruin."
"I save you from ruin?" said Gipsy, staring with all her eyes, and wondering if "Guardy" was wandering in his mind.
"Yes, you. As I told you, I am involved in debt, which it is utterly impossible for me to pay. Now, Doctor Wiseman, who has fallen in love with my fairy, has offered to pay my debts if you will marry him. Don't laugh, don't, as I see you are going to do – this is no time for laughter, Gipsy."
"Oh, but Guardy, that's too funny! The idea of me, a little girl of seventeen, marrying a man of sixty – 'specially such a man as Spider Wiseman! Oh, Guardy, it's the best joke of the season!" cried Gipsy, bursting into another immoderate fit of laughter.
"Ungrateful, hard-hearted girl!" said the squire, with tears actually in his stormy old eyes; "this is your return for all I have done for you! You, the only living being who can save those who have been your best friends from being turned out of the old homestead, instead of rejoicing in being able to do it, you only laugh at him in scorn, you – " the squire broke down fairly here.
Never had the elf seen the usually violent old man so moved. A pang shot through her heart for her levity; and the next moment her arms were round his neck, and her white handkerchief wiping away the tears of which he was ashamed.
"Dear —dear Guardy, I'm so sorry! I never thought you felt so bad about it. I'll do anything in the world to help you; I'm not ungrateful. What do you want me to do, Guardy?"
"To save me, by marrying Doctor Wiseman, my dear."
"Oh, Guardy, oh, Guardy! You surely weren't serious in proposing that?" exclaimed Gipsy, really astonished.
"Serious? Alas! I was never so serious before in my life. You will do this, Gipsy?"
"Oh, Guardy! Marry him? Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Gipsy, with a violent shudder.
"Then you will let us all be turned out from the old roof-tree – out into the world to die; for, Gipsy, if the old place is taken from me, I should break my heart through grief!"
"Oh, Guardy, it won't be so bad as that! Surely something can be done? How much do you owe?"
"More than I dare mention. Child, nothing can be done to save us unless you consent to this marriage."
"Oh! that is too horrible even to think of. Can you not write to Louis? I'm sure he could do something to save us."
"No, he could do nothing; and he must never know it at all. Even supposing he could, before a letter could reach him we would be publicly disgraced – I should be branded as a rogue, and turned out of doors to die. No, Gipsy, unless you consent, before the week is out, to become the bride of Doctor Wiseman, all hope will be over. And though afterward, by some hitherto unheard-of miracle, the property should be restored to us, I should not live to see it; for if you persist in refusing, Gipsy, I will die by my own hand, sooner than live to be branded like a felon. And Lizzie and Mrs. Gower, who love you so well, how do you think they could live, knowing that all had been lost through your ingratitude! Louis, too, your foster-brother, how will he look on the girl whose obstinacy will make him a beggar? Consent and all will be well, the gratitude and love of an old man will bless you through life; refuse, and my death will be on your soul, haunting you through all your cheerless, unblessed life."
With all the eloquence and passion 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 ingratitude 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 God, 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 passionately.
"Then you can see me die, child. This, then, is your gratitude!" 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 XXIII.
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 circumstances. If I have a good appetite 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 ass."
"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 God'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 passed 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."
"But Gipsy, my dear, do you not know that we are to be turned out, if you refuse?" said Lizzie, in blank dismay.
"Well, let us be turned out, then. I will be turned out, but I won't marry that old death's-head. I'm young and smart, and able to earn my own living, thank goodness!"
"Oh, ungrateful girl, will you see me die? For, Gipsy, if I am deprived now, in my illness, of the comforts to which I have always been accustomed, I shall die."
"Oh, no, you won't, aunty. I don't think that things are as bad as Guardy makes them appear; and, even if they were, Dr. Wiseman, old wretch as he is, would let you remain."
"No, he would not, child; you don't know the revengeful disposition of that man. Oh, Gipsy, by the memory of all we have done for you, I beseech you to consent!"
"Aunty, aunty, I cannot; it is too dreadful even to think about. Oh, aunty, I cannot tell you how I loathe, abhor, and detest that hideous old sinner!"
"Gipsy, that is wrong – that is sinful. Dr. Wiseman is a highly respectable gentleman – rather old for you, it is true – but of what difference is a few years? He is rich, and loves you well enough to gratify your every wish. What more would you have?"
"Happiness, aunty. I should be utterly miserable with him."
"Nonsense, child, you only think so. It is not as if you were older, and loved somebody else. People often marry those they don't care about, and grow quite fond of them after a time. Now, I shouldn't be surprised if you grew quite fond of Dr. Wiseman by and by."
Gipsy laughed her own merry laugh again as she heard Lizzie's words.
"Oh, Gipsy, you thoughtless creature! is this your answer to my petition?" said Lizzie, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "Leave me, then. I will not long survive your ingratitude; but, mark me, your name will become a by-word, far and near, and descend to posterity branded with the disgrace of your ungrateful conduct. Go – leave me! Why should you stay to witness the misery you have caused?"
Poor Gipsy! how these reproaches stung her. She started to her feet, and began pacing the floor rapidly, crying wildly:
"Oh, Heaven help me! I know not what to do! I wish I were dead, sooner than be branded thus as an ingrate!"
Lizzie's sobs alone broke the stillness of the room. At last, unable to endure them longer, she rushed out and sought refuge in her own chamber. As she entered she saw Mrs. Gower seated by the window – a look of trouble and sadness on her usually happy, good-natured face.
"Oh! aunty, what shall I do? Oh! aunty, I am going crazy, I think!" cried Gipsy, distressedly, half maddened by the sight of Lizzie's tears.
"My dear, it is very plain what you must do. You must marry Dr. Wiseman," said Mrs. Gower, gravely.
"Oh! aunty, have you turned against me, too? Then I have no friend in the wide world! Oh! I wish – I wish I had never been born!"
"My love, don't talk in that way; it is not only very foolish, but very sinful. Dr. Wiseman is certainly not the man I would wish to see you married to; but, you perceive, there is no alternative. Gipsy, I am getting old, so is the squire; Mrs. Oranmore is ill, and I do not think she will live long. Will you, therefore, allow the old man and woman – who love you above all human beings – and a poor, weak invalid, to be turned upon the charity of the cold world to die? Gipsy, you know if we could save you from misery, we would coin our very hearts' blood to do it."
"And, oh, aunt! could there be greater misery for me than that to which you are urging me?"
"You talk like the thoughtless girl you are, Gipsy. How often, for wealth or social position merely, or to raise their friends from want, do young girls marry old men! Yet, you refuse to save us from worse than want, from disgrace and death – yes, death! I know what I am saying, Gipsy – you obstinately refuse. Gipsy, my child, for my sake do not become such a monster of ingratitude, but consent."
"Oh, aunty! leave me. I feel as if I were going mad! Every one in the world seems to have turned against me – even you! Oh, aunty, dear, good aunty! don't talk to me any more; my very brain seems on fire."
"Yes; your cheeks are burning, and your eyes are like fire – you are ill and feverish, my poor little fairy. Lie down, and let me bathe your head."
"No, no, aunty, don't mind. Oh! what matter is it whether I am ill or not? If it wasn't for you, and Guardy, and all the rest, I feel as if I should like to lie down and die!"
"My own little darling, you must not talk of dying; every one has trouble in this world, and you cannot expect to escape!"
"Yes; I know, I know! Hitherto, life has been to me a fairy dream; and now this terrible awakening to reality! Life seemed to me one long, golden summer day; and now – and now – "
"You are excited, love; lie down, and try to sleep – you talk too much."
"Yes, I know; I always did talk too much; but I do not think I will ever talk much again. Oh, aunty! I have heard of the heart-ache, but I never knew what it was before!"
"My love, you must not feel this so deeply. How wild your eyes are! and your hands are burning hot! Do lie down, and try to rest."
"Rest! rest! Shall I ever find rest again?"
"Of course you will, my dear. Now what shall I tell the squire is your decision about this? I promised him to talk to you about it."
"Oh, aunty, don't —don't! Leave me alone, and let me think – I cannot talk to you now!"
"Shall I bring you up ice for your head, my dear?"
"No, no; you have already brought ice for my heart, aunty – that is enough."
"You talk wildly, love; I am afraid your mind is disordered."
"Don't mind my talk, dear aunty, I always was a crazy, elfish changeling, without a heart, you know. Nobody minds what I say. Only leave me now; I will be better by and by."
With a sigh Mrs. Gower left the room. It was strange that, loving her poor little fay as she did, she should urge her to this wretched marriage; but the squire had talked and persuaded her until he brought her to see the matter with his eyes. And poor Gipsy was left alone to pace up and down the room like one deranged, wringing her hands, while her cheeks and eyes burned with the fire of fever.
"Oh, if Archie would only come!" was the wild cry of her aching heart, as she walked restlessly to and fro.
But Archie was away; she knew not even his present address, and she was left to battle against the dark decree of fate alone.
"I will seek Dr. Wiseman; I will beg, I will implore him to spare me, and those who would have me make this fatal sacrifice. Surely his heart is not made of stone; he cannot resist my prayers!"
So, waiting in her room until she saw him ride up to the Hall, she descended the stairs and entered the parlor, where he and the squire sat in close conversation together, and formally desired the honor of a private interview.
He arose, and, bowing, followed her into the drawing-room. Motioning him to a seat she stood before him, her little form drawn up to its full height, her defiant, dark eyes fixed on his repulsive face with undisguised loathing.
"Dr. Wiseman," she began, "I have heard of this proposal which you have honored me by making. Believe me, I fully appreciate the honor you have done me" – and her beautiful lip curled scornfully – "even while I must decline it. A silly little girl like me is unworthy to be raised to the dignity of the wife of so distinguished a gentleman as Dr. Wiseman!"
The doctor acknowledged the compliment by a grave bow, while Gipsy continued:
"My guardian has informed me that, unless I consent to this union, he will lose Mount Sunset, be reduced to poverty, and, consequently, die, he says. You, it seems, will prevent this, if I marry you. Now, Dr. Wiseman, knowing this marriage is not agreeable to me, I feel that you will withdraw your claim to my hand, and still prevent Guardy from being reduced to poverty!"
"Miss Gower, I regret to say I cannot do so. Unless you become my wife, I shall be obliged to let the law take its course; and all that Squire Erliston has told you will prove true."
"Dr. Wiseman, you will not be so cruel? I beg – I implore you to prevent this catastrophe!"
"I will, with pleasure, Miss Gower, if you will be my wife."
"That I can never be, Dr. Wiseman! I would not, to save my head from the block, consent to such a thing! What in the name of heaven can make a man of your age wish to marry a silly little thing like me?"
"Love, my pretty mountain sprite," replied the doctor, with a grim smile – "love! Years do not freeze the blood, nor still the heart of man!"
"Then, sir, if you love me, renounce all claim upon my hand, and save my guardian from impending ruin!"
"That I can never do!"
"Be it so, then, Dr. Wiseman. To you I will plead no more. Let us be turned out; I would die a death of lingering starvation sooner than wed with a cold-blooded monster like you!" exclaimed Gipsy, her old fiery spirit flashing from her eyes and radiating her face.
"And will you see those you love die, too?"
"Yes, even so; sooner than realize the living tomb of a marriage with you!"
"Ha! ha! ha! All very fine and affectionate, my dear; yet, marry me you shall!"
"Marry you? Not if I die for it!" flashed Gipsy, with blazing eyes.
"That we shall see presently. I think I have an argument in reserve that will bend your high spirit. You love Archie Rivers?"
"That is no business of yours, Dr. Wiseman!"
"No; no farther than that I am glad of it. Now, Gipsy Gower, I swear by all the heavens contain, unless you marry me, he shall die on the scaffold!"
"What?" gasped Gipsy, appalled by his low, fearful tone, even more than by his words.
"I say there is but one alternative; marry me, or see him die on the scaffold!"
"Ha! ha! that's excellent. Are you going to hang him, Dr. Wiseman?" mocked Gipsy.
"Laugh, girl; but beware! It is in my power to bring his head to the halter!"
"Where, if everybody had their dues, yours would have been long ago."
"Take care, madam; don't carry your taunts too far – even my forbearance has its limits!"
"That's more than can be said of your manners!"
The doctor's sallow visage blanched with anger; but, subduing his wrath, he said:
"I can accuse him of the murder of young Henry Danvers, who was so mysteriously killed. There is circumstantial evidence against him strong enough to convict him in any court of justice in the world!"
"Archie kill Danvers? Why, you horrid old monster, you! Ain't you afraid of the fate of Ananias and his better half, who never told half such a lie in their lives?"
"Lie or not, girl, it can be proved that he killed him. Listen, now," said the doctor, while his repulsive face lighted up with a look of fiendish exultation. "Archibald Rivers loved you– that was plain to every one. This Danvers came along and fell in love with you, too – that, likewise, can be duly proved. Your preference for the young sailor was observable from the first. Rivers was jealous, and I know many who can prove he often uttered threats of future vengeance against the midshipman. On the night of the murder, Archie was observed riding from here, in a violent rage. Half an hour afterward the sailor went for a ride over the hills. I can swear that Archie Rivers followed him. I know he was not at home until late. Most probably, therefore, he followed Danvers, and murdered him treacherously. Jealousy will make a man do almost anything. In a court of justice, many more things than this can be proved; and if he dies on the scaffold, his blood will be upon your head."
Gipsy stood listening to his terrible words with blanched face, livid lips, and horror-stricken eyes. For a moment he thought she would faint. The very power of life seemed stricken from her heart; but, by a powerful effort, she aroused herself from the deadly faintness creeping over her, and exclaimed, in a voice low with unspeakable horror:
"Fiend – demon incarnate! would you perjure your own soul! Would you become the murderer of your own nephew?"
"Murderer, forsooth! Is that what you call legal justice?"
"It would not be legal justice! Doctor Wiseman, I tell you, if you say Archie Rivers killed Danvers, you lie! Yes, meanest of vile wretches, I tell you, you lie!"
He leaped to his feet, glaring with rage, as though he would spring upon her, and rend her limb from limb. Before him she stood, her little form drawn up to its full height, defiant and daring – her dark face glaring with scorn and hatred. For a moment they stood thus – he quivering with impotent rage – she, proud, defying, and fearless. Then, sinking into his seat, he said, with stern calmness:
"No – I will restrain myself; but, daring girl, listen to me. As sure as yonder heaven is above us, if you refuse, so surely shall Squire Erliston and all belonging to him be turned from their home – to die, if they will; and Archibald Rivers shall perish by the hand of the hangman, scorned and hated by all, and knowing that you, for whom he would have given his life, have brought him to the scaffold. Gipsy Gower, his blood will cry for vengeance from the earth against you!"
He ceased. There was a wild, thrilling, intense solemnity in his tone, that made the blood curdle. One look at his fiendish face would have made you think Satan himself was before you.
And Gipsy! She had dropped, as if suddenly stricken by an unseen hand, to the floor; her face changed to the ghastly hue of death, the light dying out in her eyes: her very life seemed passing away from the blue, quivering lips, from which no sound came; a thousand ages of suffering seemed concentrated in that one single moment of intense anguish.
But no spark of pity entered the heart that exulted in her agony. No; a demoniacal joy flashed from his snake-like eyes as he beheld that free, wild, untamed spirit broken at last, and lying in anguish at his feet.
"This struggle is the last. Now she will yield," was his thought, as he watched her.
"Gipsy!" he called.
She writhed at the sound of his voice.
"Gipsy!" he called again.
This time she looked up, lifting a face so like that of death that he started back involuntarily.
"What?" she asked, in a low, hollow voice of despair.
"Do you consent?"
She arose, and walked over until she stood before him. Appalled by her look, he arose in alarm and drew back.
"Consent!" she repeated, fixing her wild eyes on his frightened face; "yes, I consent to the living death of a marriage with you. And, Dr. Wiseman, may my curse and the curse of Heaven cling to you like a garment of fire, now and forevermore, burning your miserable soul like a flame in this life, and consigning you to everlasting perdition in the next! May every torture and suffering that man can know follow the wronged orphan's curse! In this life I will be your deadliest enemy, and in the next I will bear witness against you at the throne of God! To your very grave, and beyond, my undying hatred and revenge for the wrong you have done me shall be yours; and now I wish you joy of your bride!"
She passed from the room like a spirit; and Dr. Wiseman, terrified and appalled, sank into a chair, with the vision of that death-like face, with its blazing eyes and wild, maniac words and wilder stare, haunting him until he shuddered with superstitious terror.
"What a wife I will have!" he muttered; "a perfect little fiend. Mount Sunset will be dearly enough purchased with that young tempest for its mistress. The fiery spirit of the old Oranmores runs in her veins – that's certain. And now, as there is nothing like striking the iron while it's hot, I'll go and report my success to that old dotard, the squire, and have the wedding-day fixed as soon as possible."