May Agnes Fleming
Sharing Her Crime: A Novel
"Why, yes, I think so; but, then, you say so many things, a body can't be expected to remember them all. You must be talking, you know; and you might as well be saying that as anything else."
"But I am determined you shall obey me this time. Do you hear? At your peril, minion, dare to go there again!" thundered the squire.
"That very pretty, Guardy, won't you say it over again," replied the tantalizing elf.
"Gipsy! oh, Gipsy, my dear!" chanted the ladies Gower and Oranmore, in a horrified duet.
"You – you – you – little, yellow abomination you! You – you – skinny – "
"Squire Erliston," said Gipsy, drawing herself up with stately dignity, "let me remind you, you are getting to be personal. How would you like it if I called you– you – you red-faced old fright – you – you – you gouty-legged – "
"There! there! that'll do," hastily interrupted the squire, while a universal shout of laughter went round the table at the ludicrous manner in which the little imp mimicked his blustering tone. "There, there! don't say a word about it; but mind, if you dare to go to Dr. Wiseman's, you'll rue it. Mind that."
"All right, sir; let me help you to another roll," said Gipsy, with her sweetest smile, as she passed the plate to the old man, who looked, not only daggers, but bowie-knives at the very least.
CHAPTER IX.
A STORM AT MOUNT SUNSET HALL
"At this Sir Knight grew high in wrath,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,
Three times he smote his stomach stout,
From whence, at length, fierce words broke out."
Hudibras.
"Totty! Totty! I say, Totty, where are you? I declare to screech, I never saw such a provoking darkey in my life. Nobody never can find her when she's wanted! Totty! Totty! hallo, Totty! I want you dreadfully, it's a matter of life and death! If that girl doesn't pay more attention to me, I'll – I'll discharge her; I will, so help me Jimmy Johnston! Totty! Totty-y-y!" So called and shouted Gipsy, as she flew in and out, and up and down stairs, banging doors after her with a noise that made the old house ring, and scolding at the top of her voice all the time.
"Laws! Miss Roarer, here I is," said Totty, hurrying as fast as possible into the presence of the little virago, to get rid of the noise.
"Oh, it's a wonder you came! I s'pose you'd rather be lounging down in the kitchen than 'tending to your mistress. How dare you go away, when you don't know what minute I may want you? Hey?"
"Good Lor! Miss Roarer, I only went down to de kitchen to get my breakfas' 'long o' the res'. How you 'spec I's gwine to live 'thout eatin'? You allers does call jes' the contrariest time, allers – "
"Hold your tongue!" exclaimed her imperious little mistress; "don't give me any of your imperunce! There, curl my hair, and put on my pretty purple riding-habit, and make me just as pretty as ever you can. Hurry up!"
"Make you pretty, indeed!" muttered the indignant Totty; "'deed, when de Lord couldn't do it, 'taint very likely I can. Come 'long and keep still, two or free minutes, if you can. I never knew such a res'less little critter in all my life."
While Gipsy was standing as quietly as her fidgety nature would allow, to have her hair curled, Mrs. Gower entered.
"Well, 'Rora, my dear, where are you going this morning, that you are dressing in your best?" said Mrs. Gower, glancing at the gay purple riding-habit – for dress was a thing Gipsy seldom troubled herself about.
"Why, aunty, where would I be going; over to Spider's, of course."
"Oh, Gipsy, my dear, pray don't think of such a thing!" exclaimed the good woman, in a tone of alarm. "Your guardian will be dreadfully angry."
"Lor! aunty, I know that; there wouldn't be any fun in it if he wasn't," replied the elf.
"Oh, Aurora, child! you don't know what you're doing. Consider all he has done for you, and how ungrateful it is of you to disobey him in this manner. Now, he has set his heart on keeping you from Deep Dale (you know he never liked the doctor nor his family), and he will be terribly, frightfully angry if he finds you have disobeyed him. Ride over the hills, go out sailing or shooting, but do not go there."
Gipsy, who had been yawning fearfully during this address, now jerked herself away from Totty, and replied, impatiently:
"Well, let him get frightfully angry; I'll get 'frightfully angry' too, and so there will be a pair of us. Do you s'pose I'd miss seeing that dear, sweet, little girl again, just because Guardy will stamp, and fume, and roar, and scare all mankind into fits? Not I, indeed. Let him come on, who's afraid," and Gipsy threw herself into a stage attitude, and shouted the words in a voice that was quite imposing, coming as it did from so small a body.
"Oh, Gipsy, child! consider," again began Mrs. Gower.
"Oh, aunty, dear! I won't consider, never did; don't agree with my constitution, no how you can fix it. Archie told me one day when I was doing something he considered a crazy trick, to 'consider.' Well, for his sake, I tried to, and before ten minutes, aunty, I felt symptoms of falling into a decline. There now!"
"Oh, my dear! my dear! you are incorrigible," sighed Mrs. Gower; "but what would you do if your guardian some day turned you out of doors? You have no claim on him, and he might do it, you know, in a fit of anger."
"If he did" – exclaimed Gipsy, springing up with flashing eyes.
"Well, and if he did, what would you do?"
"Why, I'd defy him to his face, and then I'd run off, and go to sea, and make my fortune, and come back, and marry you – no, I couldn't do that, but I'd marry Archie. Lor! I'd get along splendidly."
"Oh, Gipsy! Gipsy! rightly named Gipsy! how little you know what it is to be friendless in the world, you poor little fairy you! Now, child, be quiet, and talk sensibly to me for a few minutes."
"Oh, bother, aunty! I can't be quiet; and as to talking sensibly, why I rather think I am doing that just now. There, now – now do, please, bottle up that lecture you've got for me, and it'll keep, for I'm off!" And darting past them, she ran down stairs, through the long hall, and was flying toward the stables in a twinkling.
On her way she met our old friend, Jupiter.
"Hallo, Jupe! Oh, there you are! Go and saddle Mignonne 'mediately. I want him; quick, now!"
"Why, Miss Roarer, honey, I'se sorry for ter diserblige yer, chile, but ole mas'r he tole me not to let yer get Minnin to-day," said Jupiter, looking rather uneasily at the dark, wild, little face, and large, lustrous eyes, in which a storm was fast brewing.
"Do you mean to say he told you not to let me have my pony?" she said, or rather hissed, through her tightly-clenched teeth.
"Jes' so, Miss Roarer; he tell me so not ten minutes ago."
"Now, Jupiter, look here; you go right off and saddle Mignonne, or it'll be the worse for you. D'ye hear?"
"Miss Roarer, I 'clare for't I dassent. Mas'r'll half kill me."
"And I'll whole kill you if you don't," said Gipsy, with a wild flash of her black eyes, as she sprang lightly on a high stone bench, and raised her riding-whip over the head of the trembling darkey; "go, sir; go right off and do as I tell you!"
"Laws! I can't – 'deed chile! I can't – "
Whack! whack! whack! with no gentle hand went the whip across his shoulders, interrupting his apology.
"There, you black rascal! will you dare to disobey your mistress again!" Whack! whack! whack!" If you don't bring Mignonne out this minute, I'll shoot you dead as a mackerel! There; does that argument overcome your scruples?" whack! whack! whack!
With something between a yell and a howl, poor Jupiter sprung back, and commenced rubbing his afflicted back.
"Will you go?" demanded Gipsy, raising her whip once more.
"Yes! yes! Who ever did see such a 'bolical little limb as dat ar. Ole mas'r'll kill me, I knows he will," whimpered poor Jupiter as he slunk away to the stables, closely followed by his vixenish little mistress, still poising the dangerous whip.
Mignonne, a small, black, fleet-footed, spirited Arabian, was led forth, pawing the ground and tossing his head, as impatient to be off, even, as his young mistress.
"That's right, Jupe," said Gipsy, as she sprang into the saddle and gathered up the reins; "but mind, for the future, never dare to disobey me, no matter what anybody says. Mind, if you do, look out for a pistol-ball, some night, through your head."
Jupiter, who had not the slightest doubt but what the mad-headed little witch would do it as soon as not, began whimpering like a whipped schoolboy. Between the Scylla of his master's wrath, and the Charybdis of his willful little mistress, poor Jupiter knew not which way to steer.
"Don't cry, Jupe – there's a good fellow," said Gipsy, touched by his distress. "Keep out of your master's sight till I come back, and I'll take all the blame upon myself. There, now – off we go, Mignonne!"
And waving her plumed hat above her head, with a shout of triumphant defiance as she passed the house, Gipsy went galloping down the road like a flash.
The sky, which all the morning had looked threatening, was rapidly growing darker and darker. About half an hour after the departure of Gipsy, the storm burst upon them in full fury. The wind howled fiercely through the forest, the rain fell in torrents, the lightning flashed in one continued sheet of blue electric flame, the thunder crashed peal upon peal, until heaven and earth seemed rending asunder.
The frightened inmates of Sunset Hall were huddled together, shivering with fear. The doors and windows were closed fast, and the servants, gray with terror, were cowering in alarm down in the kitchen.
"Lor' have massy 'pon us! who ever seed sich lightnin'? 'Pears as though all de worl' was 'luminated, and de las' day come!" said Jupiter, his teeth chattering with terror.
"An' Miss Roarer, she's out in all de storm, an' ole mas'r don't know it," said Totty. "She would go, spite of all Missus Scour said. I 'clare to man, that dat ar rampin', tarryfyin' little limb's 'nuff to drive one clar 'stracted. I ain't no peace night nor day 'long o' her capers. Dar!"
"Won't we cotch it when mas'r finds out she's gone," said a cunning-looking, curly-headed little darkey, whom Gipsy had nicknamed Bob-o-link, with something like a chuckle; "good Lor! jes' see ole mas'r a swearin' an' tearin' round', an' kickin' de dogs an' niggers, an' smashin' de res' ob de furnitur'. Oh, Lor!" And evidently overcome by the ludicrous scene which fancy had conjured up, Bob-o-link threw himself back, and went off into a perfect convulsion of laughter, to the horror of the rest.
While this discussion was going on below stairs, a far different scene was enacting above.
At the first burst of the storm, Lizzie and Mrs. Gower hastened in affright to the parlor, where the squire was peacefully snoring in his arm-chair, and Louis was still finishing his sketch.
The noise and bustle of their entrance aroused the squire from his slumbers, and after sundry short snorts he woke up, and seeing the state of affairs, his first inquiry was for Gipsy.
"Where's that little abomination, now?" he abruptly demanded, in a tone that denoted his temper was not improved by the sudden breaking up of his nap.
All were silent. Mrs. Gower through fear, and the others through ignorance.
"Where is she? where is she, I say?" thundered the squire. "Doesn't somebody know?"
"Most likely up stairs somewhere," said Louis. "Shall I go and see?"
"No, you sha'n't 'go and see.' It's the duty of the women there to look after her, but they don't do it. She might be lost, or murdered, or killed, fifty times a day, for all they care. 'Who trusteth in the ungodly shall be deceived,' as Solomon says. Ring that bell."
Louis obeyed; and in a few minutes Totty, quaking with terror, made her appearance.
"Where's your young mistress? Where's Miss Gipsy, eh?" demanded the squire, in an awful voice.
"Deed, mas'r, she's rode off. I couldn't stop her nohow, 'deed – "
"Rode off!" shouted the squire, as, forgetful of his gouty leg, he sprang to his feet; "rode off in this storm? Villains! wretches! demons! I'll murder every one of you! Out in this storm! Good Lord! Clear out, every living soul of you, and if one of you return without her, I'll – I'll blow his brains out!" roared the old man, purple with rage.
"Why, grandfather," said Louis, while the rest cowered with fear, "it is not likely Gipsy is out exposed to the storm. There are many places of shelter well-known to her among the hills, and there she will stay until this hurricane is over. It would be impossible for any one to find her now, even though they could ride through this storm."
"Silence!" thundered the squire; "they must find her! Here, Jupe, Jake, Bob, and the rest of you, mount, and off in search of Miss Aurora over the hills, and at the peril of your life, return without her. Be off! go! vanish! and mind ye, be sure to bring her home."
"Law! mas'r, Miss Roarer ain't over de hills. She's gone over to Deep Dale," said Totty.
"What!" exclaimed the squire, pausing in his rage, aghast, thunderstruck at the news.
"'Deed, Lord knows, mas'r, I couldn't stop her."
"You – you – you – diabolical imp you!" roared the old man, seizing his crutch, and hurling it at her head, as Totty, in mortal alarm, dodged and fled from the room. "Oh, the little demon! the little wretch! won't I pay her for this, when I get hold of her! the – the disobedient, ungrateful, undutiful hussy! I'll cane her within an inch of her life! I'll lock her up on bread and water! I'll keep her in the house day and night! I'll – oh, Lord, my leg," he exclaimed, with a groan, as he fell back, powerless, between rage and despair, in his seat.
Mrs. Gower and Lizzie, still quaking with terror, drew farther into the corner to escape his notice, while Louis bent still lower over his drawing to hide a smile that was breaking over his face.
At this moment a fresh burst of rain and wind shook the doors and windows of the old house, and with it the squire's rage broke out afresh.
"Call Jupe! Be off, Louis, and tell him to ride over to Deep Dale this instant, and bring that little fiend home! And tell him if he doesn't return with her in less than half an hour, I'll break every bone in his body! Go!"
Louis accordingly repaired to the kitchen and delivered the order to poor Jupiter – who, bemoaning his hard fate in being obliged to serve so whimsical a master, was forced to set out in the storm in search of the capricious Gipsy.
Half an hour, three-quarters passed, and then Jupiter, soaking with rain, and reeking with sweat, came galloping back; but like young Lochinvar, immortalized in the song:
"He rode unattended and rode all alone,"
and gray, and shaking, and trembling with fear and expectation of the "wrath which was to come," he presented himself before his master.
"Well, sir, where's Miss Gipsy?" shouted the old man, as he entered.
"Mas'r, I couldn't bring her, to save my precious life; she wouldn't come, nohow. I tell her you wanted her in a desprit hurry; and she said, s'posin' you waited till your hurry was over. I said you tole me not to come home 'thout her; and she said, very well, I might stay all night, if I liked, 'cause she warn't comin' home till to-morrer. I tole her you was t'arin' mad; and she said, you'd better have patience, and smoke your pipe. I couldn't do nothin' 'tall with her, so I left, an' come back, an' dat's all." And without waiting for the burst of wrath which he saw coming, Jupiter beat a precipitate retreat to the lower regions.
You should have seen the wrath of Squire Erliston then. How he stamped, and raged, and swore, and threatened, until he nearly frightened Lizzie into hysterics, used as she was to his fits of passion. And then, at last, when utterly exhausted, he ordered the servants to go and prepare a large, empty room, which had long been unused, as a prison for Gipsy, upon her return. Everything was taken out of it, and here the squire vowed she should remain until she had learned to obey him for the future. Then, relapsing into sulky silence, he sat down, "nursing his wrath to keep it warm," until the return of the little delinquent.
CHAPTER X.
MISS HAGAR
"Let me gaze for a moment, that ere I die,
I may read thee, lady, a prophecy:
That brow may beam in glory awhile,
That cheek may bloom, and that lip may smile;
But clouds shall darken that brow of snow,
And sorrows blight that bosom's glow."
– L. Davison.
Meantime, while the squire was throwing the household of Sunset Hall into terror and consternation, the object of his wrath was enjoying herself with audacious coolness at Deep Dale.
The family of Doctor Nicholas Wiseman consisted of one daughter, a year or two older than Gipsy, a nephew called Archie Rivers, and a maiden step-sister, Miss Hagar Dedley. The doctor, who was naturally grasping and avaricious, would not have burdened himself with the care of those two had it been anything out of his own pocket. The parents of Archie Rivers had been tolerably wealthy, and at their death had left him quite a fortune, and amply remunerated the doctor for taking charge of him until he should be of age. Miss Hagar had a slender income, sufficient for her wants, and was permitted a room in his house as long as she should continue to take care of herself.
Deep Dale had once been the residence of a wealthy and aristocratic family, but had by some unknown means passed from their hands to those of Doctor Wiseman.
It was, as its name implied, a long, deep, sloping dale, with the forest of St. Mark's towering darkly behind, and a wide, grassy lawn sloping down from the front. The house itself was a long, low, irregular mansion of gray sandstone, with a quaint, pleasant, old-fashioned look.
Evening was now approaching. The curtains were drawn, the lamps lighted, and the family assembled in the plainly, almost scantily, furnished sitting-room.
By the fire, in a large leathern arm-chair, sat our old acquaintance, the doctor, with one long, lean leg crossed over the other, one eye closed, and the other fixed so intently on the floor that he seemed to be counting the threads in the carpet. Years have done anything but add to his charms, his face never looked so much like yellow parchment as it did then, his arms and legs were longer and skinnier-looking than ever, and altogether, a more unprepossessing face could hardly have been discovered.
By the table, knitting, sat Miss Hagar. Her tall, thin figure, and grave, solemn face, made her look almost majestic, as, with her lips firmly compressed, she knit away in grim silence. Unlike other spinsters, she neither petted dogs nor cats, but had a most unaccountable mania for fortune-telling, and had been, for years, the seeress and sibyl of the whole neighborhood.
In a distant corner of the room sat the little protegee of Miss Hagar, with Gipsy on one side of her, and Archie Rivers on the other, regarding her as though she were some sort of natural curiosity. And, truly, a more lovely child could scarcely have been found.
She appeared to be about the same age as Gipsy, but was taller and more graceful, with a beautifully rounded figure, not plump, like that of most children, but slender and elegant, and lithe as a willow wand. A small, fair, sweet face, with long, golden hair, and soft, dreamy eyes of blue, and a smile like an angel's.
Such was Celeste!
Such a contrast as she was to Gipsy, as she sat with her little white hands folded in her lap, the long golden lashes falling shyly over the blue eyes; her low, sweet voice and timid manner, so still and gentle; and her elfish companion, with her dark, bright face, her eager, sparkling, restless eyes, her short, sable locks, and her every motion so quick and startling, as to make one nervous watching her.
Archie Rivers, a merry, good-looking lad, with roguish blue eyes and a laughing face, sat, alternately watching the fair, downcast face of Celeste, and the piquant, gipsyish countenance of the other.
At the table sat Minnette Wiseman, a proud, superb-looking girl of twelve. Her long, jet-black hair fell in glossy braids over her shoulders; her elbows rested on the table; her chin supported by her hands; her large, glittering black eyes fixed on Celeste, with a look of fixed dislike and jealousy that was never to die out during life.
"And so you have no other name but Celeste," said Gipsy, trying to peer under the drooping lashes resting on the blue-veined cheek. "Now, if that isn't funny! Everybody has two names but you – even me. I have two names."
"Yes, Gipsy Gower. There is something odd and elfinish in the very name," said Archie, laughing.
"Elfinish? It's no such thing. It's a great deal prettier than yours, Archie Rivers! And where did you live before you came here, Celeste?" continued Gipsy, returning to the charge.
"With Aunt Katie," replied Celeste, softly.
"And where is she now?" went on Gipsy.
"Dead!" said the child, while her lip trembled, and a tear fell on the little brown hand lying on her own.
"Do tell! and I've made you cry, too. Now, if that ain't too bad. Do you know, Celeste, I never cried in my life?"
"Oh, what a fib!" exclaimed Archie. "You were the horridest young one to cry ever I heard in my life. You did nothing but yell and roar from morning till night."
"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" indignantly exclaimed Gipsy. "I'm sure I was too sensible a baby to do anything of the kind. Anyway, I have never cried since I can remember. And as to fear – were you ever afraid?" she asked, suddenly, of Celeste.
"Oh, yes – often."
"Did you ever? Why, you look afraid now. Are you?"
"Yes."
"My! What of?"
"Of you," said Celeste, shrinking back, shyly, from her impetuous little questioner.
"Oh, my stars and garters! Afraid of me, and after I've been so quiet and good with her all the evening!" ejaculated Gipsy; while Archie, who was blessed with a lively sense of the ridiculous, leaned back and laughed heartily.
"Well, after that I'm never going to believe there's anything but ingratitude in this world," said Gipsy, with an emphasis on the "this" which seemed to denote she had met with gratitude in another.
But tears filled the gentle eyes of Celeste, as she looked up, and said:
"Oh, I hope you're not angry with me. I didn't mean to offend you, I'm sure. I'm so sorry."
"Oh, it's no matter. Nobody minds what they say to me. I'm used to it. But it's so funny you should be afraid. Why, I never was afraid in my life."
"That's true enough, anyway," said Archie, with an assenting nod.
"There's Guardy now. Oh! won't he be awful when I get home – but laws! who cares! I'll pay him off for it, if he makes a fuss. I sha'n't be in his debt long, that's one comfort."
"Do you remember how dolefully Jupiter looked as he came in for you, all dripping wet; and when you told him you wouldn't go, he – " and overcome by the ludicrous recollection, Master Archie again fell back in a paroxysm of laughter.
"What a fellow you are to laugh, Archie!" remarked Gipsy. "You astonish me, I declare. Do you laugh much, Celeste?"
"No, not much."
"That's right – I don't laugh much either – I'm too dignified, you know; but somehow I make other people laugh. There's Archie now, for everlasting laughing; but Minnette – do you know I never saw her laugh yet – that is, really laugh. She smiles sometimes; not a pleasant smile either, but a scornful smile like. I say, Minnette," she added, raising her voice, "what is the reason you never laugh?"
"None of your business," rudely replied Minnette.
"The Lord never intended her face for a smiling one," said Miss Hagar, breaking in, suddenly. "And you, you poor little wild eaglet, who, a moment ago, boasted you had never wept, you shall yet shed tears of blood. The bird has its eyes put out with red-hot iron before it can be made to sing sweetly; and so you, too, poor bird, must be blinded, even though you should flutter and beat yourself to death, trying to break through the bars of your cage."
"Humph! I'd like to see them trying to put my eyes out," said Gipsy. "I guess I'd make them sing, and on the wrong side of their mouths, too – at least, I think I should!"
"Oh, Miss Hagar, tell us our fortunes – you haven't done so this long time," exclaimed Archie, jumping up. "Here is Gipsy wants to know hers, and Celeste's, too; and as for me, I know the future must have something splendid in store for so clever a fellow, and I'm anxious to know it beforehand."
"Don't be too anxious," said Miss Hagar, fixing her gloomy eyes prophetically on his eager, happy face; "troubles are soon enough when they come, without wishing to forestall them."
"Why, Miss Hagar, you don't mean to say I'm to have troubles?" cried Archie, laughing. "If they do come, I'll laugh in their face, and cry, 'Never surrender.' I don't believe, though, my troubles will be very heavy."
"Yes, the heaviest troubles that man can ever know shall be thine," said the oracle, in her deep, gloomy voice. "The day will come when despair, instead of laughter, will fill your beaming eyes; when the smile shall have left your lip, and the hue of health will give place to the dusky glow of the grave. Yes, the day will come when the wrong you may not quell shall cling to you like a garment of flame, crushing and overwhelming you and all you love, in its fiery, burning shame. The day will come when one for whom you would give your life shall desert you for your deadliest enemy, and leave you to despair and woe. Such is the fate I have read in the stars for you."
"La! Archie, what a nice time you're going to have," said the incorrigible Gipsy, breaking the impressive silence that followed the sibyl's words – "when all that comes to pass! It will be as good as a play to you."
"Miss Hagar must have sat up all last night getting that pretty speech by heart," said Minnette, fixing her mocking black eyes on the face of the spinster. "How well she repeated it! She'd make her fortune on the stage as a tragedy queen."
"Scoffer!" said the sibyl, turning her prophetic eyes on the deriding face of the speaker, while her face darkened, and her stern mouth grew sterner still. "One day that iron heart of thine shall melt; that heart, which, as yet, is sealed with granite, shall feel every fiber drawn out by the roots, to be cast at your feet quivering and bleeding, unvalued and uncared for. Come hither, and let me read your future in your eyes."
"No, no!" said Minnette, shaking back, scornfully, her glossy black hair. "Prate your old prophecies to the fools who believe you. I'll not be among the number."
"Unbeliever, I heed it not!" said Miss Hagar as she rose slowly to her feet; and the light of inspiration gathered in her eyes of gray, as, swaying to and fro, she chanted, in a wild, dirge-like tone:
"Beware! beware! for the time will come —
A blighted heart, a ruined home.
In the dim future I foresee
A fate far worse than death for thee."
Her eyes were still riveted on the deriding face and bold, bright eyes, that, in spite of all their boldness, quailed before her steady gaze.
"Good-gracious, Miss Hagar, if you haven't nearly frightened this little atomy into fits!" said Gipsy. "I declare, of all the little cowards ever was, she's the greatest! Now, if I thought it wouldn't scare the life out of her, I'd have my fortune told. If everybody else is going to have such pretty things happen to them, I don't see why I shouldn't, too."
"Come here, then, and let me read thy fate," said Miss Hagar. "The spirit is upon me to-night, and it may never come more."
"All right. Archie, stop grinning and 'tend this little scary thing. Now, go ahead, Miss Hagar."
The seeress looked down solemnly into the dark, piquant little face upturned so gravely to her own; into the wicked brown eyes, twinkling and glittering with such insufferable mischief and mirth; and, bending her tall body down, she again chanted, in her dreary tone:
"Thou wast doomed from thy birth, oh, ill-fated child;
Like thy birthnight, thy life shall be stormy and wild;
There is blood on thine hand, there is death in thine eye,
And the one who best loves thee, by thee shall he die!"
"Whew! if that ain't pleasant! I always knew I'd be the death of somebody!" exclaimed Gipsy. "Wonder who it is going to be? Shouldn't be s'prised if 'twas Jupiter. I've been threatening to send him to Jericho ever since I can remember. La! if it comes true, won't Minette, and Archie and I be in a 'state of mind' one of these days! I say, Celeste, come over here, and let's have a little more of the horrible. I begin to like it."
"Yes, go, Celeste, go," said Archie, lifting her off her seat.
But Celeste, with a stifled cry of terror, covered her face with her hands, and shrank back.
"Coward!" exclaimed Minnette, with a scornful flash of her black eyes.
"Little goose!" said Gipsy, rather contemptuously; "what are you afraid of? Go! it won't hurt you."
"Oh, no, no! – no, no! – no, no!" cried the child, crouching farther back in terror. "It's too dreadful. I can't listen to such awful things."
"Let her stay," said Miss Hagar, seating herself moodily. "Time enough for her – poor, trembling dove! – to know the future when its storm-clouds gather darkly over her head. Let her alone. One day you may all think of my words to-night."
"There! there! don't make a fool of yourself any longer, Hagar," impatiently broke in the doctor. "Leave the little simpletons in peace, and don't bother their brains with such stuff."
"Stuff!" repeated Miss Hagar, her eyes kindling with indignation. "Take care; lest I tell you a fate more awful still. I speak as I am inspired; and no mortal man shall hinder me."
"Well, croak away," said her brother, angrily, "but never again in my presence. I never knew such an old fool!" he muttered to himself in a lower tone.
He started back almost in terror, as he ceased; for standing by his side, with her eyes fairly blazing upon him with a wild, intense gaze, was the elfish Gipsy. She looked so like some golden sprite – so small and dark, with such an insufferable light in her burning eyes – that he actually shrank in superstitious terror from her.
