CHAPTER XXVI.
LOUIS.
"A look of pride, an eye of flame; A full-drawn lip that upward curled; An eye that seemed to scorn the world."--SCOTT.
It was a merry morn in June, many months after the events related in thelast chapter. A brief retrospective glance it is necessary to take erewe proceed.
For many long weeks after the fatal night of her marriage, Gipsy layhovering between life and death; and Celeste came, with her lovingheart, and gentle voice, and noiseless footstep, and, unheeding rest orsleep, nursed the poor, pale, crazed little bride back to life. No oneelse would Gipsy have near her--not even Aunty Gower; and a physicianfrom the city attended her--for the very mention of her detestedbridegroom threw her into hysterics. But, notwithstanding all theircare, long months passed away ere Gipsy was well again, and Celeste,worn and wearied, but uncomplaining, permitted to return to the peacefulsolitude of Valley Cottage.
Dr. Wiseman had not yet breathed a syllable of Gipsy's parentage. Hecould not do so during her illness; and when she recovered, he wished adecent interval of time to elapse ere he made it known, lest the worldshould suspect his previous knowledge of it had caused him to marry her.Besides, he found there was no cause to hurry; for, during Gipsy'sillness, the squire had invited him to shut up his house at Deep Dale,and bring Minnette with him, to reside at Sunset Hall. To this thedoctor eagerly assented; and having, with some trouble, prevailed uponMinnette to accompany him, Deep Dale was rented, and the doctor and hisdaughter became domesticated at Mount Sunset Hall.
Nearly nine months had elapsed. Gipsy--now as well as ever, and moredaring and mischievous even than before--had just set herself to work tobegin fulfilling the vow she had made, and soon succeeded in driving thedoctor nearly wild. Though he had merely married her for her money, hehad, as time passed on, learned to love her with a strange, selfish,absorbing passion; and the more she mocked, and scorned, and laughed athim, the more infatuated he grew. The wilful elf kept her husband in aconstant state of panic and terror, running into the greatest dangerswith the utmost recklessness, and often barely escaping with her life.Out all hours of the day and night, sometimes not coming home untilmorning, it is not to be wondered at that she kept the whole householdin alarm. Often after midnight, going out to search for her, they wouldfind her riding among the rocks, or, having tied up Mignonne, she wouldbe discovered asleep in some grotto or cavern. Then her flirting! Thedoctor was madly jealous, and not without reason. There was not a manunder thirty, if at all presentable, but the reckless girl had flirtedunmercifully with, in a way that would have completely destroyed thereputation of any other woman, but which was merely noticed by theremark that it was "just like Gipsy;" and her maddest actions werelistened to with a smile and a stare of astonishment, and a "wonder whatshe'll do next?" Poor, half-crazed little Gipsy! The real goodness ofher nature was too apparent to all through her outward recklessness tomake them suspect her of evil.
St. Mark's had become a much gayer place than when we first knew it.Many new families had moved hither from the city; and balls, andparties, and sleigh-rides in winter, and picnics, and excursions, andsoirees, in summer, became all the rage; and the leader of all these wasthe "merry little Mrs. Wiseman," as these new-comers called her. And noone, to see her entering heart and soul into these festivities, wouldever dream of the miserable secret weighing on her mind, or the stilluntamed, restless heart that struggled to find forgetfulness in constantgayety.
They had never heard of Archie since his departure, save once throughLouis, who, in one of his letters, spoke of having met him in Paris. Noone mentioned his name at Sunset Hall. Gipsy especially, even in theremotest way, never alluded to him; and the good, obtuse family began tohope she had quite forgotten him.
And now we have come back to that merry morn in June with which thischapter opened. Gipsy, arrayed in a tasteful riding-habit, which sheheld up with one hand, while in the other she held a silver-mountedriding-whip, stood in the breezy park, watching her horse, that wasneighing impatiently to be off. Mrs. Gower stood behind her, lookingtroubled and anxious.
"My dear Gipsy," she was saying, "I wish you would not go out thismorning. What will people say to see you out riding, and your husbandhaving fallen from his horse, and broken two of his ribs and his leg,last night?"
"I wish it had been his neck!"
"Oh, child! don't say such sinful, wicked things. Of course, I know youdon't mean them; but then it's very wrong."
"I don't care, aunty; I _do_ wish it--there! I don't see what possesseshim to cumber the earth so long. If he doesn't give up the ghost soon,I'll administer a dose of hemp some night--for I do believe his destinyis hanging. If there ever was a neck made for a rope, it's his--just theshape for it. Jupe, mind what you're at there. Don't let Mignonne getall over dust."
"Gipsy, you will stay?"
"I _won't_ stay, aunty--not if it were Dr. Wiseman's neck, instead ofhis ribs, that was broken. Oh, yes, I would, too; I'd stay home then forjoy. I'm off now. Good-bye. If his worship becomes extinct during myabsence, just send for me, and I'll shed a few tears, and everythingwill go off in fashionable style."
And, laughing at Mrs. Gower's scandalized face, Gipsy leaped on herhorse and rode off.
As she ascended the hills behind Mount Sunset she beheld, opposite toher, a horseman with his back toward her, standing silent andmotionless, gazing upon Sunset Hall.
"I wonder who he is?" thought Gipsy. "A handsome fellow, I should say,for his form is superb. Wonder if he knows he's standing on my favoritepoint of view? Well, as I've no notion of surrendering my rights to himor any one else, I'll just give him a hint to get out of that." And,suiting the action to the words, Gipsy shouted, as she reined up herhorse: "Hallo, sir!"
The horseman was still gazing like one entranced. He evidently did nothear her.
"I say, sir!" again called Gipsy.
Still no answer.
"Well, whoever you are," soliloquized Gipsy, "you're mighty polite torefuse answering a lady. I'll try again. Look here, sirrah, will you?"
He did not move.
"Well, 'pon my honor, that's decidedly cool!" said Gipsy. "So you won'tpretend to notice me, eh? Very well, sir; we'll see whether you'll paymore attention to a lady than this."
And Gipsy drew a pistol from her belt, took deliberate aim, and fired.
It was well she doubted not her own skill; it was well she had a steadyhand and eye; for the bullet passed through the crown of his hat,scarcely two inches above the temple.
With an exclamation of surprise and anger, the stranger turned round,and likewise drew a pistol. His eye wandered over the scene; but hecould see no one but a young girl, who was coolly reloading her pistol,as if about to send a second ball in the same direction.
"Good-morning, madam. Did you see any one fire just now," said thestranger, in a most musical voice, as he rode toward her.
"Yes, sir, _I_ fired it," replied Gipsy, impudently.
"_You_ did!" said the stranger, with a stare of surprise; "and may Iask, madam, if it was your intention to shoot me?"
"Of course it was! My aim was unfortunately taken a little too high. Ifyou'll just stand there again, I'll try another shot," replied Gipsygravely.
Again the stranger stared, as though doubting the sanity of hiscompanion. There was no idiocy, however, in the bright, keen eyes,twinkling with suppressed mirth, that were now lifted to his; and,taking off his hat, the stranger pointed to the hole, saying:
"On the whole, I think I have no particular fancy for being made atarget of--especially for so good a shot as you. May I ask the name ofthe fair amazon I have been fortunate enough to meet?"
"You must be a stranger here not to know it. I have several names; thelast and least of which is--Mrs. Wiseman. And yours?"
"Louis Oranmore, very much at your service," he answered, with a courtlybow.
"Oh!" Such a stare as he got from those bright eyes--such a quick flushof delight as overspread the pretty face beneath
him--such a keenscrutiny as his face underwent at that moment. He noticed it, withoutpretending to do so; but there was an ill-repressed smile of amusementhovering about his finely-chiseled lip. Yet it was evident he did notrecognize her.
The handsome, impetuous boy had grown into a tall, elegant,princely-looking man. His complexion, darkened by foreign suns to aclear, manly olive, was shaded by a profusion of jet-black curling hair.His fine dark eyes were bright, clear, almost piercing; his upper lipwas shaded by a black mustache, but it did not conceal its scornfulupward curve. Pride and passion, genius and unbending will were writtenin every lineament of that irresistibly handsome face; yet there was attimes a winning softness in it, particularly when he smiled. He stillbore a strong likeness to his dead father, save that Louis was muchhandsomer. There was something grand and noble in his tall yet slightfigure, mingled with an ease and grace of manner that bespoke hisacquaintance with polished society. His voice, that could at times ringwith the clarion tones of command, never addressed a woman without beingmodulated to the softest and most musical of sounds. Such had our oldfavorite Louis become--very little like the Louis we once knew, we mustown--very little like the guileless, innocent Louis, this gay young manof pleasure.
Perhaps something of all this was floating through the mind of Gipsy;for in spite of the admiration that shone in her now radiant face, shefinished her scrutiny with a sigh.
"Well, fair lady, do you find me so very hideous that you thus turnaway?" he asked, fixing his deep, dark eyes in evident amusement on herface.
Gipsy would have blushed had she known how; but it was something sheknew very little about, so she merely answered:
"Well, I think I have seen persons almost as frightful looking as youbefore. You are a stranger here, I presume?"
"Yes; though this is my native village, yet I have been absent for manyyears in Europe. May I ask if you are acquainted with the inmates ofSunset Hall yonder?"
"Yes; I've seen them."
"Are they all well?"
"Why, yes, I believe so; all but Spi--I mean Dr. Wiseman."
"Dr. Wiseman! What has he to do there?--he does not belong to thefamily."
"Yes, he does."
"_What?_"
"He married a ward of Squire Erliston's--Gipsy--something, I think theycalled her. Gow--Gow--Gower, I believe, was the name--and then, with hisdaughter, came there to live."
"Why, is it possible? Has little Gipsy Gower married that old man--oldenough to be her grandfather?" exclaimed Louis, in unbounded amazement.
"Yes."
"Well, after that, nothing will surprise me. And Archie never mentioneda word of it," said Louis, in a sort of soliloquy; "and my--and Mrs.Oranmore, how is she?"
"Pretty well. She has not been very strong lately."
"Poor mother! And the squire?"
"Is quite well."
"You reside in St. Mark's, I presume?"
"Why, yes. Nonsense, Louis! Don't you know me?"
"Hallo! No, it's not; yes, it is, though; it's Gipsy Gower, is it not?"cried Louis.
"No, sir. Mrs. Nicholas Wiseman, if you please," said Gipsy, drawingherself up.
"My dear little Gipsy, I am delighted to meet you again. How handsomeyou have grown! Allow me to embrace my little playmate?"
Accepting his salute with saucy cordiality, Gipsy turned her horse'shead in the direction of the Hall.
"Tell me now, Louis, what brings you home so suddenly?" asked Gipsy.
"Why, to confess the truth, I grew tired of sight-seeing, and began tofeel homesick for the old, familiar faces; so, wishing to surprise youall, I started without sending you word, and here I am. But, Gipsy,whatever possessed you to marry that old man?"
"_Love_, of course. People always marry for love, you know."
"Pshaw! Gipsy, I know better than that. Why did you jilt poor Archie? Imet him in Paris, half crazy, one would imagine. He answered myquestions rationally enough, until we came to speak of you, when heburst forth into a torrent of invectives against flirts and deceivers ingeneral, and then seized his hat and fled from the room, leaving me toconjecture as best I might his meaning. Come, Gipsy, own up, are you notthe cause of all this frenzy?"
Gipsy's face had grown very pale; her eyes were bent on the ground, herlips firmly compressed, as she answered, in a low, hurried voice:
"Louis, don't talk to me on this subject. I am wicked and wretchedenough the best of times, but I always feel like a perfect fiend whenthis subject is mentioned. Suffice it for you to know that fate haddecreed I should wed Dr. Wiseman; no earthly power could have preventedit, therefore I became his wife."
"Did they dare to force you?" exclaimed Louis, with a kindling eye. "Ifso----"
"No, no, Louis; I could have refused if I would. Don't mention thissubject more. See, there is the old hall; and there at the gate standsMinnette Wiseman, _my_ daughter now, you know. Is she not a beautifulgirl?"
"Beautiful indeed!" exclaimed Louis, enthusiastically, pausinginvoluntarily to gaze upon her.
Splendid indeed looked Minnette. Her dress of black (she always woreblack) fluttering in the morning breeze, and confined at the slenderwaist by a dark crimson belt. Her long, shiny blue-black hair was twinedin classic braids around her superb head. Her glorious black eyes werefixed on the glancing waters of the bay, and no June rose ever bloomed amore brilliant crimson than the hue of her cheek. She might have been anEastern queen--for her beauty was truly regal, with her dark, orientalface, and splendid Syrian eye; but there was too much fire and passionin her nature, and too few womanly traits and feelings.
"Oh, Minnette, guess who's come!" cried Gipsy, riding up to where shestood.
"Who?" said Minnette, breathlessly, as her eye fell on Louis.
The next moment she started convulsively; the blood rushed in torrentsto her brow. _She_ had recognized him, though Gipsy had not.
"It's Louis," said Gipsy--"Louis Oranmore! Come, Louis! come! MissMinnette. I am going up to the house to tell them you have come."
She was off like a flash, up the lawn, and in the house, while Louisleaped from his horse, and with courtly grace raised Minnette's hand tohis lips; while she, pressing her hand to her heart, that beat andthrobbed as though it would force its way to him, strove to return hissalutation. It was a strange thing to see the cold, marble-like Minnetteso moved.
"How everything has changed since I left home!" said Louis; "the placeitself seems changed, and you more than all. I left you a little girl,thoughtful beyond your years, and I return to find you----"
"The most beautiful woman my eyes ever rested on," he would have said,but she raised her head, and something in the expression of her facechecked him.
No marble ever was whiter or more cold, as she said:
"Yes, all has changed, and none more so than your former _favorite_,Celeste."
"Ah! little Celeste--how is she? I had forgotten to ask for her. I trustshe is well?"
"I presume so. I know nothing to the contrary."
"I remember her a lovely child; I suppose she is an equally lovelygirl?" said Louis, carelessly.
A scorching, scathing glance shot from the lightning eyes of Minnette;but, without answering him, she turned away, and walked steadily intothe house.
"Strange, incomprehensible girl!" said Louis, looking in surprise afterher. "How that flashing glance reminds me of the Minnette of other days!Have I said anything to offend her, I wonder? Heigho! what a radiantcreature she is, to be sure! What would not some of the gay courtbeauties I know give for that superb form and glorious face! Well, Imust not fall in love with her, however, if I can help it. Here comesthat airy little mountain sprite, Gipsy! and now for my lady mother!"
"Come, Louis, come!" she cried, darting in again.
Louis followed her as she led the way to his mother's chamber. Thenopening the door, she ushered him in, and closing it after her,immediately retreated.
Lizzie sat in an easy-chair, a crimson shawl wrapped around her, hereyes bright, her pale cheeks f
lushed with expectation. She arose at hisentrance, and the next moment was clasped in his arms, while theirmutual exclamations were:
"My dear Louis!"
"My dearest mother!"
There was a moment's silence; then Lizzie raised her head and surveyedhim from head to foot, her face sparkling with pride and admiration.
"How tall you have grown! and how handsome you are!--handsome enough fora king, I think, Louis!" she said, delightedly.
"Are kings handsomer than other people, my dear mother?" he said, with asmile.
"Why, I suppose so; I never saw one. You are the very image of your poordead father, too! Dear me! what an age it seems since we parted last!"said Lizzie, sinking back in her seat, with a sigh.
"I am sorry to find you so ill, mother," said Louis, gazing sadly intoher thin, pale face, from which the bright glow was fast fading.
"Oh, I am always worse in the spring than at any other time. In a monthor two I will be quite a different-looking individual," said Lizzie,hopefully.
An hour passed away, and then there came a tap at the door. Louis aroseand opened it, and beheld Gipsy.
"Well, Louis, if you're done talking to your mother, you'd better comedown and see Guardy. He's just woke up, but he doesn't know yet you'vecome," said Gipsy.
Louis went down stairs, taking half the staircase at a bound in hishaste. Pushing open the parlor door, he unceremoniously entered thepresence of the squire, who, after his old habit, lay in a loungingchair, with his feet stretched upon another, smoking his pipe with thebenign air of a man at peace with himself and the rest of mankind.
At the abrupt entrance of Louis he looked up with a start, and mutteredsomething suspiciously like an oath at seeing a tall, dark foreigner--ashe supposed him to be--standing before him.
"Eh? who the deuce--I beg your pardon, sir, sit down," said the squire,staring with all his eyes.
"Do you not know me, my dear grandfather?" said Louis, advancing withextended hand.
"Why! Lord bless me, if it is not Louis Oranmore," said the squire,jumping up, "with as much hair on his face as a chimpanzee monkey has onits body. Bless my heart! this _is_ a surprise! When did you get home?Eh, when did you come?"
"About an hour ago, sir."
"And you're Louis? Well, well! Why, you weren't as high as that when youleft," holding his hand about three inches from the ground, "and hereyou come back as tall as a lamp-post, with mustache enough for ashoe-brush, and dressed like a Spanish grandee. 'All's vanity,' asSolomon says. Well, and how did you get on with those old humbugs youwent off to see--eh?"
"What old humbugs, sir?"
"Pooh! you know very well--the old masters."
"Oh! I flatter myself I have seen them to some purpose," said Louis,laughing; "but, to change the subject, I perceive you have made a fewchanges in the domestic economy of Sunset Hall during my absence."
"Why, yes, my boy; a few, a few! Gipsy's married to the old doctor, anddidn't want to, either; but we coaxed her round and took her while shewas 'in the humor,' as Solomon says."
"I trust, sir, Gipsy was not _compelled_ to marry this old man?" saidLouis, with a darkening brow.
"Pooh! pshaw! of course not! Married him of her own free will--just likeGipsy, always doing what nobody would expect; 'women are like mules,' asSolomon says--want them to go one way, and they'll be sure to got'other," said the squire, uneasily, evidently anxious to change thesubject. "Have you seen old Wiseman and his daughter since your return?"
"I have not seen the doctor, but his daughter I have. She is a mostbeautiful girl," replied Louis.
"Bah! 'All that glitters is not gold,' as Solomon says. She's a proud,sullen, conceited minx, _that's_ what she is--never liked her. And mind,my young jackanapes, you mustn't go and fall in love with her. You mustlook out for an heiress; not a girl like her, without a cent to blessherself with."
"I thought the doctor was rich," said Louis.
"So he is; but stingy--infernally stingy! Won't give her a copper tillhis death!"
"Well, sir, I have no present intention of falling in love with her orany one else; but if I had, Minnette Wiseman would be just the girl forme. She is handsome, refined, intellectual, as any one can tell from herconversation. What more would a man have?"
"Stuff! moonshine! 'Fine words butter no parsnips,' as Solomon says. Shewants the _gilt_--the money, my boy. Love in a cottage sounds very fine,but come to real life and see what it is. No, sir; I will never hear toyour marrying a poor girl--never! The heir of Erliston and Oranmore mustfind an heiress for a wife. No matter about love, you know; money's thething. 'When poverty comes in at the door love flies out of the window,'as Solomon says."