CHAPTER XXIII.

"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 sinTo 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.

ipsy, 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 assolemn 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——"

"Marryingme? 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!Willyou 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 Iintendeddoing; 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."

"Isave 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—dearGuardy, I'm so sorry! I never thought you felt so bad about it. I'll do anything in the worldto 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 proposingthat?" exclaimed Gipsy, really astonished.

"Serious? Alas! I was never so serious before in my life. You will do this, Gipsy?"

"Oh, Guardy! Marryhim? 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! Surelysomethingcan 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 wordingratitudeseemed 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 youneeda 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! Icannot! 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."

"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.

orning 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 wouldplunge 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 butno? 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 beto 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, whatshallI 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? ThenI have no friend in the wide world! Oh! I wish—IwishI 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,yourefuse 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—evenyou! 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 herto 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 ofyourage 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 youshall!"

"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 lovedyou—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 themurder, Archie was observed riding from here, in a violent rage. Half an hour afterward the sailor went for a ride over the hills. I canswearthat 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."

"She looked to the river—looked to the hill—And thought on the spirit's prophecy;Then broke the silence stern and still:'Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me.'"

Lay of the Last Minstrel.

Celeste, Celeste! do not leave me. Oh! all the world has left me, and will you go, too? This heart—this restless, beating heart—will it never stop aching? Oh, Celeste! once I thought I had no heart; but by this dull, aching pain where it should be, I know I must have had one some time. Stay with me, Celeste. You are the only one in the world left for me to love now."

eleste, Celeste! do not leave me. Oh! all the world has left me, and will you go, too? This heart—this restless, beating heart—will it never stop aching? Oh, Celeste! once I thought I had no heart; but by this dull, aching pain where it should be, I know I must have had one some time. Stay with me, Celeste. You are the only one in the world left for me to love now."

Gipsy—small, fair and fragile, with her little wan face and unnaturally lustrous eyes—lay moaning restlessly on her low couch, like some tempest-tossed soul quivering between life and death. Like an angel of light, by her side knelt Celeste, with her fair, pitying face and her soft blue eyes, from which the tears fell on the small brown fingers that tightly clasped hers.

"Dear Gipsy, I will not leave you; but you know you must get up and dress soon."

"Oh, yes; but not yet. It is so nice to lie here, and have you beside me. I am so tired, Celeste—I have never rested since I made that promise. It seems as if ever since I had been walking and walking on through the dark, unable to stop, with such an aching here."

And she pressed her hand to the poor quivering heartthat was fluttering to escape from the heavy chain fate was drawing tighter and tighter around it.

"What can I do for you, Gipsy?" said Celeste, stooping and kissing her pale lips, while two pitying drops fell from her eyes on the poor little face below her.

"Don't cry for me, Celeste. I never wept for myself yet. Sing for me, dear friend, the 'Evening Hymn' we used to sing at the Sisters' school, long ago."

Forcing back her tears, Celeste sang, in a voice low and sweet as liquid music:

"Ave sanctissima!We lift our souls to thee—Ora pro nobis,Bright star of the sea!Watch us while shadows lieFar o'er the waters spread;Hear the heart's lonely sigh—Thine, too, hath bled!"

Gipsy listened, with her eyes closed, an expression of peace and rest falling on her dark, restless face, until Celeste ceased.

"Oh, Celeste, I always feel so much better and happier when you are with me—not half so much of a heartless imp as at other times," said Gipsy, opening her eyes. "I wish I could go and live with you and Miss Hagar at Valley Cottage, or enter a convent, or anywhere, to be at peace. While you sang I almost fancied myself back again at school, listening to those dear, kind sisters singing that beautiful 'Evening Hymn.'"

She paused, and murmured, dreamily:

"Watch us while shadows lieFar o'er the waters spread;Hear the heart's lonely sigh—Thine, too, hath bled!"

"Dear Gipsy, do not be so sad. Our Heavenly Father, perhaps, has but sent you this trial to purify yourheart and make it His own. In the time of youth and happiness we are apt ungratefully to forget the Author of all good gifts, and yield the heart that should be His to idols of clay. But in the days of sorrow and suffering we stretch out our arms to Him; and He, forgetting the past, takes us to his bosom. And, dearest Gipsy, shall we shrink from treading through trials and sufferings in the steps of the sinless Son of God, to that home of rest and peace that He died to gain for us?"

Her beautiful face was transfigured, her eyes radiant, her lips glowing with the fervor of the deep devotion with which she spoke.

"I cannot feel as you do, Celeste," said Gipsy, turning restlessly. "I feel like one without a light, groping my way in the dark—like one who is blind, hastening to my own doom. I cannot look up; I can see into the dark grave, but no farther."

"Light will come yet, dear friend. Every cloud has its silver lining."

"Never for me. But, hark! What is that?"

Celeste arose, and went to the window.

"It is the carriages bringing more people. The parlors below are full. You must rise, and dress for your bridal, Gipsy."

"Would to heaven it were for my burial! I amsotired, Celeste.MustI get up?"

"Yes, dear Gipsy; they are waiting for you. I will dress you myself," said Celeste, as Gipsy, pale, wan, and spirituelle, arose from her couch, her little, slight figure smaller and slighter than ever.

Rapidly moved the nimble fingers of Celeste. The dancing dark locks fell in short, shining curls around the superb little head, making the pale face of the bride look paler still by contrast. Then Celeste went into herwardrobe and brought forth the jewels, the white vail, the orange blossoms, and the rich robes of white brocade, frosted with seed pearls, and laid them on the bed.

"What is that white dress for?" demanded Gipsy, abruptly, looking up from a reverie into which she had fallen.

"For you to wear, of course," replied Celeste, astonished at the question.

"A white dress for me! Ha! ha! ha!" she said, with a wild laugh. "True, I forgot—when the ancients were about to sacrifice a victim, they robed her in white and crowned her with flowers. But I will differ from all other victims, and wear a more suitable color.Thisshall be my wedding-dress," said Gipsy, leaving the room, and returning with a dress ofblacklace.

Celeste shrank back from its ominous hue with something like a shudder.

"Oh, not in black! Oh, Gipsy! any other color but black for your wedding. Think how you will shock every one," said Celeste, imploringly.

"Shock them! Why, Celeste, I've shocked them so continually ever since I was a year old, that when I cease to shock them they won't know Gipsy Gower. And that reminds me that after to-day I will be 'Mad Gipsy Gower' no longer, but Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman. Ha! ha! ha! Wiseman! how appropriate the name will be! Oh!won'tI lead him a life—won'tI make him wish he had never been born—won'tI teach him what it is to drive a girl to desperation? He thinks because I am a little thing he can hold me up with one hand—and, by the way, Celeste, his hands always remind me of a lobster's claw stuck into a pump-handle—that he can do what he pleases with me. We'll see! Hook my dress, Celeste. It's a pity to keep my Adonis waiting, and disappoint all these good people who have come to see the fun."

"Dear Gipsy, do not look and talk so wildly. And pray, take off that black dress, and wear any other color you wish. Peoplewilltalk so, you know."

"Let 'em talk then, my dear. They'll only say it's one of Gipsy's whims. Besides, it will shock Spider, which is just what I want. He'll get a few more shocks before I have done with him, I rather think. Hook my dress, Celeste."

With a sigh at the elf's perversity, Celeste obeyed; and with a sad face, watched the eccentric little bride shake out the folds of her black robe, and fasten a dark crimson belt around her waist.

"Now, if I had a few poppies or marigolds to fasten in my hair, I'd look bewitching; as I haven't, these must do." And with a high, ringing laugh, she twined a dark, purplish passion-flower amid her shining curls. "Now for my rouge. I must look blooming, you know—happy brides always should. Then it will save me the trouble of blushing, which is something I never was guilty of in my life. No, never mind those pearls, Celeste; I fear Dr. Wiseman might find them brighter than my eye, which would not do by 'no manner of means.' There! I'm ready. Who ever saw so bewildering a bride?"

She turned from the mirror, and stood before Celeste, her eyes shining like stars, streaming with an unnaturally blazing light, the pallor of her face hidden by the rouge, the dark passion-flower drooping amid her curls, fit emblem of herself. There was an airy, floating lightness about her, as if she scarcely felt the ground she walked on—a fire and wildness in her large, dark eyes that made Celeste's heart ache for her. Very beautiful she looked, with her dark, oriental face, shaded by its sable locks, the rich, dark dress falling with classic elegance from her round, little waist. She looked, as she stood, bright, mocking, defiant, scornful—more like some fairy changeling—some fay of the moonlight—than a living creature, with a woman's heart. And yet, under that daring, bright exterior, a wild, anguished heart lay crushed and quivering, shedding tears of blood, that leaped to the eyes to be changed to sparks of fire.

"Let us go down," said Celeste, with a sigh.

"Yes, let us go. Do you know, Celeste, I read once of a man whom the Indians were going to burn to death at the stake, and who began cursing them when they led him there for making him wait so long. Now I feel just like that man; since Iamto be doomed to the stake—why, the sooner the torture is over the better."

She looked so beautiful, so bewitching, yet so mocking and unreal, so like a spirit of air, as she spoke, that, almost expecting to see her vanish from her sight, Celeste caught her in her arms, and gazed upon her with pitying, yearning, love-lit eyes, from which the tears were fast falling.

"Don't cry for me, Celeste; you make me feel more like an imp than ever. I really think I must be a family relation of the goblin page we read about in the 'Lay of the Last Minstrel,' for I feel like doing as he did, throwing up my arms, and crying, 'Lost!' I'm sure that goblin page would have made his fortune in a circus, since his ordinary mode of walking consisted of leaps of fifty feet high or so. Crying still, Celeste! Why, I thought I'd make you laugh. Now, Celeste, if you don't dry your eyes, I'll go right up to where Aunty Gower keeps prussic acid for the rats, and commit suicide right off the reel. I've felt like doing it all the time lately, but never so much so as when I see you crying for me. Why, Celeste, I never was worth one tear from those blue eyes, body and bones. What's the use of anybody's grievingfor a little, mad, hare-brained thing like me?I'lldo well enough; I'll be perfectly happy—see if I don't! It will be such glorious fun, you know, driving Spider mad! And, oh,won'tI dose him! Tra! la, la, la, la, la!" and Gipsy waltzed airily around the room.

At this moment there came a knock at the door. Celeste opened it, and Mrs. Gower, in the well-preserved silk and lace cap she had worn years before to Lizzie Oranmore's wedding, stood in the doorway.

"Oh, Celeste! why don't you hurry? Where is Gipsy? Oh, good gracious, child! not dressed yet? What on earth have you been doing? The people have been waiting these two hours, almost, in the parlors! Do hurry, for mercy sake, and dress!"

"Why, aunty, Iamdressed. Don't you see I am all ready to become Mrs. Wiseman?"

"But mydearchild, that black dress——"

"This black dress will do very well—suits my complexion best, which is rather of the mulatto order than otherwise; and it's a pity if a blessed bride can't wear what she likes without such a fuss being made about it. Now, aunty, don't begin to lecture—it'll only be a waste of powder and a loss of time; and I'm impatient to arrive at the place of execution."

Mrs. Gower sank horrified into a chair, and gazed with a look of despair into the mocking, defiant eyes of the elfin bride.

"Oh, Gipsy! what ever will the people say? In ablack dress! Good heavens! Why, you'll look more like the chief mourner at a funeral than a bride! And what will Dr. Wiseman say?"

"Oh, don't, aunty! I hope he'll get into a passion, and blow me and everybody else up when he sees it!" cried Gipsy, clapping her hands with delight at the idea.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! did any one ever know such astrange girl? Just to think of throwing aside that beautiful dress that your guardian paid a small fortune for, for that common black lace thing, the worst dress you have!"

"Aunty—see here!—you may have this 'beautiful dress' when you get married. You're young, and good-looking, and substantial, too, and I shouldn't wonder if you had a proposal one of these days. With a little letting down in the skirt, and a little letting out in the waist——"

"Gipsy, hush! How can you go on with such nonsense at such a time? Miss Pearl, can you not induce her to take off that horrid black dress?"

"I think you had better let her wear it, madam. Miss Gower will not be persuaded."

"Well, since it must be so, then come. Luckily, everybody knows what an odd, flighty thing Gipsy is, and therefore will not be so much surprised."

"I should think the world would not be surprised at anything I would do since I have consented to marry that hideous orang-outang, that mockery of man, that death's-head, that 'thing of legs and arms,' that——"

"Hush! hush! you little termagant! What a way to speak of the man you are going to promise to 'love, honor, and obey,'" said the profoundly shocked Mrs. Gower.

"Love, honor, and obey!Ha, ha, ha! Oh, won't I though, with a vengeance! Won't I be a pattern wife! You'll see!"

"What do you mean, child?"

"Nothing, aunty," said Gipsy, with a strange smile, "merely making a meditation. Here we are at the stake at last, and there I perceive Reverend Mr. Goodenough ready to act the part of executioner; and there, too, is Dr. Wiseman, the victim—who, as he will by and by findout, is going to prove himself most decidedly a silly man to-day. Now, Gipsy Gower, you are going to create a sensation, my dear, though you are pretty well accustomed to that sort of thing."

They had reached the hall by this time, where Dr. Wiseman, Squire Erliston, and a number of others stood. All stared aghast at the sable robes of Gipsy.

"Oh? how is it? Why, what is the meaning of this?" demanded the squire, in a rage.

"Meaning of what, Guardy?"

"What do you mean, miss, by wearing that black frock?"

"And what business is it of yours, sir?"

"You impudent minx! Go right up stairs and take it off."

"I won't do anything of the kind! There now! Anybody that doesn't like me in this can let me alone," retorted Gipsy.

A fierce imprecation was on the lips of the squire, but Dr. Wiseman laid his hand on his arm, and said, in his oiliest tones:

"Never mind her, my dear sir; let her consult her own taste. I am as willing my bride should wear black as anything else; she looks bewitching in anything. Come, fairest lady."

He attempted to draw her arm within his, but she sprang back, and transfixing him with a flashing glance, she hissed:

"No; withered be my arm if it ever rests in yours! Stand aside, Dr. Wiseman; there is pollution in the very touch of your hand."

"You capricious little fairy, why do you hate me so?"

"Hate! Don't flatter yourself I hate you, Dr. Wiseman—I despise you too much for that," she replied, her beautiful lip curling scornfully.

"Exasperating little dare-devil that you are!" he exclaimed, growing white with impotent rage, "take care that I do not make you repent this."

"You hideous old fright! do you dare to threaten now?"

"Yes, and dare to perform, too, if you do not beware. Keep a guard on your tongue, my lady, or you know who will suffer for it."

The fierce retort that hovered on the lip of Gipsy was checked by their entrance into the drawing-room. Such a crowd as was there, drawn together for miles around by the news of this singular marriage. All shrank back and looked at one another, as their eyes fell on the ominous garments of the bride, as she walked in, proudly erect, beside her grim bridegroom.

"Beauty and the Beast!" "Vulcan and Venus!" "May and December!" were the whispers that went round the room as they appeared.

The Rev. Mr. Goodenough approached, and the bridal party stood before him—the doctor glancing uneasily at his little bride, who stood with her flashing eyes riveted to the floor, her lips firmly compressed, proud, erect and haughty.

The marriage ceremony commenced, and Mr. Goodenough, turning to the doctor, put the usual question:

"Nicholas Wiseman, wilt thou have Aurora Gower, here present, to be thy wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death doth you part?"

"Yes," was the reply, loud, clear, and distinct.

Turning to the bride the clergyman demanded;

"Aurora Gower, wilt thou have Nicholas Wiseman,here present, to be thy lawful husband, to have, and to hold?" etc.

A loud, fierce, passionate "No!" burst from the lips of the bride. Dr. Wiseman saw her intention, and was immediately seized with a violent fit of coughing, in which her reply was drowned.

The mockery of a marriage was over, and Nicholas Wiseman and Aurora Gower were solemnly pronounced "man and wife."

A mocking smile curled the lips of the bride at the words, and she turned to receive the congratulations of her many friends, to bear all the hand-shaking, and hear herself addressed as "Mrs. Wiseman."

"Now, beautiful fairy, you are my own at last. You see fate had decreed it," said the doctor, with a grim smile.

"And bitterly shall you repent that decree. Do you know what I was doing when I stood up before the clergyman with you?"

"No, sweet wife."

"Well, then, listen. I was vowing and consecrating my whole life to one purpose—one aim; and that isdeadly vengeance against youfor what you have done. Night and day, sleeping or waking, it shall always occupy my thoughts, and I will live now only for revenge. Ha! I see I can make your saffron visage blanch already, Dr. Wiseman. Oh! you'll find what a happy thing it is to be married. Since I must go down, I shall drag down with me all who have had part or share in this, my misery. You, viper, ghoul that you are, have turned my very nature into that of a fiend. Dr. Wiseman, if I thought, by any monstrous possibility, you could ever go to heaven, I would take a dagger and send my own soul to perdition, sooner than go there with you."

There was something in her words, her tone, her face, perfectly appalling. Her countenance was deadly white, save where the rouge colored it, and her eyes. Oh! never were such wild, burning, gleaming eyes seen in any face before. He cowered from her like the soul-struck coward that he was; and, as with one glance of deadly concentrated hate she glided from his side and mingled with the crowd, he wiped the cold perspiration off his brow, and realized how true were the words oft quoted:

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