21
“No,” she answered, firmly, “you can’t make me cry, and I’ll let you know it.”
“Well, if I can’t make you cry I can make you smart.”
“I hate you, and I always will!”
The whip was laid down and Crisp moved away. His snake-like eyes, so deeply shaded by shaggy black brows, were turned toward the ground, as though he feared the searching gaze of his suffering and wronged sister, on whom he had ever looked with a jealous eye.
“Take yourself off to your tent and stay there till to-morrow night, and not a mouthful will you get till you know how to behave yourself,” said old Meg, as she gave her a rude push.
Zula obeyed, and, lying down on her straw bed, wept long and bitterly.
“Oh, how I hate him!” she said; “if he is my brother, I hate him, and I hate her, too; I could kill them both. Oh, how those lashes hurt! I know I could kill Crisp. I don’t believe that is wicked. Oh, I wish I was dead. I don’t believe that sweet little girl ever gets whipped. How happy she is, as happy as the little birds that fly around out here in the trees. She is out riding in a nice carriage this beautiful morning, and I must stay in this dirty old tent two whole days!”
She had reached this part of her soliloquy when old Meg entered the tent.
“Here, Zula, is work for you,” she said in a cross voice; “now see that you keep to it till your time is up.”
22
Zula took the basket, and, wiping away her tears, began her work.
“You’ll learn to hurry around next time, won’t you?”
Zula made no reply.
“Oh, you need not pout so; you will find out who is master here. Come, you sulky thing, go to work as though you meant to do something. Why don’t you talk?”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say,” said Zula.
“Well, I’ll give you something to say, and you’ll be glad enough to say it, too, when you get a chance. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, looking down again, with eyes fast filling with tears.
“Oh, don’t try to make believe you feel bad; you can’t make me pity you if you do cry; you don’t feel half as bad as you pretend.”
“I don’t want you to pity me. I don’t cry ’cause I’m sorry; I’m mad, and I hate Crisp and I hate——”
“Me, too; why don’t you say it?”
“No, I don’t hate you, ’cause——”
“’Cause what?”
“’Cause you are my mother.”
“Well, well, that might do to tell; but don’t I know you hate me? Can’t I see it in them devilish black eyes? Can’t I tell by the way that head shakes? Oh, yes, I know you hate me, but I can take it out of you if I have to bury the lash in your back, and if I can’t I know who can.”
“Who, Crisp?”
“Yes.”
23
Zula rose from the ground, and, with a face pale with rage and eyes full of fiery indignation, advanced a step toward her mother. Her little brown hands were closed tightly together, and in a voice hoarse with anger she said:
“If Crisp ever whips me again I’ll kill him!”
The old gypsy was startled. She had never seen Zula so enraged before. Her lips were colorless and came firmly together over the strong white teeth.
“Zula,” the old woman said, “what do you mean?”
“I mean what I say,” Zula said, sinking back, trembling, on the pile of straw she called her bed.
Old Meg left the tent, soon to return with Crisp. He carried a handful of rope, which he began to unwind, and, advancing toward Zula, he caught her hands and held them tightly while the old woman tied them. A grin of satisfaction passed over the ugly face of Crisp as he fastened Zula’s hands behind her, tying them to a small post in the ground. Her feet were tied in the same manner and her basket of bead work taken from her. She knew that resistance was useless, since Crisp had grasped her hands, for he was possessed of herculean strength.
“You have lost your tongue, I guess,” he said, stepping close to her.
She made no reply.
“I can make you talk.” He struck her cheek with a force that made the air ring. The crimson blood mounted to the girl’s face, then left it, giving place to a marble-like paleness. Had she been free to act the little24revolver might have been called into action, but luckily she was powerless.
All through that weary day Zula sat in that one position. She had eaten nothing and was growing faint with hunger. Once her heart gave a great bound as Crisp entered with a bowl of hot soup, and, holding it close to her face, said:
“Don’t you wish you had it?”
She burst into tears, and the next moment said:
“Oh, Crisp, I am so hungry; won’t you give me some?”
His only reply was a grin, and, taking a place on the ground just near enough that she might inhale the odor from the bowl, he ate its entire contents.
“I don’t believe I could think of anything as mean as Crisp does if I hated anybody,” thought Zula. The day and night passed away and brought her no reprieve, and the next afternoon found her still unreleased. Old Meg and Crisp had looked in just long enough to remind her of their existence, then left her to her solitary confinement. A sound of strange voices without attracted her attention. It was a party of young ladies and gentlemen from the city who had come to have their fortunes told. Old Meg was seated so near the tent that Zula heard every word. Two voices sounded strangely familiar, but she could not tell where she had heard them until the clear voice of June floated out upon the air, saying:
“Please give us a good fortune, for none of us want bad ones.”
Zula’s heart leaped for joy as she heard the voices of her friends, but sank in despair when she remembered25she could not speak to them, and even if she could she would not let them know she was there, for in that case they would know she was a gypsy.
The young girl’s fortune was told, and June, addressing Scott, said: “Come, have your fortune told; don’t you see what a lovely one I am to have? I shall always be happy thinking about it. Have your fortune told and you will know whether you will ever be married and whether you will live happy or not.”
“Oh, we know who he is going to marry,” chimed in a miss of sixteen, “but we don’t know whether he will be happy or not.”
“I rather think my life will be just the same, whether I have my fortune told or not. If it is to be a happy one it is well, and if not I shall know it soon enough,” said Scott.
“Let me tell it for you,” said the old dame, looking eagerly up.
“I did not come to have my fortune told; I only came as an attendant to these foolish young ladies,” Scott said, with a smile.
“Oh, yes,” said Nellie Blake, a pretty little blonde, shaking back her shining curls, “he calls us silly, when he is just dying to know his fortune, only he is afraid it will be a cloudy one. I dare him to have it told.”
Scott, smiling, said it would not do to have the young ladies think him a coward, so turning around gave the old gypsy his hand.
Zula, though tired and weak, meantime, watched through the crevice of the tent the faces of her kind deliverers. How bright and happy June looked, and26how wonderfully the pretty lavender suit she wore became her pink and white complexion, and Zula, contrasting her own dusky face with that of June, thought surely the angels in Heaven could not be sweeter or more holy than she.
Poor Zula! There she had been for nearly two days, lame and tired, and so weak, waiting like a prisoner until her sentence should expire, waiting for time to move and bring her a respite. She saw the carriage move away, drawn by two dapple-gray ponies; she heard its occupants laughing merrily. She sat wondering if her time had not nearly expired, for the sun was going down and the whippoorwill beginning his mournful song, and she wondered as she thought of the weird gypsy tales she had been told, if “poor will” had been whipped for nothing. She peeped out to gaze at the group around as Meg entered.
“If you are cured of your ugliness, now, you may come out and get some soup; there’s some onions and other stuff, too, that Crisp has brought in; no thanks to you though.”
As Meg said this she untied the cords, and Zula arose. She trembled in every limb, for the fast of two days had made her very weak, and her sunken eyes looked larger and blacker than ever. She followed Meg out of the tent and partaking of the soup she wandered away from the rest and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. Zula had but one thought, and that was revenge. She was puzzling her poor little tired brain as to how she should manage to injure Crisp. She looked up, and the object of her thoughts stood before her, and, casting27a look of fiendish exultation toward her, he said: “I guess you don’t hate me any more.”
Zula made no reply.
“Do you hate me, yet?” he asked again.
“Yes, I do hate you, Crisp, and I can’t help it.”
“I guess you want another dose of the lash, don’t you? If you do you can have it.”
Zula arose from the rough seat and took a step farther away from Crisp. Child though she was she looked up at the stars and made a firm resolution that she would in some way escape the surveillance of her cruel persecutor. He had never treated her as though she were his sister, and as each day his abuse of her grew more and more severe, her hatred increased.
“What would you give if I was to let you go without any more such threshings?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t give anything; for I don’t believe you’ll ever whip me that way again; I’ve been whipped enough.”
“You’ll find that out some other time.”
Zula made no reply, but when night came, and all were asleep, she lay planning a way to escape from the life she led.
“I believe I’ll comb my hair out sleek this morning,” she said to herself as she stood brushing back the heavy tangled mass. “I look awful dirty, but then we always look dirty.”
A heavy stroke on the shoulder startled her, as the voice of old Meg sounded close in her ear, saying:
“Here’s a whole basket full of work; now mind and28don’t come back till you sell every one of ’em, do ye hear?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t bring one back; if you do Crisp’ll settle ye.”
The last sentence decided the matter.
“No,” Zula answered, “I won’t bring any back.”
29CHAPTER IV.THE ESCAPE.
She took the basket and started for the city. She was very lucky for she sold more than she expected. The afternoon had nearly passed before her stock was gone. She wandered down High street, giving her basket to a little Irish beggar girl. She had not the slightest idea of where she should go, but she had made up her mind never to go back to Crisp and his mother, and if she were compelled to lie in the street she would never go back to live the life she had led.
“Out of the road, you little beggar,” called out a finely dressed boy, who was riding a bicycle, at the same time striking the wheels against Zula’s limbs and tearing an ugly rent in the flesh.
She turned quickly and catching the wheel held it as she looked straight into the boy’s face.
“What are you doing? You saucy thing,” he said, returning her searching glance.
“I am trying to see how you look,” she answered, “and I won’t never forget you.”
“I don’t ask you to; get out of my way or I’ll knock you down.”
“You ain’t a bit nice, if you do live in the city,” Zula said, and letting go the wheel she stepped aside and30stooping examined the smarting limb, from which the blood was flowing over her foot.
“Did he hurt you much, little girl?” asked a voice beside her.
Zula looked up, and beheld a lady who was about to enter the gate near where she stood. Her face was round and fair and her black silk dress and mantle lent a striking charm to the fair face and silvery hair.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked again. “Oh, dear, yes; see the blood.”
Zula’s heart was deeply touched. Kind words were so seldom spoken to her, that the lady’s words caused the tears to start.
“Don’t cry; it’s too bad, I know, but run home and get your mama to do it up for you.”
“I hain’t got any mama nor any home,” Zula said. “I hain’t got anybody to do it up for me.”
“Oh, that is too bad; well, come into my house and I will have Mary fix it up for you.”
She led Zula to the kitchen, where Mary, the servant girl, was busy finishing up the supper work.
“Well, now, Mrs. Platts, who have you got there?” Mary asked, in surprise.
“Why, it’s a little girl whom some rude boy ran against with his wheel, and you see how badly he has hurt her.”
The tears were still lingering on Zula’s cheeks.
“Poor dear,” Mary said; “why it’s terribly scratched. Where do you live, little girl?”
“I don’t live anywhere,” Zula answered, the tears again coming to her eyes.
31
“Well, then, where do you stay?”
“I don’t stay anywhere. I hain’t got anywhere to stay. Can’t I stay here to-night? I’ll sleep in the woodshed, and you can lock the door so I can’t steal anything.”
“Why, do you steal?” Mrs. Platts asked, in her kindly way.
“Sometimes I do.”
“Why, that is dreadfully wicked; don’t you know it is?”
“No.”
“It is, though.”
“Well, I won’t steal from you if you will let me stay in your shed all night.”
“I don’t see how we can have you around if you steal,” said Mary.
“But I won’t steal if you will let me stay; sure I won’t.”
“Why, who have we here, I wonder?”
Zula looked up and saw a portly, good-natured gentleman standing in the doorway, that led to the dining-room. She thought she had never seen a look as pleasant as that which beamed from the blue eyes, under the gold-bowed spectacles.
“It is a little girl who was hurt by a rude boy, and she says she has no home, and wants to stay all night, and will sleep in the woodshed. She says she steals sometimes, but we can lock her up if we want to.”
Mrs. Platts looked in pity, as she uttered the last sentence.
“A very honest thief, I should judge,” said Mr.32Platts, laughing at Zula’s remark. “I never before saw one honest enough to put people on their guard.”
“Shall we allow her to stay in the woodhouse?” Mrs. Platts asked of her husband.
“It seems to me that you might find a better place than that for her to sleep; she would be afraid to sleep there.”
“No, I ain’t afraid,” said Zula, brushing back her long black hair. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.”
“But you will be when the gas is lit, and we are in the house, and you out there in the dark.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Why do you wish to stay out there?” Mrs. Platts asked.
“’Cause I ain’t fit to stay in the house; I’m too—too bad looking.”
“What shall we do with her? I hate to turn her out again, but I suppose we will be compelled to.”
“Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these ye did it unto me,” said Mr. Platts, in a low voice. “Let her stay until morning at all events.”
“Why, to be sure she can sleep in the little bedroom off the kitchen, and I can go upstairs for to-night,” said Mary. “I think she will be all right if she has a bath, and she can wear some of my clothes, if they are too large.”
Mary’s heart was touched at the sight of Zula’s tears, but the keenest pity filled her heart when she saw the purple marks made by the lash across the tapering shoulders.
“Why, child,” she said, “what is this?”
33
“How came these long black marks on you shoulders?”
“Won’t you never tell if I’ll tell you?”
“No.”
“Sure? ’Cause if they’d find me they’d kill me.”
“Oh, dear, who would kill you?”
“Why, Crisp.”
“And who is Crisp?”
“Why, he’s my brother,” Zula said, lowering her voice to a soft whisper, “and if he finds me he’ll kill me.”
“Crisp,” Mary repeated. “What a funny name. But I thought you said you had no home.”
“Well, I hain’t got any, my mam she lets Crisp whip me and they kept me two days and all night without anything to eat and they tied me down to the ground, and I couldn’t hardly get up and then I was so lame, and when I got here that nasty boy run against me and hurt me, and it just seems as though I was made to hurt.”
“Poor little girl; it’s too bad. What is your name?”
“I hain’t got any name but Zula.”
“Zula? Well, I am sure that is a pretty name; but goodness! What a lovely head of hair for such a little mite as you. I wish I had it.”
“I wish I didn’t have it, for Crisp pulls it so hard that it seems to me I can’t stand it.”
“The wretch,” said Mary, energetically.
“I’ll never go and live with Crisp again if I can find any other place; would you, lady?”
“No,” Mary answered, thinking how odd and gypsy-like the expression sounded.
In the morning, Mary, after much persuasion, obtained34Zula’s consent to let Mrs. Platts know her story.
“She must have a home somewhere,” she said, “but for the present let her remain with us.”
So it was decided that Zula should stay. A seamstress was hired and a neat outfit of clothing made for Zula, who when she was dressed and her luxuriant hair braided and tied with bright ribbons, the change was so great that Mrs. Platts remarked that she really thought she was pretty, but when she first came she thought she was as black as a gypsy.
“Have you never been to school?”
“No—no, sir; we don’t go to school.”
“Did you not know it was wrong to steal?”
“No, sir; nobody ever told me it was wrong—nobody but one lady, and she was—oh, so sweet.”
“What was her name?”
“Her name; why it was June. I’ll never forget her face; I can see it now, and his, too.”
“His; whose?”
“I don’t know his name, but he was so kind to me.”
35CHAPTER V.ZULA’S FRIEND.
Neither Mr. Platts nor his wife had the remotest idea of giving Zula a permanent home, but there seemed nothing else to do but to let her remain, and as the days wore on, she seemed to be almost necessary to their household. She was ready to help in numerous ways and never expressed the least dissatisfaction when called upon to perform any duty, and to Mary’s comfort she seemed quite indispensable. Mr. Platts had remarked to his wife that it seemed a pity that Zula was growing up without at least a common education, and so after talking the matter over they decided to send her to school. She possessed a very strange nature; a strong will and a somewhat passionate temper, that had been tortured beyond the limits of saintly endurance; and though she was deeply affectionate, she was as strong to hate. The treatment which she had received had served to augment the fire of an already hasty temperament, and, never having received a kind word, it is not surprising that she hardly knew what love meant until she became an inmate of Mr. Platts’ home. As she looked each day on the still handsome faces of her kind36friends, she thought that, were it asked of her, she could give her life for their happiness. She was delighted when the plan of sending her to school was made known to her for, to use her own expression, “she could be like other girls,” and she really longed to know what school life was. She could forget neither a favor nor an injury, and it was not surprising that the children with whom she came in contact should often say that she was “a spunky little thing.”
“Don’t you think,” said one of her schoolmates to another, “that Zula is a mean little thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered the other. “What makes you think so?”
“Because she said the other day that she would slap my face.”
“What made her say that?”
“Why, just because I called her a little gypsy. I don’t care, now she does look just like one, doesn’t she?”
“Why, she has got black hair and black eyes, but lots of people have black hair and eyes who are not gypsies. I don’t believe gypsies ever have such beautiful shaped hands and fingers as she has.”
“But she has a black face, too.”
“Oh, no, her face isn’t black; it’s dark and so is your sister Cora’s.”
“Oh, look, there comes a band of gypsies; now just look how dirty some of them look, and what loads of beads they have in their baskets. I wish we had some, don’t you?”
At that moment Zula had reached the spot where the girls were standing.
37
“Dasn’t you go and ask them gypsies for some beads?” said the first speaker to Zula.
“No, I don’t like beads,” said Zula, hurrying on, and springing lightly into the doorway. Her face was pale and her heart beat quick and hard. She hurried up the stairway, which was well crowded with pupils, and gave a sigh of relief as she reached the top.
“What is the matter?” a teacher asked, who stood near. “Are you ill?”
“I had a pain in my side when I ran up stairs,” replied Zula.
She had seen Crisp and she knew that should he discover that she was there hope was lost.
“Oh, before I would be such a little coward, oh, ho! Afraid of a band of gypsies!” said a rude boy.
“I ain’t afraid,” said Zula, with flashing eyes.
“Oh, but they do say, though, that they will steal little boys and girls and take them away off,” said another.
“They won’t take her though,” broke in a third party, “she looks so much like one; they’d rather have little white ones.”
“Hush,” said the teacher, as Zula stepped forward and raised her hand as if to strike the offender, “stop this quarreling at once.”
Zula dropped her hand and turned quickly away. Her first impulse had been to strike the boy who had insulted her so, but her better nature prevailed and instead of angry words tears were called forth. The teacher after sternly rebuking the boy turned to Zula, saying:
38
“I am glad you did not give way to your passion. It was very good and brave of you.”
She looked out of the schoolroom window and saw the gypsy band turn down the road, which she knew they would take in their route from the city, for it was now about the latter part of September. She knew they had delayed starting out in the hope of finding her, but she concluded that they had given up the search. How her heart leaped as she saw Crisp moving away. He was her brother, but she could not remember one kind word he had ever spoken to her. She could not remember one kind act from her mother—not even one look. She wondered why it was that they seemed to hate her very presence and she sincerely hoped that she had looked on them for the last time. She was but a child, but she had experienced a woman’s heartaches. Only eleven summers had passed over her head, and yet she had seen no childhood. She was brave and ambitious, which traits were more essential than self-esteem, so that if she did sometimes get discouraged, and think she was the dullest person in the whole school, others looked on and admired the work she finally wrought. It was perhaps quite as well that she was ignorant of her own ability, for she had never possessed the opportunity to gain the first rudiments of a school education, and it was remarkable how rapidly she advanced. Had she known her capacity for devouring knowledge she might have been less eager to make up for lost time. The idea that there were any idle moments to be spent in the schoolroom never presented itself to her mind. Thus her time was well improved.
39CHAPTER VI.SILVERY WAVES.
Three years had passed since Zula entered the home of her kind benefactor. She had improved vastly in every way. In an atmosphere of love and sympathy, the passionate nature was growing more and more subdued, though the old spark was still lying deep down in her heart, and if not so often fanned to a flame was still there.
Mrs. Platts had decided to visit a sister, the wife of a merchant, who lived in the western town of Clear Lake, situated on a lake of the same name, whose waters are as clear as crystal, while its shores are lined with shells and pebbles of rare shapes and colors. Pleasure boats ply between the mainland and the island lying four miles out in the lake, whereon stands a commodious hotel, and where pleasure-seekers find a cool and pleasant resort during the heated months. Mrs. Platts’ sister, Mrs. Horton, like her sister, possessed a sweet disposition and lady-like manners. She was a fine looking woman, some years younger than Mrs. Platts. There had always existed a marked attachment between the two. She was the mother of two children; a boy of sixteen40and a girl of thirteen years of age. Guy was a very intelligent boy, stout and rosy, and very studious. He was usually in advance of his class and was called the best writer in school. In fact, so apt was he in his literary efforts that it had become a fixed idea with the people of the town that Guy Horton would, some day, make a mark in the world. Guy’s father was wealthy, and consequently Guy was not to receive one rebuke from strangers for fear of hurting his feelings. This Zula noticed, after a time, and she wondered why people were so much more careful of hurting the feelings of the rich than of the poor. Guy’s sister Carrie was a sweet-tempered girl, ever ready to oblige and seldom ill-tempered.
Mr. Horton always made the visits of his guests pleasant, although very much occupied with his business.
Mrs. Platts had prepared for Zula a liberal wardrobe, and when she stood before the mirror in her pretty dress of garnet with its satin folds, she wondered if the image she saw there was really Zula, the gypsy, or had she been transformed into a young princess, with sparkling eyes and raven hair. Although she had no idea that any one would think she was pretty, yet she was glad that the tan was wearing off, and that her hands had grown more plump and even more beautiful in shape than before. She wondered what Crisp would think of her now. She did not feel quite as much like shooting him as she had heretofore, but she would just like to see him unhappy, for she still carried the marks of his cruelty, and would carry them to her grave. She had said to Mrs. Platts:
41
“I do so want to take my little pistol, and shoot the heads off the little birds and squirrels, for I may forget how to shoot if I don’t.”
Mrs. Platts shuddered at the thought of so young a girl talking so freely of using firearms, but since Zula seemed to desire it so much she consented, first having gained a promise that she would be very careful, at which Zula gave a half-derisive smile. Truly there were many evils to root out of the girl’s nature, and Mrs. Platts had grown to the belief that it was her mission to do it, but she prayed for strength, believing that education and culture alone would do the work of reform, and though it would take patience on her part, she felt that there was too much good, too much that was really noble in the child to be lost. One afternoon about a week after her arrival at the home of Mr. Horton, Zula sat by the lakeside, whose waters were all aglow, sparkling like a thousand diamonds, as the soft winds made tiny waves, which rose and fell with a sweet musical sound. She had wandered down to the bank, alone, for she loved to go there and watch the little pleasure boats, and to gather the shells that lay along the shore. She sat with her broad-brimmed hat shading her face, and her lap half filled with pebbles. She was looking out over the waters, while her fingers, which held a pencil, rested on a little book which lay upon her knee.
“Bless me, there’s a pretty little gypsy; only look what a head of hair!”
Zula saw two fashionably dressed young ladies standing a short distance behind her.
“How do you know I’m a gypsy?” she asked, angrily.
42
“Goodness, did you hear me? Well, excuse me, then, please.”
“Yes, and I want you to tell me how you know I’m a gypsy.”
“Why, I only judged by those long beautiful braids, but I would know it now by the angry look in your black eyes; so now you may as well tell the truth about it.”
“It’s none of your business.”
A hearty laugh broke upon the air and floated away over the water. The young lady had spoken in jest, but her words went like a sharp pointed arrow straight down into Zula’s heart.
“You are saucy enough whatever you are.”
“I don’t care if I am,” said Zula. “If you don’t like me all you have to do is to let me alone.”
The young ladies walked on, laughing as they went.
Zula sat for some moments motionless and with eyes looking down into the clear water before her, thinking deeply. The little pebbles, round and white, which lay under the water, seemed to form themselves into tiny shapes. They rose and fell with the soft waves, washing up on the shore, and at last forming a castle—Zula’s castle, the first she had ever built. Tiny fish darted out and through its arches, sprinkling drops about with the dip of their silvery fins. The sunbeams gave a rich golden glow to the little castle so full of bright visions, for Zula saw within its walls sights so beautiful that they fairly made her heart leap for joy. She wondered if some day she would not wander through the halls of such a castle as she saw there. The tears began to drop one by one from the heavy black lashes.
43
“Oh, I wish I could; how I wish I could. I wonder if some day—but, oh, dear, I can’t—who ever heard of a gypsy——”
Her pencil went down making marks on the little book on her knee.
“Julia Ellis makes the loveliest pictures, without a bad line in them, and I wish, oh, how I wish——”
“Why, Cousin Zula, here you are, I have been looking all around for you, and here you are—drawing, too. What, you haven’t been crying? Are you homesick?”
“Oh, no. What made you think I had been crying?”
“I fancied I saw tears; that was all.”
“Well, I did cry a little. There were two of the sauciest young ladies here—no, I don’t believe theywereladies.”
“Were they rude to you?”
“I should think they were.”
“What did they say?”
“They thought I looked like a gypsy, and I told her it was none of her business if I was.”
“Why, Zula, did you tell her that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, it was not lady-like. Now if you are to be my cousin, you must let me talk to you like a cousin. It seems to me that was saucy.”
“Now you are scolding me, too. It seems to me that people like to scold me.”
“Oh, no, Zula, I am not scolding you, and you must not blame the lady for her thoughts, for, really, you do look like a gypsy.”
Zula drew herself up proudly.
44
“Well,” she said. “I can’t help it, and I don’t care to be told of it.”
“It’s no disgrace. I have seen many a pretty gypsy girl. There was one who belonged to a tribe that camped just a little way out of the village, last summer, and she certainly was a beauty, only she was so dark.”
“Well, I don’t want people to think I am one.”
“What are you doing, drawing?” Guy asked, as he discovered her pencil and book.
She covered the paper with her hand.
“Let me see it,” he said entreatingly.
“Will you promise that you will not laugh, and that you will never speak of it?”
“I promise.”
He took the book and looking at it closely, a smile passed over his face.
“Now you are laughing at me and you said you would not.”
“Was I laughing? I really did not mean to.”
“Perhaps you didn’t, but you felt laugh, just as I do when I feel angry. But tell me what do you think of it.”
“No, I would rather not.”
“You must.”
She said this with such vehemence that he started.
“Well, in that case I will.”
“Tell me, then, would you try again?”
“No, I do not believe I would, for I can see nothing to build on.”
Zula’s castle fell. She looked down into the clear water, and the shining pebbles lay loose and dull upon45the bottom of the lake. She turned quickly toward Guy, and catching the book from his hand, while tears of mortification and injured pride stood in her eyes, she said:
“I will never tell any one anything again, never.”
“I would not cry, Zula.”
“Did you never cry for disappointment?”
“No.”
“Then it was because you never had one. I do not believe any one ever told you that your work was worthless.”
“I suppose they had no reason to.”
Zula’s beautiful red lips curled scornfully. She could not but notice the self-esteem with which he uttered the words. But Guy could not see it. He thought they were true and he had received so much flattery that he doubted not a moment that Zula would consider his decision correct, which in fact she did accept.
Zula crushed the book tightly in her hand concealing it in her pocket, just as she looked up to see Carrie, who was coming in search of the missing pair. “Mama says come right home to tea; it is all ready.”
Carrie threw her arm around Zula’s waist, and as she did so her hand came in contact with the heavy braids of shining hair, which hung over Zula’s shoulders.
“What lovely hair you have,” Carrie said. “I never saw but one like it, and it was on the head of a handsome gypsy girl, who was here last summer.”
Zula’s eyes flashed and she closed her mouth tightly, with an inward determination to have at least half her46luxuriant hair cut off. Would she never cease to be reminded that she was a gypsy?
“Why, how angry you look,” said Carrie. “Don’t you like to have any one praise your hair?”
“No,” Zula answered, forcing a smile.
“Oh, you are a funny girl,” Carrie said, twining her arms around Zula’s waist in such a loving way that Zula began to cry.
“Please do not cry; I did not mean to hurt your feelings; I think your hair is so lovely that I could not help telling you so. Mama always says flattery is very silly, but really I did not mean it for that; I do think your hair is just splendid, but I will not let you know it any more.”
“Thank you,” said Zula, clasping Carrie’s little, soft white hand. “It is not you who is foolish, it is myself and I will try and behave a little better. I wish I were like you, Carrie, but I can’t be no matter how hard I try.”
“Oh, don’t wish to be like me. Sue Haines says I haven’t enough spunk ever to amount to anything in the world; but mama says it does not take spunk to amount to a good woman, and that, she says, is worth everything.”
“I think so, too,” said Zula, drying her eyes.
“We are all going to the island to-morrow,” said Guy. “There is to be an excursion, and I suppose we shall have any amount of fun.”
“Oh, won’t that be grand!” said Zula. “I do so love to be on the water.”
47
“Oh, I am always more than half afraid; but of course there is not the least bit of danger.”
“Not the least,” said Guy. “Please, Carrie, do not scare Zula so that she will not wish to go.”
“Oh, I am never afraid of the water; I love it.”
“I don’t believe you are afraid of anything. Why I would not dare to shoot off a pistol the way you do. I am almost afraid to look at one.”
Zula remarked, just as they were entering the house, that she wished there was nothing more for her to fear than pistols.
48CHAPTER VII.THE DISASTER.
The next morning’s sun rose clear and bright, and by nine o’clock the town was swarming with pleasure-seekers. The little steamer lay at the landing awaiting its burden of human freight. The boat was already fast filling up with old and young, grave and gay.
A little party, which consisted of Mrs. Horton, Mr. and Mrs. Platts, Guy, Zula and Carrie, entered the boat.
The boat had been under way a short time, when Carrie exclaimed, with a look of alarm: “Oh, Zula, what is the matter?”
Zula looked up and saw that each face around had become serious.
Guy answered the question, though apparently unconcerned.
“The water is coming into the boat.”
One after another arose to their feet.
“What is it?” ran from mouth to mouth.
“The boat has sprung a leak.”
A wild, despairing cry went up from the frightened crowd, and then the color fled from each face until one looking over the pitiful scene of white and agonized49faces turned toward Heaven, would almost have thought the sea had given up its dead.
The water which was fast running into the boat defied the laborious task of bailing, and one brave man after another, overcome with heat and labor, surrendered and was brought on deck fainting. At last when all efforts were found to be unavailing, the captain, with haggard face and ashen lips, gave the command to repair to the upper deck. It was the last hope. The scene of that moment cannot be portrayed. Parents who had left children on the mainland, and children who had gone abroad without their parents, called in vain for loved ones, and wringing their hands, mingled their tears, and praying, cursing, and weeping, words of regret and heart-rending shrieks, all mingled in one mighty cry, went up to Heaven through the still air, while death seemed to stand and mock them in their agony, hopeless, out upon the water in a frail boat, which in a few moments more would go down, down, consigning them to a watery grave.
Mrs. Horton, in mute despair, clasped the hands of her sister and daughter. Guy had stepped a little aside, and with a very solemn look, was studying what course to pursue, as the agony and excitement of all seemed to settle to a dumb despair and a resignation of the fate that awaited them, and one by one they sank to the floor, giving themselves up to the mercy of the waters.
The flag of distress had been raised, but the steamer, yet three miles away from the mainland, where the rowboats lay, was steadily, but slowly and surely going down. Would they reach the sinking vessel in time to50save any of the victims? Ah, how anxiously they watch while there seems but a step between them and eternity.
Every eye was directed toward the mainland, from which were coming a large number of rowboats. Nearer they come, one after another, bringing a faint ray of hope to the leaden hearts. The steamer is sinking, sinking, oh, will they reach her in time to rescue the precious load of humanity? Something seems to buoy her up, as though stayed by the hand of Providence. The little boats fairly fly over the water and at last they reach the sinking steamer, and are filled and rowed safely to the island. Back and forth they go until there is one more load left. The last boat is nearly filled and all have descended with the exception of Guy and Zula. How fast they crowd to their places; these frightened people, seemingly so selfish because life is at stake. Guy and Zula hold back. They are both cooler than the rest, and perhaps less fearful.
“Alas,” the pilot says, “the boat will not hold one more.”
“Oh, just one,” Guy says, motioning Zula to go.
“No, not one; it is already a risky load. One more may sink all; you must wait.”
Away goes the heavily laden boat, and faster and yet faster, down—down goes the sinking vessel. The deck but just clears the water, and there stand Guy and Zula waiting, with but a moment between them and death. How calmly they wait. Guy clasps her hand, his face has grown pale.
“Zula,” he says, “I can swim, but you shall not go51down alone. The lifeboat cannot possibly return in time to take us away.”
Zula draws her hand away, and, stooping, unfastens and draws her shoes from her feet, then turning to Guy she says in a cool and fearless manner:
“I have no idea of going down.”
“I am not an expert swimmer and perhaps I can do no more than save myself; but I will try to save you.”
“See, we must be quick,” he said, again offering his hand.
She drew back hurriedly, saying:
“Save yourself, Cousin Guy.”
At that moment the boat careened, a splashing of the pipes in the water and down, down, down she went out of sight.
A heart-rending cry arose from the boat nearing the island. Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Platts anxiously watching the two standing on the vessel’s deck saw them strike the water and then all hope was lost. They buried their faces in their hands to shut out the very thought of the terrible sight.
But see! what is that? Each eye is strained to catch the sight.
Their hearts almost stand still as they watch two heads above the water, and as they near the island they are soon followed by Zula, who smiles as she steps on the shore. Guy soon follows, and brushes the water from his hair. The two are soon surrounded by friends and strangers with numerous words of praise for Zula’s bravery. She was glad to get to the hotel, where the ladies were only too eager to provide her with dry52clothing. There was nothing else talked of for the remainder of the day, but the disaster and the wonderful heroism of the little black-eyed girl, and when the pleasure-seekers were rowed back to the town by moonlight, all acknowledged that it had been a day which would not soon be forgotten.
The summer passed away, and Zula had been happy, but there was a tiny cloud in the background of her life, a fear that Crisp would, some day steal in upon her happiness and blight her life by taking her back to the old one of shadow and suffering. She had become warmly attached to Carrie and Guy, and often would she look at him and wish so earnestly that Crisp were like him. How happy she would be, and how she would love Crisp if he were like Guy. But Crisp was cruel, heartless and ignorant, never giving her a kind word, but instead cruel taunts and blows. When her mind wandered over those things she could not choke down the feeling of bitterness that struggled in her bosom, and she would whisper to herself that some day she would have her revenge. How little she knew in what way her revenge would be given.