OUR GIPSY.
"Leaping spirits bright as air,
Dancing heart untouched by care,
Sparkling eye and laughing brow,
And mirthful cheek of joyous glow."
n the spring Louis and Archie were to go to New York and enter college. The squire, who was dying by inches of the inaction at Sunset Hall, resolved to accompany them; and Lizzie, rousing herself from her indolence, also resolved to accompany them. Doctor Wiseman intended sending Minnette to boarding-school, and Miss Hagar offered to send Celeste, likewise, if she would go; but Celeste pleaded to remain and go to the Sisters; and as it happened to be just what Miss Hagar wished, she consented.
The evening before that fixed for the departure of the boys was spent by them at the Valley Cottage. Archie was in unusually boisterous spirits, and laughed till he made the house ring. Louis, on the contrary, was silent and grave, thinking sadly of leaving home and of parting with his friends.
Celeste, who always caught her tone from those around her, was one moment all smiles at one gay sally of Archie's, and the next sighing softly as her eye fell upon the grief-bowed young head of Louis. Miss Hagar sat by the fire knitting, as stiff, and solemn, and grave as usual.
"It will be a year—twelve whole months—before we all meet again," said Louis, with a sigh.
"Oh, dear!" said Celeste, her eyes filling with tears; "it will be so lonesome. It seems to me the time will never pass."
"Oh, it will pass—never fear," said Archie, in the confident tone of one who knows he is asserting a fact; "and we'll come back young collegians—decidedly fast young men—Mirabile dictu—that's Latin—and I'll marry you, sis. Oh, I forgot Gipsy."
Here Archie's face suddenly fell to a formidable length, and he heaved a sigh that would have inflated a balloon.
"Oh, if Gipsy were here it wouldn't be a bit lonesome—I mean, not so much. Minnette's going away, too," said Celeste, sadly.
"Well, you needn't care for her, I'm sure," said Archie, gruffly. "She's as sharp as a bottle of cayenne pepper, and as sour as an unripe crab-apple. For my part, I'm glad to be out of the way of her dagger-tongue."
"Oh, Archie, please don't," said Celeste, gently. "How do you know but she likes you now, after all?"
"Likes me? Oh, that's too good. Hold me, somebody, or I'll split!" exclaimed Archie, going off into an inextinguishable fit of laughter at the very idea.
Louis rose and went to the door; Celeste followed him, leaving Archie to recover from his laughter and expatiate to Miss Hagar on the pleasures and prospects he hoped to enjoy in Gotham.
It was a beautiful moonlight night. The bright May moon shed a shower of silvery glory over the cottage, and bathed them in its refulgent light.
"Oh, Louis, what is the matter?" said Celeste, laying her hand on his arm. "Are you so sorry for leaving home?"
"I don't care for that, Celeste; I am sorry to leave you."
"But it's only for a year. I will be here when you come back."
"Will you, Celeste?"
"Why, yes, Louis, of course I will."
"Oh, no, you won't, Celeste. There will be something here taller and more womanly, who will talk and act like a young lady, and whom I will call Miss Pearl; but the little, gentle Celeste will be here no longer."
"Well, won't it be the same with you?" said Celeste, with an arch smile. "Something will come back taller and more manly, who will talk and act like a young gentleman, and whom I must call Mr. Oranmore, I suppose. But the Louis who brings me pretty books, and calls me 'the Star of the Valley,' I will never see again."
"Oh, Celeste, you know better than that. Will you think of me sometimes when I am gone?"
"Oh, yes, always. What a strange question! Why, I never thought of asking you to think of me, though you are going among so many strangers, who will make you forget all your old friends."
"You know I couldn't forget any of my old friends, Celeste, much less you. I shall think of you, and Miss Hagar, and Mrs. Gower, and—yes, and poor Gipsy every day. See, I have brought you a parting gift, Celeste, for your celestial little neck."
So saying, he drew out a little gold chain and cross, and threw it over the graceful neck that bent to receive it.
"Oh, thank you, dear Louis. I shall prize your gift so much. How kind and thoughtful of you! I wish I had something to give you in return."
"One of your curls will do."
"Will it? Oh, then you shall have it."
So saying, she drew out a tiny pair of scissors and severed a long, shining ring of gold from her bright little head.
"Hallo! what's this? Exchanging true lovers' tokens, by all that's tender! Ha, ha, ha!" shouted Master Rivers, appearing suddenly, and roaring with laughter.
"Confound you!" muttered Louis, giving him a shake. "And now I must go and bid Miss Hagar good-bye. Archie, go off and bring the gig round. Celeste, stay here; I'll be with you again in a minute."
So saying, Louis entered the cottage, shook hands with the hoary spinster, who bade him be a good boy, and not bring back any city habits. Then going to the door, where Celeste still stood looking on her cross, and closing her eyes to force back the tears that were fast gathering in them, he took her in his arms and said:
"And now good-bye, little darling. Don't quite forget Louis."
"Oh, Louis," was all she could say, as she clung to his neck and sobbed on his shoulder.
He compressed his lips and resolutely unclasped her clinging arms; then pressing his lips to her fair brow, he leaped into the gig, seized the reins, and, in his excitement, dashed off, quite forgetting Archie, who had lingered to say good-bye to Celeste.
Archie rushed after him, shouting "Stop thief! stop thief!" until Louis, discovering his mistake, pulled up, and admitted that wronged and justly-indignant young gentleman.
"Now for Deep Dale, to bid good-bye to Minnette and Old Nick," said Archie, irreverently, "and then hie for Sunset Hall."
"Yes, poor Celeste," said Louis, with a sigh, evidently forgetting he had a companion; whereupon Archie again went into convulsions of laughter, kicking up his heels and snapping his fingers in an ectasy of delight. Louis found his example so contagious, that—after trying for a few moments to preserve his gravity—he, too, was forced to join in his uproarious mirth.
On their arrival at Deep Dale they found the doctor in his study. Louis bade him a formal farewell; and having learned that Minnette was in the parlor, he went down to seek her, accompanied by Archie.
She sat in her usual attitude, gazing intently out of the window at the cold moonlight. She looked up as they entered, and started violently as she perceived who were her visitors.
"Well, Minnette, we've come to bid you good-bye," said Archie, gayly, throwing his arms round her neck and imprinting a cousinly salute on her cheek. "Good-bye for twelve months, and then hie for home and a happy meeting. Louis, I leave you to make your adieux to Minnette, while I make mine to old Suse, down in the kitchen. Mind, Minnette, don't give him one of your curls, as I saw another little girl do awhile ago, unless he gives you a gold cross and chain in return for it—he gave her one." And with a mischievous laugh, Archie clattered down stairs, taking half the staircase at a bound.
She drew herself back and up; and the hand she had half extended to meet his was withdrawn, as, with a cold formal bow, she said:
"Farewell! I wish you a safe journey and a happy return."
"And nothing more? Oh, Minnette! Is it thus old friends, who have known each other from childhood, are to part? Just think, we may never meet again!"
"Do you care?" she asked, in a softened voice.
"Care! Of course I do. Won't you shake hands, Minnette! You're not half as sorry to let me go as little Celeste was."
"Oh, no; I don't lose so much. I have no books, nor flowers, nor visits, nor gold crosses to lose by your absence," she said, sarcastically—her face, that had softened for a moment, growing cold and hard at the mention of her name. "Good-bye Louis, and—I wish you all success and happiness."
The hand she extended was cold as ice. He pressed it between his, and gazed sadly into the clear, bright eyes that defiantly met his own.
"Come, Louis, don't stay there all night!" called Archie, impatiently. "Old Suse has been hugging and kissing me till I was half smothered, down there in the kitchen; and it didn't take her half the time it does you two. Come along."
"Good-bye! good-bye!" said Louis, waving his hand to Minnette, who followed him to the door; and the next moment they were dashing along at break-neck speed toward Sunset Hall.
The moonlight that night fell on Celeste, kneeling in her own little room, praying for Louis and Archie, and sobbing in unrestrained grief whenever her eye fell upon the bright gold cross—his parting gift. Appropriate gift from one who seemed destined to never lay aught but crosses upon her!
It fell upon Minnette, sitting still by the window, with a face as cold and white as the moonlight on which she gazed. She did not love Louis Oranmore; but she admired him—liked him better than any one else she knew, perhaps, because he was handsome. But she hated Celeste; and his evident preference for her kindled up the flames of jealousy in her passionate soul, until she could have killed her without remorse.
The next morning the gay party set out for New York; and in due course of time they reached that city, and put up at one of the best hotels.
"Suppose we go to the opera to-night?" said Lizzie to the squire, as she sat—all her languor gone—looking out of the window at the stream of life flowing below.
"Just as you like—it's all one to me," said the squire, with most sublime indifference.
"Then the opera be it," said Lizzie, and the opera, accordingly, it was. And a few hours later found them comfortably seated, listening to the music, and gazing on the gayly-attired people around them.
"How delightful this is!" exclaimed Lizzie, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"Humph!—delightful! Set of fools! 'All is vanity,' as Solomon says. Wonder who foots the bills for all this glittering and shaking toggery?" grunted the squire.
"I've heard them say that the young danseuse, 'La Petite Eaglet,' is going to dance to-night," said Louis. "Everybody's raving about her."
"Why? Is she so beautiful?" inquired Lizzie.
"No, I believe not; it's because she dances so well," replied Louis.
At this moment the curtain arose, a thunder of applause shook the house, and La Petite Eaglet herself stood before them. A little straight, lithe figure, arrayed in floating, gauzy robes of white silver tissue, and crowned with white roses—a small, dark, keen, piquant face—bright, roguish eyes, that went dancing like lightning around the house. Suddenly her eye fell on our party from St. Mark's; a slight start and a quick removal of her eyes followed. The applause grew deafening as the people hailed their favorite. She bowed. The music struck merrily up, and her tiny feet went glancing, like rain-drops, here and there. She seemed floating in air, not touching the ground, as she whirled, and flew, and skimmed like a bird in the sunshine. The squire was dizzy—absolutely dizzy—looking at her. His head was going round, spinning like a top, or like her feet, as he gazed. Lizzie and Louis were entranced, but Archie, after the first glance, sat with dilating eyes and parted lips—incredulous, amazed, bewildered—with a look of half-puzzled, half-delighted recognition on his face.
Still the little dancer whirled and pirouetted before them; and when she ceased a shout of applause thundered through the building, shaking it to its center. Flowers, wreaths, and bouquets fell in showers around her; ladies waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their little hands in the excitement of the moment. The opera-going world seemed to have gone mad. And there stood the little Eaglet, bowing to the delighted audience, the very impersonification of self-possession and grace.
Suddenly, rising as if to speak, she removed the crown of roses from her head. There was a profound, a dead silence, where lately all had been uproar. Every eye was bent in wonder—every neck was strained to see what she was about to do.
Taking one step forward, she fixed her eyes on the box occupied by the squire and his family. Every eye, as a matter of course, turned in that direction likewise. Raising the wreath, she threw it toward them, and it alighted in triumph on the brow of the squire.
In a moment she was gone. Up sprang Archie, quite regardless of the thousands of eyes upon him, and waving his cap in the air above his head, he shouted, in wild exultation:
"I knew it! I knew it! It's our Gipsy!—it's Gipsy Gower!"