The heiress of Greenhurst

by Ann S. Stephens

I cannot tell what it was, but some strange magnetic influence possessed my mother. As her slender limbs were prepared for the first graceful bound, her spirited ankle strained back, and one little foot just ready to spurn the turf, a wonderful fascination came over her. She stood a moment immovable, frozen into that graceful attitude, her eyes fixed upon the stranger’s, her red lips parted in a half smile, checked and still as her limbs. Then the eyelids, with their long, thick lashes, began to quiver, and drooped heavily downward, veiling the fire of those magnificent eyes. The tension slowly left her muscles, and with the castanets hanging loose in her hands, she drooped languidly toward the youth, as a flower bends on its stalks when the sunshine is too warm.

He addressed her in English, but, though she did not understand his words, the very sound of his voice made her shiver from head to foot. He spoke again and smiled pleasantly, not as men smile with their lips alone, but with a sort of heart-bloom spreading all over the face. She looked up, and knew that he was asking her to dance; but she, whose muscles up to that moment had answered to her will, as harp-strings obey the master-touch, found all her power gone. She could not even lift her eyes to meet the admiring glance bent upon her, but shrunk timidly, awkwardly—if a creature so full of native grace could be awkward—away, and burst into tears.

That instant there came leaping up from a neighboring hollow, the half dozen gipsy girls that my mother had forsaken in the woods. On they came like a troop of young antelopes, leaping, singing, rattling their castanets, and surrounding the stranger with smiles, gestures, and sounds of eager glee.

He looked around, surprised and smiling. The scene took him unawares. His heart was brimful of that sweet romance that hovers forever like a spirit about the place, and this picturesque exhibition startled him into enthusiasm. It was like enchantment. The wild poetry of the past acted before him. His dark grey eyes grew brilliant with excitement. He smiled, nay, even laughed gaily, scattering silver among the troop of dark browed fairies that had beset his way. There was something eager and grasping in the manner of these girls as they scrambled for the money, pushing each other aside with lightning flashes of the eye, and searching avariciously among the grass when all had been gathered up.

You could see that the young man was very fastidious from the effect this had upon him. A look of disappointment, tinged with contempt, swept the happy expression from his face; and when they began a new dance, less modest than the preceding, he motioned them to desist. But they were not to be driven away; he had been too liberal for that. They drew back a little, but continued to dance, some moving around him on the avenue, others choosing the turfy bank. Still he beckoned them to desist, but misunderstanding his gestures, they became subdued, threw a more voluptuous spirit into the dance, and the languor that tamed down each movement seemed a portion of the balmy atmosphere, so subtle and enervating was the effect.

But the stranger was no ordinary man. The very efforts that would have charmed others, created a singular feeling of repulsion in him. He turned from the dancing girls with a look of weariness, and would have moved on; but disappointed in the result of the last effort, they sprang into his path like so many bacchantes, making the soft air vibrate with the rapidity and force of their movements. Half clothed—for the garments of these young creatures reached but little below the knees, their slender limbs and small, naked feet exposed in the wild frenzy of their exertions, eager as wild animals who have tasted blood—they beset his way with bolder and more desperate attempts to charm forth a new supply of coin.

In the midst of this wild scene, the young man chanced to turn his eyes upon my mother. She was standing apart, not drooping helplessly as at first, but upright, spirited, with a curve of invincible scorn upon those red lips, and a blush glowing like fire over every visible part of her person. For the first time in her life, she seemed to be aroused to the character of her national dance: for the first time in her life the young gipsy had learned to blush.

The Englishman was struck by her appearance, and made an effort to draw near, but his wild tormentors followed close, and, to free himself, he adroitly flung a handful of small coin far up the avenue. Away sprang the whole group, shouting, leaping, and hustling each other about, as they cleared the distance between themselves and the Englishman.

He approached my mother with a little reluctance, such as a man feels when he tries a new language, and uttered a few words in Spanish.

“Why do you remain behind? There is money up yonder,” he said.