Amazement and rage were struggling in the breast of the squire. Doubting whether it was all a delusion, he rushed up stairs to the room. The door was still fast; and, burning with impatience, he opened it. And there he found the window wide open, and his new suit converted into a rope, which still dangled, as if in exultation from the window. And the mystery was solved.
What the squire said and did there, it is useless to say. The reader knows his remarks were anything but edifying; and even the august presence of the overturned bishop could not prevent him from hurling a torrent of invectives against the unfortunate Gipsy. Never had Squire Erliston been so angry in his life. Inwardly vowing that she should repent what she had done, the squire "bided his time"—little dreaming how bitterly he was destined to repent that vow.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE MOONLIGHT FLITTING.
"Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd;
She was a vixen when she went to school,
And though she is but little, she is fierce."
he moonlight was falling brightly on the lawn, and shimmering like silver sheen on the leaves of the horse-chestnuts, as Gipsy rode home. The company had just dispersed, and the squire was about to retire, when the clatter of horse's hoofs on the graveled path made him start up and hasten out to the porch. And there he beheld the audacious Gipsy riding fearlessly toward him, shouting at the top of her lungs some wild chorus, of which he only caught the words:
"You must place in my coffin a bottle of red,
And say a good fellow is gone."
"If I don't pay her off before I sleep to-night!" muttered the squire, between his clenched teeth. "I'll put an end to her pranks, or know for why."