"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 would plunge 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 but no? 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 be to 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!"