"Let us go down," said Celeste, with a sigh.
"Yes, let us go. Do you know, Celeste, I read once of a man whom the Indians were going to burn to death at the stake, and who began cursing them when they led him there for making him wait so long. Now I feel just like that man; since I am to be doomed to the stake—why, the sooner the torture is over the better."
She looked so beautiful, so bewitching, yet so mocking and unreal, so like a spirit of air, as she spoke, that, almost expecting to see her vanish from her sight, Celeste caught her in her arms, and gazed upon her with pitying, yearning, love-lit eyes, from which the tears were fast falling.
"Don't cry for me, Celeste; you make me feel more like an imp than ever. I really think I must be a family relation of the goblin page we read about in the 'Lay of the Last Minstrel,' for I feel like doing as he did, throwing up my arms, and crying, 'Lost!' I'm sure that goblin page would have made his fortune in a circus, since his ordinary mode of walking consisted of leaps of fifty feet high or so. Crying still, Celeste! Why, I thought I'd make you laugh. Now, Celeste, if you don't dry your eyes, I'll go right up to where Aunty Gower keeps prussic acid for the rats, and commit suicide right off the reel. I've felt like doing it all the time lately, but never so much so as when I see you crying for me. Why, Celeste, I never was worth one tear from those blue eyes, body and bones. What's the use of anybody's grieving for a little, mad, hare-brained thing like me? I'll do well enough; I'll be perfectly happy—see if I don't! It will be such glorious fun, you know, driving Spider mad! And, oh, won't I dose him! Tra! la, la, la, la, la!" and Gipsy waltzed airily around the room.
At this moment there came a knock at the door. Celeste opened it, and Mrs. Gower, in the well-preserved silk and lace cap she had worn years before to Lizzie Oranmore's wedding, stood in the doorway.
"Oh, Celeste! why don't you hurry? Where is Gipsy? Oh, good gracious, child! not dressed yet? What on earth have you been doing? The people have been waiting these two hours, almost, in the parlors! Do hurry, for mercy sake, and dress!"
"Why, aunty, I am dressed. Don't you see I am all ready to become Mrs. Wiseman?"
"But my dear child, that black dress——"
"This black dress will do very well—suits my complexion best, which is rather of the mulatto order than otherwise; and it's a pity if a blessed bride can't wear what she likes without such a fuss being made about it. Now, aunty, don't begin to lecture—it'll only be a waste of powder and a loss of time; and I'm impatient to arrive at the place of execution."
Mrs. Gower sank horrified into a chair, and gazed with a look of despair into the mocking, defiant eyes of the elfin bride.