Sharing Her Crime: A Novel

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  CELESTE'S TRIAL.

  "This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again. He turned his charger as he spoke, Upon the river shore; He gave the reins a shake, and said, Adieu forevermore, My love! Adieu forevermore."

  "Marry Celeste Pearl!--a girl without a farthing! a beggar! a foundling!I'm astonished, thunderstruck, _speechless_, sir, at your audacity inproposing such a thing! I _have_ objections, sir--most _de_-cidedobjections, sir! Don't ever let me hear you mention such a thing again!"

  And Squire Erliston stamped up and down, red with rage and indignation.

  Louis stood with darkening brows, flashing eyes, and folded arms, beforehim--outwardly quiet, but compressing his lips to keep down the fierytide of his rising passion.

  "What are your objections, sir?" he asked, with forced calmness.

  "Objections! Why, sir, there's so many objections that I can't enumeratethem. First place, she hasn't a cent; second, nobody knows who or whatshe is; third, she'll never do for my granddaughter-in-law. Therefore,sir, please drop the subject; I never want to hear anything more aboutit--for I shouldn't consent if you were to plead on your knees. Thegirl's a good girl enough in her place, but she won't do for the wife ofLouis Oranmore. What, sir, consent that you, the heir to the richestlanded estate this side the north pole, should marry a poor, unknownbeggar-girl, who has lived all her life on the charity of others! No,sir, never!" said the squire, furiously, flinging himself into hischair, and mopping his inflamed visage.

  The face of Louis was white with suppressed rage, and with an expressionof ungovernable anger, he burst from the room. In his fierce excitementhe saw not whither he went, until he ran full against Totty, who wasentering, with a letter in her hand.

  "Lor', Mas'r Lou, how you scare me! You like to knock me upside down.Hi! here's a 'pistle for you, what Curly, old Miss Ager's gal, broughtover, an' told me her young Miss 'Sless sent you."

  "From Celeste," exclaimed Louis, snatching it from her hand and tearingit open. His gifts fell to the floor; and scarcely able to believe hissenses, he read its contents--his brow growing darker and darker as heread. He crushed it fiercely in his hand as he finished, and paced upand down the long hall like a madman.

  "And such is woman's love!" he exclaimed, with a scornful laugh. "Shegives me up, and bids me be happy with Minnette. What drove thatjealous girl to love me; and to make Celeste believe I loved her first?Everything seems to cross my path--this mad girl's passion, and mygrandfather's obstinate refusal. Well, she shall be mine, in spite offate. I will marry her privately, and take her with me to Italy. Yes,that is the only plan. I will ride over to the cottage, and obtain herconsent; and then, let those I leave behind do as they will, myhappiness will be complete."

  So saying, he quitted the house, mounted his horse, and rode rapidlytoward the cottage.

  Celeste was in the garden, binding up a broken rose-bush--looking paler,but lovelier than ever. She uttered a half-stifled cry as she saw him,and the last trace of color faded from her face as he leaped from hishorse and stood beside her.

  "Celeste, what means this?" he demanded, impetuously. "Do you reallybelieve this tale told you by Minnette?"

  "Oh, Louis, is it not true?" exclaimed Celeste, clasping her hands.

  "True! Celeste, Celeste! do you take me to be such a villain? As heavenhears me, I never spoke a word of love to her in my life!"

  This was true in the letter, but not in the spirit. He had never_spoken_ of love to Minnette, but he had _looked_ it often enough.

  "Thank heaven!" exclaimed Celeste, impulsively, while she bowed her facein her hands and wept.

  "Dear Celeste," said Louis, drawing her gently toward him, "do youretract those cruel words you have written? You will not give me up,will you?"

  "Oh, no! not _now_," replied Celeste, yielding to his embrace. "Oh,Louis, what do you suppose made Minnette say such dreadful things to melast night?"

  "Because--I beg you will not think me conceited, dearest--she fanciesshe loves me, and is jealous of you. Perhaps, too, she thinks if I didnot love you, I might return her affection; and the only way to end herchimerical hopes is by our immediate union. Say, dear love, when willyou be mine?"

  "Oh, Louis! I do not know," said Celeste, blushing scarlet. "I do notwant to be married so soon, and--you must ask your grandfather."

  "I have asked him, dearest."

  "And he----"

  "_Refused!_ I knew it would be so. He is obstinate and eccentric. But,Celeste, his refusal need make no difference to us."

  She raised her blue eyes to his face, with a look of unconcealed wonder.

  "We can be privately wedded, and I will take you with me to Europe,where we will reside until I have succeeded in pacifying the squire withmy course."

  She stood before him, looking calmly and gravely in his face. His voicewas low, but full of passion, and he saw not that earnest, sorrowfulgaze.

  "Say, Celeste--dearest Celeste--do you consent?" he asked, his eyesfilled with fire, as he strove to clasp her. She shrank away, almost infear, and pushed back his hands.

  "Oh, Louis! don't, don't," she cried, sadly.

  "But you will consent? you will go with me?" he said, eagerly,passionately.

  "Oh, no, no!--no, no! I cannot--it is impossible."

  "Impossible! _Why_, Celeste?"

  "It would be wrong."

  "Wrong! Because an old man objects to your want of fortune, it would bewrong to marry me. Nonsense, Celeste!"

  "It would be wrong to disobey your grandfather, Louis."

  "Not in a case like this, Celeste. I am not bound to obey him when he isunreasonable."

  "He is not unreasonable in this, Louis. It is very reasonable he shouldwish you to marry one your equal in wealth and social position."

  "And would _you_ have me marry for wealth and social position, Celeste?"he asked, reproachfully.

  "Oh! no, no! Heaven forbid! But I would not marry you against his will.We can wait--a few years will not make much difference, dear Louis. Weare both young, and can afford to be patient."

  "Patience! Don't talk to me of patience!" he exclaimed, passionately."You never loved me; if you had you would not stand thus on a littlepoint of decorum. You are your own mistress--you have no parents to whomyou owe obedience; my mother is willing enough, and yet, because an oldman objects to your want of money, you stand there in your cold dignity,and exhort me to be patient and wait. Celeste, I _will not_ wait. You_must_ come with me to Italy!"

  But she only stood before him, pale and sad, but firm and unyielding.

  Long and eloquently he pleaded, passionately and vehemently he urgedher, but all in vain. She listened and answered by silence and tears,but steadily and firmly refused to consent.

  "Well, Celeste, will you come?" he asked, at length, after a long andearnest entreaty.

  "Louis, I cannot. Not even for your sake can I do what my consciencetells me would be wrong. You say your grandfather has no right tocontrol you in your choice of a wife. It may be so; but even in thatcase I would not marry you against his wishes. Perhaps I am proud andsinful; but, Louis, I could never enter a family who would not bewilling to receive me. Besides, my duty is here with Miss Hagar. If Iwere to marry you, what would become of her, alone and childless. No,Louis, I am not so utterly selfish and ungrateful. Do not urge mefurther, as I see you are about to do, for my resolution is unalterable.Yielding as my nature naturally is, I can be firm at times; and in thiscase, nothing that you can say will alter my determination."

  He stood erect before her, his fine face clouded with anger andmortification.

  "This, then, is your last resolve?" he said, coldly.

  "It is. Dear Louis, forgive me if I have caused you pain. Believe me, ithas grieved me deeply to be obliged to speak thus," she said, laying herhand upon his arm, and looking up pleadingly, sorrowfully, in his face.

  "Oh!
do not trouble yourself about grieving me, fair Celeste," he said,scornfully; "the glamour has faded from my eyes, that is all. I fanciedyou little less than an angel. I was fool enough to believe you loved mewell enough to brave even the opinion of the world for my sake. I findyou are only a woman, after all, with more pride and ambition than lovefor me. Well, be it so. I have never sued for the favor of any one yet,and cannot begin now. Farewell, Celeste; forgive me for trespassing thuslong upon your time, but it will be long before it happens again."

  He turned away with a haughty bow. She saw he was angry, disappointedand deeply mortified, and tears sprang to her gentle eyes.

  "Oh, Louis!" was all she could say, as sobs choked her utterance.

  He turned round and stood gazing coldly upon her.

  "Well, Miss Pearl," he said, calmly.

  "Oh, Louis! _dear_ Louis! forgive me! do not be angry with yourCeleste. Oh, Louis! I am sorry I have offended you."

  "I am not angry, Miss Pearl; only a little disappointed. You have aperfect right to reject me if you choose. My only regret is that Ishould have troubled you so long. I have the honor to wish yougood-day."

  And with the last bitter words he sprang on his horse, and in a fewminutes was out of sight.

  All Celeste's fortitude gave way then; and sinking on a seat, she hidher face in her hands and wept the bitterest tears she had ever shed inher life. Louis was gone, and in anger, believing her proud, artful, andfickle--perhaps he would love her no more; and her bosom heaved withconvulsive sobs at the thought.

  All that day and the next, and the next, Louis came not. How wearily thehours dragged on while she sat listening in vain for his coming. Takingher work, she would sit by the window commanding a view of the road, andstrain her eyes in the fruitless endeavor to catch a glimpse of histall, elegant figure. At every noise she would start convulsively, and awild thrill would dart through her heart, in the hope that it might behis footsteps. Then sinking back disappointed, she would close her eyesto force back the gathering tears, and strive to keep down the chokingsensation that would arise to her throat. And when night fell, and stillhe came not, unable longer to restrain herself, she would hastily seekher own chamber, and weep and sob until, utterly prostrated in mind andbody, the morning would find her pale, ill, and languid, with slow stepand heavy, dimmed eyes.

  The morning of the fourth day came, and this suspense was growingintolerable. Breakfast had passed untasted, and suffering with a dull,throbbing headache, she was about to quit the room, when the sound of ahorse's hoofs thundering down the road made her leap to her feet with awild thrill of joy that sent new light to her, eyes and new color to hercheeks.

  "He is come! he is come!" she exclaimed, rushing to the door. A cry ofdisappointment almost escaped her, as her eye fell on Gipsy in the actof dismounting.

  "Here I am, all alive, like a bag of grasshoppers," exclaimed Gipsy, as,gathering her riding-habit in her hand, she tripped with her usual airymotion up the garden walk. "How have you been this age, Celeste? Mystars! how pale you are; have you been ill?"

  "I have not been very well for the past week," said Celeste, forcing asmile. "I am very glad to see you. Come in."

  Gipsy entered; and having saluted Miss Hagar, threw herself into achair, and snatching off her hat, began swinging it by the strings.Celeste took her sewing and seated herself by the window.

  "Well, I declare! we have had such times up at the Hall this week," saidGipsy. "Have you heard how I captured Big Tom?"

  "No," said Celeste, in surprise; whereupon Gipsy related what hadoccurred, ending with:

  "Old Mrs. Donne is still very sick, and raves at an appalling rate aboutbabies, and snow-storms, and all such stuff. Big Tom's in prison,rapidly recovering from his wounds, which is good news for me; for Ishould be sorry to think I had killed the poor wretch. I should havecome over to see you sooner, only Louis is going away, and we've allbeen as busy as nailers."

  "Going away!" echoed Celeste, growing deadly pale.

  "Yes; he leaves here to-morrow morning. He is going to Italy, and willnot be back for several years. But, my goodness! Celeste, what's thematter? You look as though you were going to faint!"

  "It's nothing--only a sudden spasm," said Celeste, in a low, smotheredvoice, dropping her forehead on her hand, while her long, goldenringlets, falling like a vail over her face, hid it from view.

  "The notion took him so suddenly," continued Gipsy, "that we havescarcely begun to recover from our astonishment yet. It's no use tryingto coax him not to go, for he puts on that iron face of his, and says,'the thing's decided.' Men of genius always are a queer crotchety set,they say. Thank Minerva, I'm not a genius, anyway--one of that sort'senough in any family. Minnette, too, went off the other day with theCarsons for Washington--good riddance of bad rubbish, I say. So, whenLouis goes, I'll be alone in my glory, and you must come over and spenda few days with me. Won't you, Celeste?"

  There was no reply. Gipsy gazed in wonder and alarm at her, as she satstill and motionless as a figure in marble.

  "Celeste! Celeste! what's the matter?" she said, going over and tryingto raise her head. "Are you sick, or fainting, or what?"

  Celeste looked up, and Gipsy started back as she saw that white,despairing face, and wild, anguished eyes.

  "You are ill, Celeste," she said, in alarm. "Your hands are like ice,and your face is cold as death. Come, let me assist you to your room."

  "Thank you--I will go myself. I will be better, if let alone," saidCeleste, faintly, as she arose to her feet, and, sick and giddy,tottered rather than walked from the room.

  Gipsy looked after her, perplexed and anxious.

  "Well, now, I'd like to know what all this is about," she muttered toherself. "Wonder if Louis' departure has anything to do with it? They'vehad a quarrel, I suppose, and Louis is going off in a huff. Well, it'snone of my business, anyway, so I sha'n't interfere. Louis looked as ifhe'd like to murder me when I asked him what he was going to do withoutCeleste, and walked off without ever deigning to answer me. But I guessI ain't afraid of him; and if he hasn't behaved well to poor Celeste,I'll tell him a piece of my mind anyway before he goes." And thesoliloquizing Gipsy left the house and rode thoughtfully homeward.

  During the rest of that day and night Celeste did not leave her room.Miss Hagar grew anxious, and several times came to her door to begadmittance, but the low voice within always said:

  "No, no; not now, I will be better to-morrow--only leave me alone."

  And, troubled and perplexed, Miss Hagar was forced to yield. Many timesshe approached the chamber door to listen, but all within was still asdeath--not the faintest sound reached her ear.

  "Has Miss Celeste left her room yet?" inquired Miss Hagar, the followingmorning, of her sable handmaid, Curly.

  "Laws! yes, missus; she comed outen her room 'fore de sun riz dismornin': an' I 'clare to goodness! I like to drop when I seed her. Shewas jes' as pale as a ghos', wid her eyes sunken right in like, an'lookin' drefful sick. She'd on her bunnit and shawl, and tole me to tellyou she war agoin' out for a walk. 'Deed, she needed a walk, honey, forher face was jes' as white as dat ar table-cloff."

  "Where was she going?" inquired Miss Hagar, alarmed.

  "'Deed, I didn't mind to ax her, 'cause she 'peared in 'stress o' mind'bout somefin or udder. I looked arter her, dough, an' seed her take deroad down to de shore," replied Curly.

  Still more perplexed and troubled by this strange and most unusualconduct on the part of Celeste, Miss Hagar seated herself at thebreakfast-table, having vainly waited an hour past the usual time forthe return of the young girl.

  When Celeste left the cottage, it was with a mind filled with but oneidea--that of seeing Louis once more before he left. But few people wereabroad when she passed through the village; and descending to the beach,she seated herself behind a projecting rock, where, unseen herself, shecould behold him going away.

  Out on the glittering waves, dancing in the first rays of the morningsunlight, lay a schooner, ris
ing and falling lazily on the swell. It wasthe vessel in which Gipsy had told her Louis was to leave St. Mark's,and Celeste gazed upon it, with that passionate, straining gaze, withwhich one might look on a coffin, where the one we love best is about tobe laid. Hours passed on, but she heeded them not, as, seated on a lowrock, with her hands clasped over her knees, she waited for his coming.

  After the lapse of some time, a boat put off from the schooner, and,propelled by the strong arms of four sailors, soon touched shore. Threeof them landed, and took the road leading to Mount Sunset. Half an hourpassed, and they reappeared, laden with trunks and valises, and followedby Louis and Gipsy.

  He seemed careless, even gay, while Gipsy wore a sad, troubled look, allunused to her. Little did either of them dream of the wild, despairingeyes watching them, as if her very life were concentrated in thatagonizing gaze.

  "Well, good-bye, _ma belle_," said Louis, with a last embrace. "Youperceive my boat is on the shore, and my bark is on the sea, and I mustaway."

  "Good-bye," repeated Gipsy, mechanically.

  He turned away and walked toward the boat, entered it, and the seamenpushed off. Gipsy stood gazing after his tall, graceful form until theboat reached the schooner, and he ascended the deck. Then it danced awayin the fresh morning breeze down the bay, until it became a mere speckin the distance, and then faded altogether from view.

  Dashing away a tear, Gipsy turned to ascend the rocks, when the flutterof a muslin dress from behind a cliff caught her eye. With a vaguepresentiment flashing across her mind, she approached to see who it was.And there she beheld Celeste, lying cold and senseless on the sand.