A STORM AT MOUNT SUNSET HALL.
"At this Sir Knight grew high in wrath,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,
Three times he smote his stomach stout,
From whence, at length, fierce words broke out."
HUDIBRAS.
"Totty! Totty! I say, Totty, where are you? I declare to screech, I
never saw such a provoking darkey in my life. Nobody never can find her
when she's wanted! Totty! Totty! hallo, Totty! I want you dreadfully,
it's a matter of life and death! If that girl doesn't pay more attention
to me, I'll--I'll discharge her; _I will_, so help me Jimmy Johnston!
Totty! Totty-y-y!" So called and shouted Gipsy, as she flew in and out,
and up and down stairs, banging doors after her with a noise that made
the old house ring, and scolding at the top of her voice all the time.
"Laws! Miss Roarer, here I is," said Totty, hurrying as fast as possible
into the presence of the little virago, to get rid of the noise.
"Oh, it's a wonder you came! I s'pose you'd rather be lounging down in
the kitchen than 'tending to your mistress. How dare you go away, when
you don't know what minute I may want you? Hey?"
"Good Lor! Miss Roarer, I only went down to de kitchen to get my
breakfas' 'long o' the res'. How you 'spec I's gwine to live 'thout
eatin'? You allers _does_ call jes' the contrariest time, allers----"
"Hold your tongue!" exclaimed her imperious little mistress; "don't
give me any of your _imperunce_! There, curl my hair, and put on my
pretty purple riding-habit, and make me just as pretty as ever you can.
Hurry up!"
"Make you pretty, indeed!" muttered the indignant Totty; "'deed, when de
Lord couldn't do it, 'taint very likely I can. Come 'long and keep
still, two or free minutes, if you can. I never knew such a res'less
little critter in all my life."
While Gipsy was standing as quietly as her fidgety nature would allow,
to have her hair curled, Mrs. Gower entered.
"Well, 'Rora, my dear, where are you going this morning, that you are
dressing in your best?" said Mrs. Gower, glancing at the gay purple
riding-habit--for dress was a thing Gipsy seldom troubled herself about.
"Why, aunty, where _would_ I be going; over to Spider's, of course."
"Oh, Gipsy, my dear, pray don't think of such a thing!" exclaimed the
good woman, in a tone of alarm. "Your guardian will be dreadfully
angry."
"Lor! aunty, I know that; there wouldn't be any fun in it if he wasn't,"
replied the elf.
"Oh, Aurora, child! you don't know what you're doing. Consider all he
has done for you, and how ungrateful it is of you to disobey him in this
manner. Now, he has set his heart on keeping you from Deep Dale (you
know he never liked the doctor nor his family), and he will be terribly,
frightfully angry if he finds you have disobeyed him. Ride over the
hills, go out sailing or shooting, but do not go there."
Gipsy, who had been yawning fearfully during this address, now jerked
herself away from Totty, and replied, impatiently:
"Well, _let_ him get frightfully angry; I'll get 'frightfully angry'
too, and so there will be a pair of us. Do you s'pose I'd miss seeing
that dear, sweet, little girl again, just because Guardy will stamp, and
fume, and roar, and scare all mankind into fits? Not I, indeed. Let him
come on, who's afraid," and Gipsy threw herself into a stage attitude,
and shouted the words in a voice that was quite imposing, coming as it
did from so small a body.
"Oh, Gipsy, child! consider," again began Mrs. Gower.
"Oh, aunty, dear! I won't consider, never did; don't agree with my
constitution, no how you can fix it. Archie told me one day when I was
doing something he considered a crazy trick, to 'consider.' Well, for
his sake, I tried to, and before ten minutes, aunty, I felt symptoms of
falling into a decline. There now!"
"Oh, my dear! my dear! you are incorrigible," sighed Mrs. Gower; "but
what would you do if your guardian some day turned you out of doors? You
have no claim on him, and he _might_ do it, you know, in a fit of
anger."
"If he did"--exclaimed Gipsy, springing up with flashing eyes.
"Well, and if he did, what would you do?"
"Why, I'd defy him to his face, and then I'd run off, and go to sea, and
make my fortune, and come back, and marry you--no, I couldn't do that,
but I'd marry Archie. Lor! I'd get along splendidly."
"Oh, Gipsy! Gipsy! rightly named Gipsy! how little you know what it is
to be friendless in the world, you poor little fairy you! Now, child, be
quiet, and talk sensibly to me for a few minutes."
"Oh, bother, aunty! I can't be quiet; and as to talking sensibly, why I
rather think I am doing that just now. There, now--now do, please,
bottle up that lecture you've got for me, and it'll keep, for I'm off!"
And darting past them, she ran down stairs, through the long hall, and
was flying toward the stables in a twinkling.
On her way she met our old friend, Jupiter.
"Hallo, Jupe! Oh, there you are! Go and saddle Mignonne _'mediately_. I
want him; quick, now!"
"Why, Miss Roarer, honey, I'se sorry for ter diserblige yer, chile, but
ole mas'r he tole me not to let yer get Minnin to-day," said Jupiter,
looking rather uneasily at the dark, wild, little face, and large,
lustrous eyes, in which a storm was fast brewing.
"Do you mean to say he told you not to let me have my pony?" she said,
or rather hissed, through her tightly-clenched teeth.
"Jes' so, Miss Roarer; he tell me so not ten minutes ago."
"Now, Jupiter, look here; you go right off and saddle Mignonne, or it'll
be the worse for you. D'ye hear?"
"Miss Roarer, I 'clare for't I dassent. Mas'r'll half kill me."
"And I'll _whole_ kill you if you don't," said Gipsy, with a wild flash
of her black eyes, as she sprang lightly on a high stone bench, and
raised her riding-whip over the head of the trembling darkey; "go, sir;
go right off and do as I tell you!"
"Laws! I can't--'deed chile! I can't----"
Whack! whack! whack! with no gentle hand went the whip across his
shoulders, interrupting his apology.
"There, you black rascal! will you dare to disobey your mistress again!"
Whack! whack! whack!" If you don't bring Mignonne out this minute, I'll
shoot you dead as a mackerel! There; does that argument overcome your
scruples?" whack! whack! _whack!_
With something between a yell and a howl, poor Jupiter sprung back, and
commenced rubbing his afflicted back.
"Will you go?" demanded Gipsy, raising her whip once more.
"Yes! yes! Who ever did see such a 'bolical little limb as dat ar. Ole
mas'r'll kill me, I knows he will," whimpered poor Jupiter as he slunk
away to the stables, closely followed by his vixenish little mistress,
still poising the dangerous whip.
Mignonne, a small, black, fleet-footed, spirited Arabian, was led forth,
pawing the ground and tossing his head, as impatient to be off, even, as
his young mistress.
"That's right, Jupe," said Gipsy, as she sprang into the saddle and
gathered up the reins; "but mind, for the future, never dare to disobey
_me_, no matter what anybody says. Mind, if you do, look out for a
pistol-ball, some night, through your head."
Jupiter, who had not the slightest doubt but what the mad-headed little
witch would do it as soon as not, began whimpering like a whipped
schoolboy. Between the Scylla of his master's wrath, and the Charybdis
of his willful little mistress, poor Jupiter knew not which way to
steer.
"Don't cry, Jupe--there's a good fellow," said Gipsy, touched by his
distress. "Keep out of your master's sight till I come back, and I'll
take all the blame upon myself. There, now--off we go, Mignonne!"
And waving her plumed hat above her head, with a shout of triumphant
defiance as she passed the house, Gipsy went galloping down the road
like a flash.
The sky, which all the morning had looked threatening, was rapidly
growing darker and darker. About half an hour after the departure of
Gipsy, the storm burst upon them in full fury. The wind howled fiercely
through the forest, the rain fell in torrents, the lightning flashed in
one continued sheet of blue electric flame, the thunder crashed peal
upon peal, until heaven and earth seemed rending asunder.
The frightened inmates of Sunset Hall were huddled together, shivering
with fear. The doors and windows were closed fast, and the servants,
gray with terror, were cowering in alarm down in the kitchen.
"Lor' have massy 'pon us! who ever seed sich lightnin'? 'Pears as though
all de worl' was 'luminated, and de las' day come!" said Jupiter, his
teeth chattering with terror.
"An' Miss Roarer, she's out in all de storm, an' ole mas'r don't know
it," said Totty. "She _would_ go, spite of all Missus Scour said. I
'clare to man, that dat ar rampin', tarryfyin' little limb's 'nuff to
drive one clar 'stracted. I ain't no peace night nor day 'long o' her
capers. Dar!"
"Won't we cotch it when mas'r finds out she's gone," said a
cunning-looking, curly-headed little darkey, whom Gipsy had nicknamed
Bob-o-link, with something like a chuckle; "good Lor! jes' see ole mas'r
a swearin' an' tearin' round', an' kickin' de dogs an' niggers, an'
smashin' de res' ob de furnitur'. Oh, Lor!" And evidently overcome by
the ludicrous scene which fancy had conjured up, Bob-o-link threw
himself back, and went off into a perfect convulsion of laughter, to the
horror of the rest.
While this discussion was going on below stairs, a far different scene
was enacting above.
At the first burst of the storm, Lizzie and Mrs. Gower hastened in
affright to the parlor, where the squire was peacefully snoring in his
arm-chair, and Louis was still finishing his sketch.
The noise and bustle of their entrance aroused the squire from his
slumbers, and after sundry short snorts he woke up, and seeing the
state of affairs, his first inquiry was for Gipsy.
"Where's that little abomination, now?" he abruptly demanded, in a tone
that denoted his temper was not improved by the sudden breaking up of
his nap.
All were silent. Mrs. Gower through fear, and the others through
ignorance.
"Where is she? where is she, I say?" thundered the squire. "Doesn't
somebody know?"
"Most likely up stairs somewhere," said Louis. "Shall I go and see?"
"No, you sha'n't 'go and see.' It's the duty of the women there to look
after her, but they don't do it. She might be lost, or murdered, or
killed, fifty times a day, for all they care. 'Who trusteth in the
ungodly shall be deceived,' as Solomon says. Ring that bell."
Louis obeyed; and in a few minutes Totty, quaking with terror, made her
appearance.
"Where's your young mistress? Where's Miss Gipsy, eh?" demanded the
squire, in an awful voice.
"Deed, mas'r, she's rode off. I couldn't stop her nohow, 'deed----"
"Rode off!" shouted the squire, as, forgetful of his gouty leg, he
sprang to his feet; "rode off in this storm? Villains! wretches! demons!
I'll murder every one of you! Out in this storm! Good Lord! Clear out,
every living soul of you, and if one of you return without her,
I'll--I'll blow his brains out!" roared the old man, purple with rage.
"Why, grandfather," said Louis, while the rest cowered with fear, "it is
not likely Gipsy is out exposed to the storm. There are many places of
shelter well-known to her among the hills, and there she will stay until
this hurricane is over. It would be impossible for any one to find her
now, even though they could ride through this storm."
"Silence!" thundered the squire; "they must find her! Here, Jupe, Jake,
Bob, and the rest of you, mount, and off in search of Miss Aurora over
the hills, and at the peril of your life, return without her. Be off!
go! vanish! and mind ye, be sure to bring her home."
"Law! mas'r, Miss Roarer ain't over de hills. She's gone over to Deep
Dale," said Totty.
"WHAT!" exclaimed the squire, pausing in his rage, aghast, thunderstruck
at the news.
"'Deed, Lord knows, mas'r, I couldn't stop her."
"You--you--you--diabolical imp you!" roared the old man, seizing his
crutch, and hurling it at her head, as Totty, in mortal alarm, dodged
and fled from the room. "Oh, the little demon! the little wretch! won't
I pay her for this, when I get hold of her! the--the disobedient,
ungrateful, undutiful hussy! I'll cane her within an inch of her life!
I'll lock her up on bread and water! I'll keep her in the house day and
night! I'll--oh, Lord, my leg," he exclaimed, with a groan, as he fell
back, powerless, between rage and despair, in his seat.
Mrs. Gower and Lizzie, still quaking with terror, drew farther into the
corner to escape his notice, while Louis bent still lower over his
drawing to hide a smile that was breaking over his face.
At this moment a fresh burst of rain and wind shook the doors and
windows of the old house, and with it the squire's rage broke out
afresh.
"Call Jupe! Be off, Louis, and tell him to ride over to Deep Dale this
instant, and bring that little fiend home! And tell him if he doesn't
return with her in less than half an hour, I'll break every bone in his
body! Go!"
Louis accordingly repaired to the kitchen and delivered the order to
poor Jupiter--who, bemoaning his hard fate in being obliged to serve so
whimsical a master, was forced to set out in the storm in search of the
capricious Gipsy.
Half an hour, three-quarters passed, and then Jupiter, soaking with
rain, and reeking with sweat, came galloping back; but like young
Lochinvar, immortalized in the song:
"He rode unattended and rode all alone,"
and gray, and shaking, and trembling with fear and expectation of the
"wrath which was to come," he presented himself before his master.
"Well, sir, where's Miss Gipsy?" shouted the old man, as he entered.
"Mas'r, I couldn't bring her, to save my precious life; she wouldn't
come, nohow. I tell her you wanted her in a desprit hurry; and she said,
s'posin' you waited till your hurry was over. I said you tole me not to
come home 'thout her; and she said, very well, I might stay all night,
if I liked, 'cause she warn't comin' home till to-morrer. I tole her you
was t'arin' mad; and she said, you'd better have patience, and smoke
your pipe. I couldn't do nothin' 'tall with her, so I left, an' come
back, an' dat's all." And without waiting for the burst of wrath which
he saw coming, Jupiter beat a precipitate retreat to the lower regions.
You should have seen the wrath of Squire Erliston then. How he stamped,
and raged, and swore, and threatened, until he nearly frightened Lizzie
into hysterics, used as she was to his fits of passion. And then, at
last, when utterly exhausted, he ordered the servants to go and prepare
a large, empty room, which had long been unused, as a prison for Gipsy,
upon her return. Everything was taken out of it, and here the squire
vowed she should remain until she had learned to obey him for the
future. Then, relapsing into sulky silence, he sat down, "nursing his
wrath to keep it warm," until the return of the little delinquent.