THE SAILOR BOY'S DOOM.
"With gentle hand and soothing tongue
She bore the leech's part;
And while she o'er his sick bed hung
He paid her with his heart."--SCOTT.
The sunshine of a breezy June morning fell pleasantly into the chamber
of the invalid. It was a bright, airy room--a perfect paradise of a sick
chamber--with its snowy curtained bed, its tempting easy-chair, its
white lace window curtains fluttering softly in the morning air. The
odor of flowers came wafted through the open casement; and the merry
chirping of a bright-winged canary, hanging in the sunshine, filled the
room with its cheerful music.
Reclining in the easy-chair, gazing longingly out at the glorious
sunshine, sat the young sailor whose life Gipsy had saved. His heavy
dark hair fell in shining waves over his pale, intelligent brow; and his
large blue eyes had a look of dreamy melancholy that few female hearts
could have resisted.
Suddenly his eye lighted up, and his whole face brightened, as a clear,
sweet voice, singing a gay carol, met his ear. Gipsy still retained her
old habit of singing as she walked; and the next moment the door opened,
and she stood, like some bright vision, before him, with cheeks glowing,
eyes sparkling, and her countenance bright and radiant from her morning
ride; her dark purple riding-habit setting off to the best advantage her
straight, slight; rounded form; and her jaunty riding-hat, with its
long, sweeping, sable plume, giving her the air of a young mountain
queen, crowned with vitality, and sceptered with life and beauty.
"Oh, I have had such a charming canter over the hills this morning," she
cried, with her wild, breezy laugh. "How I wished you had been well
enough to accompany me. Mignonne fairly flew, leaping over yawning
chasms and rocks as though he felt not the ground beneath him. But I am
forgetting--how do you feel this morning?"
"Much better, sweet lady. Who could be long ill with such a nurse?" he
replied, while his fine eyes lit up with admiration and gratitude.
Gipsy, be it known, had installed herself as the nurse of the young
sailor; and, by her sleepless care and tender nursing, had almost
restored him from death to life. And when he became convalescent, she
would sit by his bedside for hours, reading, talking, and singing for
him, until gratitude on his part ripened into fervent love; while she
only looked upon him as she would on any other stranger--taking an
interest in him only on account of his youth and friendliness, and
because she had saved his life.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it, I'm sure! I want you to hurry and get well,
so you can ride out with me. Are you a good horseman?"
"Yes, I think so," he said, smiling.
"Because, if you're not, you mustn't attempt to try our hills. It takes
an expert rider, I can tell you, to gallop over them without breaking
his neck."
"Yet _you_ venture, fairest lady."
"_Me?_ Ha, ha! Why, I've been on horseback ever since I was two years
old. My horse is my other self. I could as soon think of living without
laughing as without Mignonne."
"Then, sweet lady, you will kindly be my teacher in the art of riding."
"Oh, I wouldn't want better fun; but look here, Mr. Danvers, don't be
'sweet lady'-ing me! I ain't used to it, you know. People generally call
me 'Monkey,' 'Imp,' 'Torment,' 'Wretch,' and other pet names of a like
nature. But if you don't like any of them, call me Gipsy, or Gipsy
Gower, but don't call me 'sweet lady' again. You see, I never could
stand nicknames."
"And may I ask you why you have received those names?" inquired the
young midshipman (for such he was), laughing.
"Why, because I _am_ an imp, a wretch, and always was--and always will
be, for that matter. I believe I was made to keep the world alive. Why,
everybody in St. Mark's would be dead of the blues if it weren't for
me."
"Yes; I have heard of some of your wild antics. That good old lady, Mrs.
Gower, was with me last night, and we had quite a long conversation
about you, I assure you."
"Poor dear aunty, she's at her wits' end, sometimes, to know what to do
with me. And, by that same token, here she comes. Speak of somebody, and
he'll appear, you know."
Mrs. Gower opened the door, flushed and palpitating with her walk
up-stairs. Poor Mrs. Gower was "waxing fat" with years; and it was no
easy task for her to toil her way up the long staircase of Sunset Hall.
"Oh, Gipsy, my dear!" she exclaimed, all in a glow of pleasurable
excitement, "guess who's come!"
"Who, who?" cried Gipsy, eagerly.
"Archie!"
Up sprang Gipsy, flew past Mrs. Gower, and was down the stairs in a
twinkling.
"Archie! who the deuce is he?" thought the young midshipman, with a
jealous twinge.
"You seem to have brought Miss Gower pleasant news," he remarked, by way
of drawing her out, after he had answered her inquiries about his
health.
"Why, yes, it's natural she should be glad to meet her old playmate,"
replied the unsuspecting old lady.
"Ah! her old playmate. Then she has known him for a long time?"
"Yes; they were children together, grew up together, and were always
fond of one another. It has always been my dearest wish to see them
united; and I dare say they will be yet."
The youth's face was turned to the window as she spoke, or good Mrs.
Gower might have been startled by his paleness. As he asked no more
questions, the worthy old lady began to think he might wish to be left
to himself; so, after a few general directions to be sure and take care
of himself and not catch cold, she quitted the room.
Meantime, Archie and Gipsy were holding a very animated conversation in
the parlor below. Archie was relating how he had undertaken a very
important case, that would call him from home for four or five months;
and that, when it was over, he would be rich enough to set up an
establishment for himself, and return to St. Mark's to claim his little
bride.
"And now, Gipsy," he concluded, "what mischief have you been
perpetrating since I saw you last? Who have you locked up, or shot, or
ran away with since?"
In reply, Gipsy related the story of the wreck, and went into ecstasies
on the beauty of Mr. Harry Danvers, U. S. N. Archie listened with a
savage frown, that grew perceptibly more savage every moment. Gipsy saw
it, and maliciously praised him more and more.
"Oh, Archie, he's the handsomest fellow I ever met. So agreeable and
polite, with such a beautiful, melancholy countenance!"
"Oh, curse his melancholy countenance!"
"For shame, sir! How can you speak so of my friends? But it's just like
you. You always were a cross, disagreeable old thing--now then!"
"Yes; I'm not such a sweet seraph as this agreeable and polite young son
of Neptune," said Mr. Rivers, with a withering sneer. "Just let me catch
sight of his 'beautiful, melancholy countenance,' and maybe I'll spoil
its beauty for him."
"Now, Archie, you're real hateful. I'm sure you'll like him when you see
him."
"Like him! Yes, I'd like to blow his brains out."
"No, you mustn't, either; he's too handsome to be killed. Oh, Archie,
when he laughs he looks so charming!"
"Confound him! _I'll_ make him laugh on the other side of his mouth!"
growled the exasperated Archie.
"He's got _such_ a sweet mouth and _such_ lovely white teeth!" continued
the tantalizing fairy.
"I wish he and his white teeth were at the bottom of the Red Sea!" burst
out Archie, in a rage.
"Why, Mr. Rivers, you're positively jealous!" said Gipsy, looking very
much surprised indeed.
"Jealous! Yes, I should think so. You are enough to drive any one
jealous. Suppose I began raving about young ladies--their 'melancholy
countenances,' and 'sweet mouths,' and 'white teeth,' and all such
stuff--how would you like it, I want to know?"
"Why, I shouldn't care."
"You wouldn't? Oh, Jupiter Olympus! Only hear _that_!" exclaimed
Archie, striding up and down in a towering passion. "That shows all you
care about _me_! Going and falling in love with the first old tarry
sailor you meet! I won't endure it! I'll blow my brains out--I'll----"
"Well, don't do it in the house, then. Pistols make a noise, and might
disturb Mr. Danvers."
Archie fell into a chair with a deep groan.
"There, don't look so dismal. I declare, you give me a fit of the blues
every time you come to see me. Why can't you be pleasant, and laugh?"
"Laugh!" exclaimed poor Archie.
"Yes, _laugh_! I'm sure you used to be forever grinning. Poor, dear Mr.
Danvers is sick, yet _he_ laughs."
"Mr. Danvers again!" shouted Archie, springing to his feet. "May Lucifer
twist Mr. Danvers' neck for him! I won't stay another minute in the
house. I'll clear out, and never see you more. I'll never enter your
presence again, you heartless girl!"
"Well, won't you take a cup of coffee before you go?" said Gipsy, with
her sweetest smile.
"Hallo, Jupiter! Jupiter, I say, bring round my horse. And now, most
faithless of women, I leave you forever. Life is now a blank to me; and,
ere yonder sun sets, I shall be in eternity."
"Is it possible? Won't you write when you get there, and let me know if
it's a good place for lawyers to settle in?"
Oh! such a groan as followed this! Casting a tragical look of despair at
Gipsy, who sat smiling serenely, Archie rushed from the house.
Ten minutes later he was back again. Gipsy had stretched herself on a
sofa, and was apparently fast asleep.
"Heartless girl!" exclaimed Archie, shaking her; "wake up, Gipsy!"
"Oh! is it you?" said Gipsy, drowsily opening her eyes. "What did you
wake me up for? I thought you had started on your journey to eternity."
"Gipsy, shall I go?"
"Just as you please, Archie--only let me go to sleep, and don't bother
me."
"Oh, Gipsy!--you cruel coquette! won't you bid me stay?"
"Well, _stay_, then! I wish to goodness you wouldn't be such a pest."
"Gipsy, tell me--do you love me or Mr. Danvers best?"
"I don't love either of you--there, now! And I tell you what, Archie
Rivers, if you don't go off and let me get asleep, I'll never speak to
you again. Mind that!"
With a deep sigh, Archie obeyed, and walked out of the room with a most
dejected expression of countenance. No sooner was he gone than Gipsy
sprang up, and, clapping her hands, danced round the room--her eyes
sparkling with delight.
"Oh, it's such fun!" she exclaimed. "Poor, dear Archie!--if I haven't
made him a victim to the 'green-eyed monster!' Mr. Danvers, indeed! As
if that dear, good-natured Archie wasn't worth all the Mr. Danvers that
ever adorned the quarterdeck! Oh! won't I flirt, though, and make the
'distinguished Mr. Rivers' so jealous, that he won't know whether he's
standing on his head or his heels! If I _am_ to settle down into a
hum-drum Mrs. Rivers some day, I'll have as much frolic as I can before
it. So, Master Archie, look out for the 'wrath that's to come;' for your
agonies won't move me in the least."
And never did any one keep her word more faithfully than Gipsy. During
the fortnight that Archie was to stay with them she flirted unmercifully
with the handsome young midshipman, who was now able to ride out, quite
unconscious of all the hopes she was rousing in his bosom. Poor Gipsy!
little did she dream that, while she rode by his side, and bestowed upon
him her enchanting smiles, and wore the colors he liked, and sang the
songs he loved, to torment the unhappy Archie, that he, believing her
serious, had already surrendered his heart to the bewitching sprite, and
reposed in the blissful dream of one day calling her his!
Archie Rivers _was_ jealous. Many were the ferocious glances he cast
upon the young sailor; and many and dire were his threats of vengeance.
But Gipsy, mad girl, only listened and laughed, and knew not that
_another_ pair of ears heard those threats, and would one day use them
to her destruction.
But matters were now drawing to a crisis. The young midshipman was now
quite restored to health, and found himself obliged to turn his thoughts
toward his own home. Archie's fortnight had elapsed; but still he
lingered--too jealous to leave while his rival remained.
One bright moonlight night the three were gathered in the cool, wide
porch in front of the mansion. Gipsy stood in the doorway--her white
dress fluttering in the breeze--binding in her dark, glossy curls a
wreath of crimson rosebuds, given her a few moments previous by Mr.
Danvers. All her smiles, and words, and glances were directed toward
him. Archie was apparently forgotten.
"Please sing one of your charming songs, Miss Gipsy; this is just the
hour for music," said Mr. Danvers.
"With pleasure. What shall it be?--your favorite?" inquired Gipsy,
taking her guitar and seating herself at his feet.
"If you will be so good," he replied, his eyes sparkling with pleasure
at her evident preference.
Archie's brow grew dark. He hated the sailor's favorite song, because it
_was_ his favorite. This Gipsy well knew; and her brown eyes twinkled
with mischief, as she began, in her clear, sweet voice:
"'Sleeping, I dream, love--I dream, love, of thee;
O'er the bright waves, love, floating with thee;
Light in thy soft hair played the soft wind,
Fondly thy white arms around me were twined;
And as thy song, love, swelled o'er the sea,
Fondly thy blue eyes beamed, love, on me.'"
She hesitated a moment, and looked up in his face, as though really
intending the words for him. He was bending over her, pale and
panting--his blue eyes blazing with a light that brought the crimson
blood in a rosy tide to her very temples. She stopped abruptly.
"Go on!" he said, in a low voice.
She hesitated, glanced at Archie, and seeing the storm-cloud on his
brow, the demon of mischief once more conquered her better nature, and
she resumed:
"'Soon o'er the bright waves howled forth the gale,
Fiercely the lightning flashed on our sail,
And as our frail bark drove through the sea,
Thine eyes, like loadstones, beamed, love, on me.
Oh, heart, awaken!--wrecked on lone shore,
Thou art forsaken!--dream, heart, no more.'"
Ere the last words were uttered, Archie had seized his hat and rushed
from the house; and Danvers, forgetting everything save the entrancing
creature at his feet, clasped her suddenly in his arms, and passionately
exclaimed:
"Oh, Gipsy! my love! my life, my beautiful mountain sprite!--can you,
will you love me?"
With a wild, sharp cry of terror and anger, she broke from his arms, and
sprang back, with flashing eyes.
"Back, sir, back!--I command you! How _dare_ you attempt such a liberty
with me?"
How beautiful she looked in her wrath, with her blazing eyes, and
crimson cheeks, and straight little form drawn up to its full height, in
surprise and indignation.
He stood gazing at her for a moment--amazed, thunderstruck at the
change. Then, seeing only her enchanting beauty, he took a step forward,
threw himself at her feet, and broke forth passionately:
"Gipsy, I love you--I worship you. Have you been mocking me all this
time?--or do you love me, too?"
"Rise, sir! I have neither been mocking you, nor do I love you! Rise!
rise! Kneel not to me!"
"And I have been deceived? Oh, falsest of false ones! why did you learn
me to love you?"
"Mr. Danvers, don't call me names. As to the learning you to love _me_,
I never attempted such a thing in my life! I'd scorn to do it," she
said, indignantly; but even while she spoke, the blood rushed in a fiery
torrent to her face, and then back to her heart, for she thought of all
the encouragement her merciless flirtation must have given him.
"You did, Gipsy, you know you _did_!" he vehemently exclaimed. "Every
encouragement that could be given to a lover, you gave to me; and
I--fool that I was--I believed you, never dreaming that I should find a
flinty, hardened flirt in one whom I took to be a pure-hearted mountain
maiden."
Had Gipsy felt herself innocent of the charge, how indignantly she would
have denied it. But the consciousness of guilt sent the crimson once
more to her brow, as she replied in a low, hurried tone:
"Mr. Danvers, I have done wrong! Forgive me! As heaven is my witness, I
dreamed not that you cared for me. It was my mad, wild love of mischief
brought all this about. Mr. Danvers, it is as yet a secret, but Mr.
Rivers is my betrothed husband. Some fiend prompted me to make him
jealous, and to accomplish that end I--I blush to say it--flirted with
you; alas, never dreaming you thought anything of it. And now that I
have acknowledged my fault, will you forgive me, and--be my friend?"
She extended her hand. He smiled bitterly, and passed her without
touching it. Then leaving the house, he mounted his horse and galloped
furiously away. Prophetic, indeed, were the words with which her song
had ended--words that came pealing through the dim aisles of the forest
after him, as he plunged frantically along:
"Oh, heart, awaken!--wrecked on lone shore,
Thou art forsaken!--dream, heart, no more!"
Gipsy stood still in the porch, cold and pale, awaiting his return. But
though she waited until the stars grew dim in the sky, he came not.
Morning dawned, and found her pale with undefined fear, but still he was
absent.
After breakfast, Archie came over, still angry and sullen, after the
previous night's scene, to find Gipsy quieter and more gentle than he
had ever seen her before in her life.
"I wish he would come! I wish he would come!" cried her wild, excited
heart, as she paced up and down, until her eyes grew bright and her
cheeks grew burning hot, with feverish watching and vague fear.
"You look ill and excited, Gipsy. A canter over the hills will do you
good," said Archie, anxiously.
She eagerly assented, and leaping on Mignonne's back, dashed away at a
tremendous pace, yet could not go half quick enough to satisfy her
restless longing to fly, fly, she knew not where.
"Where are you going, Gipsy?" cried Archie, who found some difficulty to
keep up with the break-neck pace at which she rode.
"To the Black Gorge," was her reply, as she thundered over the cliff.
"Why, Gipsy! what possesses you to go to that wild place?" said Archie,
in surprise.
"I don't know--I feel as if I must go there! Don't talk to me, Archie! I
believe I'm crazy this morning!"
She flew on swifter than ever, until they reached the spot--a huge,
black, yawning gulf among the hills. She rode so close to the fearful
brink that Archie's heart stood still in horror.
"Are you mad, Gipsy?" he cried, seizing her bridle-rein and forcing her
back. "One false step, and your brains would be dashed out against the
rocks."
But, fixing her eyes on the dark chasm, she answered him only by a wild,
prolonged shriek, so full of piercing anguish that his blood seemed
curdling in his veins, while, with bloodless face and quivering finger,
she pointed to the gulf.
He leaped from his horse and approached the dizzy edge. And there a
sight met his eyes that froze his heart with horror.
"Great God!" he cried, springing back, with a face deadly white. "A
horse and rider lie dead and mangled below!"
A deadly faintness came over Gipsy; the ground seemed reeling around
her, and countless stars danced before her eyes. For a moment she was
on the verge of swooning, then by a powerful effort the tide of life
rolled back, and she leaped from her horse and stood by his side.
"It is impossible to reach the bottom," cried Archie, in a voice low
with horror. "A cat could hardly clamber down those perpendicular
sides."
"I can do it, Archie; I often went up and down there when a child,"
exclaimed Gipsy; and ere Archie could restrain her, the fearless girl
had caught hold of a stunted spruce tree and swung herself over the edge
of the appalling gorge.
Archie Rivers scarcely breathed; he felt as though he scarcely lived
while she rapidly descended by catching the matted shrubs growing along
its sides. She was down at last, and bending over the mangled form
below.
"Gipsy! Gipsy! do you recognize him?" cried Archie.
She looked up, and he saw a face from which every trace of life seemed
to have fled.
"Yes," she replied, hoarsely. "_It is Danvers!_ Ride--ride for your life
to Sunset Hall, and bring men and ropes to take him up!"
In an instant he was in the saddle, and off. In less than an hour he
returned, with half the population in the village after him, whom the
news of the catastrophe had brought together.
Ropes were lowered to Gipsy, who still remained where Archie had left
her, and the lifeless form of the young man drawn up. Gipsy, refusing
all aid, clambered up the side, and the mournful cavalcade set out for
Sunset Hall.
He was quite dead. It was evident he had fallen, in the darkness, into
the gorge, and been instantly killed. His fair hair hung, clotted with
blood, round his forehead: and a fearful gash in the temple showed the
wound whence his young life had flowed away. And Gipsy, feeling as
though she were his murderess, sat by his side, and, gazing on the
still, cold form, shed the first bitter tears that had ever fallen from
her eyes. By some strange coincidence, it was in that self-same spot the
dead body of Barry Oranmore had been found.
Poor Gipsy! The sunshine was fast fading out of her sky, and the clouds
of fate gathering thick and fast around her. She wept now for
another--knowing not how soon she was to weep for herself.