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THE GYPSY QUEEN'S VOW
by
MRS. MAY AGNES FLEMING
Author of "The Dark Secret," "The Queen of the Isle," "The
Heiress of Castle Cliff," "Magdalen's Vow," "The
Midnight Queen," "The Rival Brothers," etc.
Copyright, 1875, by Beadle & Adams.
New York
Hurst & Company
Publishers
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Night and Storm 5
II. Mr. Toosypegs 7
III. The Lovers 17
IV. The Gypsy's Vow 26
V. Mother and Son 30
VI. The Child-Wife 37
VII. The Mother's Despair 49
VIII. Mr. Toosypegs "Turns up" Again 55
IX. The Secret Revealed 63
X. The Voice of Coming Doom 72
XI. Little Erminie 80
XII. Woman's Hate 91
XIII. Retribution 98
XIV. The New Home 105
XV. "After Many Days." 121
XVI. Master Ranty 132
XVII. Our Erminie 141
XVIII. Pet's Peril 150
XIX. Playing with Edged Tools 161
XX. Firefly Goes to School 176
XXI. Pet Begins her Education 187
XXII. Pet Finishes her Education 206
XXIII. The Adopted Daughter 215
XXIV. Pet Gives her Tutor a Lesson 224
XXV. Mr. Toosypegs in Distress 238
XXVI. Pet "Respectfully Declines." 244
XXVII. Greek meets Greek 251
XXVIII. An Unlooked-for Lover 270
XXIX. Mr. Toosypegs in Distress Again 280
XXX. Miss Lawless in Difficulties 286
XXXI. The Outlaw's Wife 296
XXXII. The Outlaw 307
XXXIII. Home from Sea 319
XXXIV. Face to Face 332
XXXV. Father and Son 341
XXXVI. The Outlaw's Story 350
XXXVII. The Attack 361
XXXVIII. Lady Maud 373
XXXIX. The Dawn of a Brighter Day 384
XL. Chiefly Matrimonial 392
THE GYPSY QUEEN'S VOW.
CHAPTER I.
NIGHT AND STORM.
"The night grows wondrous dark; deep-swelling gusts
And sultry stillness take the rule by turn,
While o'er our heads the black and heavy clouds
Roll slowly on. This surely bodes a storm."
--BAILLIE.
Overhead, the storm-clouds were scudding wildly across the sky, until
all above was one dense pall of impenetrable gloom. A chill, penetrating
rain was falling, and the wind came sweeping in long, fitful
gusts--piercingly cold; for it was a night in March.
It was the north road to London. A thick, yellow fog, that had been
rising all day from the bosom of the Thames, wrapped the great city in a
blackness that might almost be felt; and its innumerable lights were
shrouded in the deep gloom. Yet the solitary figure, flitting through
the pelting rain and bleak wind, strained her eyes as she fled along, as
though, despite the more than Egyptian darkness, she would force, by her
fierce, steady glare, the obscure lights of the city to show themselves.
The night lingered and lingered, the gloom deepened and deepened, the
rain plashed dismally; the wind blew in moaning, lamentable gusts,
penetrating through the thick mantle she held closely around her. And
still the woman fled on, stopping neither for wind, nor rain, nor
storm--unheeding, unfeeling them all--keeping her fierce, devouring gaze
fixed, with a look that might have pierced the very heavens, on the
still far-distant city.
There was no one on the road but herself. The lateness of the hour--for
it was almost midnight--and the increasing storm, kept pedestrians
within doors that cheerless March night. Now and then she would pass
cottages in which lights were still glaring, but most of the houses were
wrapped in silence and darkness.
And still on, through night, and storm, and gloom, fled the wanderer,
with the pitiless rain beating in her face--the chill blasts fluttering
her thin-worn garments and long, wild, black hair. Still on, pausing
not, resting not, never removing her steadfast gaze from the distant
city--like a lost soul hurrying to its doom.
Suddenly, above the wailing of the wind and plashing of the rain, arose
the thunder of horses' hoofs and the crash of approaching carriage
wheels. Rapidly they came on, and the woman paused for a moment and
leaned again a cottage porch, as if waiting until it should pass.
A bright light was still burning in the window, and it fell on the
lonely wayfarer as she stood, breathing hard and waiting, with burning,
feverish impatience, for the carriage to pass. It displayed the form of
a woman of forty, or thereabouts, with a tall, towering, commanding
figure, gaunt and bony. Her complexion was dark; its naturally swarthy
hue having been tanned by sun and wind to a dark-brown. The features
were strong, stern, and prominent, yet you could see at a glance that
the face had once been a handsome one. Now, however--thin, haggard, and
fleshless, with the high, prominent cheek-bones; the gloomy, overhanging
brows; the stern, set, unyielding mouth; the rigid, corrugated brow; the
fierce, devouring, maniac, black eyes--it looked positively hideous.
Such eyes!--such burning, blazing orbs of fire, never was seen in human
head before! They glowed like two live coals in a bleached skull. There
was utter misery, there was despair unspeakable, mingled with fierce
determination, in those lurid, flaming eyes. And that dark, stern
terrific face was stamped with the unmistakable impress of a despised,
degraded race. The woman was a gipsy. It needed not her peculiar dress,
the costume of her tribe, to tell this, though that was significant
enough. Her thick, coarse, jet-black hair, streaked with threads of
gray, was pushed impatiently off her face; and her only head-covering
was a handkerchief of crimson and black silk knotted under her chin. A
cloak, of coarse, red woolen stuff, covered her shoulders, and a dress
of the same material, but in color blue, reached hardly to her ankles.
The brilliant head-dress, and unique, fiery costume, suited well the
dark, fierce, passionate face of the wearer.
For an instant she paused, as if to let the carriage pass; then, as if
even the delay of an instant was maddening, she started wildly up, and
keeping her hungry, devouring gaze fixed on the vision of the still
unseen city, she sped on more rapidly than before.