THE DAWN OF A BRIGHTER DAY.
"Thoughts that frown upon our mirth
Will smile upon our sorrow;
And many dark fears of to-day
May be bright hopes to-morrow."
--PINCKNEY.
That same night, within that same hour, when her son lay cold and stark
in the room below, the fierce, turbulent spirit of the gipsy queen
passed away.
Death above, and death below--the cold, dread, invisible presence
pervading the whole house with a chilling awe. Voices were hushed to
lowest whispers, footfalls were muffled; the deep, fervent joy of the
reunited held in check by its dread majesty.
There was a subdued luster through the house when morning broke. Pet and
Erminie, very pale and very silent, had arrayed mother and son for the
grave; and now, side by side, they lay, white and still, and rigid, in
the pale, leaden dawn of the morning that dawned for them in vain.
Stern, and still, and silent, Ray sat by the bedside, gazing in tearless
grief on the lifeless forms before him. Near him sat Lord De Courcy,
with a look of deep sadness, which not even the joy of meeting Erminie
could totally efface from his fine features. Kneeling beside her dead
husband, with her face hidden in her hands, was the woman Marguerite,
swaying backward and forward in voiceless grief. Her first cry had been
to be restored to her child, but Lady Maude had soothed her and
prevailed upon her to wait until they could all return to the city
together. Worn out and fatigued by her rapid journey, Lady Maude lay
asleep in Erminie's little bed; and Erminie, sitting beside her with her
arms clasped round her neck, her beautiful head, with its wreath of
golden hair lying on her breast, was asleep too. Ranty Lawless had
ridden off to Judestown to prepare for the funeral, good-naturedly
taking upon himself all the trouble in order to spare Ray. And lastly
Petronilla, looking as still and serious as though a laugh had never
dimpled her cherry lips, moved on tip-toe about the house, dressing
everything in white, arranging flowers in vases, and imparting a
softened beauty to the grim reality of death.
Early in the day the news spread abroad, and sympathizing neighbors
began to drop in with offers of aid and assistance. Among them came the
admiral, looking unspeakably doleful and lugubrious; and when Pet, in as
few words as possible, related what had happened, the dear, crusty,
soft-hearted old beau was so affected that he was obliged to rush from
the house and wipe his stormy old eyes, unseen, under the lee of
Ringbone, which gaunt quadruped regarded him with displeased surprise.
Then came Mr. Toosypegs and Miss Priscilla, whose sharp, cankerous face
had grown ten degrees more unyieldingly sour and acid with every passing
year. Poor Mr. Toosypegs was so sincerely grieved at the death of "Mrs.
Ketura," that he took out his bandanna and relieved his mind, then and
there, by a good hearty cry.
It was all like a dream to Erminie, a dream of mingled sorrow and joy.
Her tears fell fast for her whom, deeply as she had wronged her, sternly
as she had ever treated her, she still loved; but they fell on a
mother's breast, and a father's hand rested on her bowed head. She could
scarcely realize or believe all that had happened; and she watched the
people come and go, and saw the lifeless forms closed from view beneath
the coffin-lid, and saw the funeral-procession pass from the house, and
felt the chilling sense of desolation that a funeral always brings. Then
this, too, passed; and she saw the people disperse and go to their
homes, and the white shrouding removed from the rooms, and the bright
summer sunshine came warmly in, and then all began to be real--a glad,
joyous reality at last.
"And now, what next?" said Ray, as they all gathered together in the
little parlor of the cottage when all was over.
"We must all return to the city, next," said Lord De Courcy, "to Rita.
You, of course, my dear boy, are one of the family, now."
"I thank you, my lord, but I have marked out my future course for
myself. I have a name and a fortune yet to win."
"My dearest Ray, you would not leave me," said Lady Maude,
reproachfully, laying her hand on his arm.
He touched his lips to the small, white hand, and said: "I cannot be a
dependent on any one's bounty, not even yours, my dear mother. You would
not have me fold my arms ignobly and become a worthless drone in the
busy hive of this world. My path is already clear--an uphill one it may
be--but the goal I aim at will be reached at last."
His eyes rested half-unconsciously on Pet, who was gazing very intently
out of the window while he spoke. Lord De Courcy saw the direction of
his glance, and smiled slightly to himself.
"But you, at least, will not think of leaving us so soon," pleaded Lady
Maude; "consider how short a time since we have met, and how long we
have been parted. Indeed, I will not hear of parting with you yet."
"Oh, pray, Ray, don't go," said Erminie, gently; "what could we all ever
do without you? Do stay, like a dear, good boy."
"You must have a heart of flint if you can resist all these pleadings,"
said Lord De Courcy, drawing Erminie fondly toward him. "Come, Miss
Lawless, will you not aid my little girl, here, in persuading this
ungrateful scapegrace of ours from running away?"
"Oh, there is no use in me asking anybody to do anything," said Pet,
coloring slightly, yet looking saucy still, "because they never do it;
if Minnie--beg pardon, Lady Erminie, can't persuade him, then there is
no use in my trying."
"Now, Pet," said Erminie, reproachfully, and blushing at her new-found
title.
"Come, my dear boy, consent to stay with us for some weeks, at least,"
said Lady Maude, looking up, coaxingly, in his handsome face.
"Your ladyship's will is my law," said Ray, a smile breaking through the
grave sadness of his face.
"That is right! when are we to start, my lord?"
"Early to-morrow, if you like. Mrs. Germaine," he said, glancing at
Marguerite, "I know is impatient to embrace her daughter."
"I wish you were coming, too, Pet," said Erminie, going over and putting
her arm around Pet's small waist.
"And why can she not?" said Lady Maude, looking kindly down in Pet's
changing face; "we will be delighted to have her with us. Do come, my
dear."
"I thank your ladyship, but I cannot."
"Now, Pet, why? You can come if you like," said Erminie.
"Indeed I can't, Erminie. I must stay and console uncle Harry for your
loss. The man-of-war on the mantel-piece will be quite inadequate to the
task, and there he will be in sackcloth and ashes, rending his garments
and tearing his hair--"
"His wig, you mean," broke in Ranty.
"Ranty, be still. I should like to oblige you, Lady Erminie, but you
perceive I can't. It is one of the cardinal virtues consoling the
afflicted, and I am trying to cultivate all the virtues preparatory to
taking the black veil one of these days, and becoming a nun."
"Not if I can help it," said Ray, coming over.
"Well, but you can't help it, you know," said Pet, turning red, but
flashing defiance in a way that made Lady Maude smile, and reminded
Erminie of the Pet of other days; "and now I really must go before it
gets any later. Erminie, I'll come over early to-morrow and see you off,
so I will not bid you good-by now. Ranty--"
"Oh, never mind Ranty," interposed Ray; "let me be your escort home for
once, Pet. Come, do not refuse me now. I have a great many things to say
to you."
Pet colored vividly, but she did not refuse, and nodding a good-by to
the rest, they left the cottage together.
"Can we not prevail upon you at least to accompany us back to the city?"
said Lord De Courcy to Ranty, when they were gone.
Ranty hesitated, and glanced at Erminie, who blushed, of course.
"Come, say yes, Mr. Lawless," said Lord De Courcy, laying his hand on
Ranty's shoulder, in his kind, cordial manner. "Erminie must not part
with all her old friends at once."
"Besides, you have not seen Rita, you know, Mr. Lawless," added Lady
Maude, with her own peculiar winning smile; "and she will be exceedingly
glad to meet you once more. You really must come now."
Still Ranty hesitated, and looked unspeakable things at Erminie.
"I see how it is," said the earl. "Mr. Lawless won't consent unless
Erminie seconds the invitation. Come, my love, tell him he must come."
"I--I will be very glad to have Ranty with us," said Erminie, blushing
most becomingly.
"Very well, that settles the matter, I hope, my young friend."
"My lord, I shall only be too happy to accept your kind invitation!"
exclaimed Ranty, all in a glow of delight. "Nothing could give me more
pleasure than to meet Lady Rita again."
So it was arranged they should start the following morning. Pet rode
over to see Erminie off, and tears stood in the dancing eyes of the elf
as she bade her good-by. As for Erminie, she wept audibly as the
carriage rolled away, and the home of her childhood was left far behind.
She strained her eyes to catch a last glimpse of the pretty little
vine-embowered cottage on the lonely bank, and watched the blinding top
of the White Squall fading away in the distance as if it had been the
face of an old friend. Then came Dismal Hollow, and at the verge of the
wood they encountered Toosypegs, on horseback, waiting to bid Erminie
farewell.
"Oh, Mr. Toosypegs, I'm so glad to see you," said Erminie, putting her
little snow-flake of a hand out of the window to greet him. "How do you
do, and how is Miss Priscilla?"
"Thanky, Miss Minnie," said Mr. Toosypegs, in a dejected tone. "I ain't
well at all. I'm very much obliged to you, and aunt Prisciller--well,
the old gander broke his leg this morning, and she ain't--well, she
ain't in as good spirits as she might be. Miss Minnie, you ain't going
to be long away, are you?"
"That does not depend on me now, Mr. Toosypegs," said Erminie, smiling.
"You know I have got a father and mother to take care of me now."
"Yes, I know," said Mr. Toosypegs, mournfully; "it's going to be horrid
lonesome when you are gone; I know it is. I wish I had never been born!
I declare to goodness I do! People may say what they like, but I don't
see where's the good of it," said Mr. Toosypegs, with a subdued howl.
"Come, Horlander! take things easy," suggested Ranty, poking his head
out through the opposite window. "Care killed a cat."
"It's all very well to say, 'take things easy,' Master Ranty," said Mr.
Toosypegs, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his coat-sleeve; "but if you
were in my place--in love--a--I mean going to part with Miss Minnie, and
never see her again, I don't see how you could take it easy either. I
dare say you mean real well in telling me so, Master Ranty, but I can't
do it at all. Good-by, Miss Minnie," said poor Mr. Toosypegs, sobbing
outright. "I don't expect ever to see you again in this world--my
feelings are in that state that I will soon be a melancholy corpse. I
know very well I will."
"Oh, Mr. Toosypegs, I hope not; you only think so. Give my love to Miss
Priscilla, and tell her I'll send her a new shawl from Baltimore.
Good-by." And with a smile, Erminie fell back, and the carriage drove
on, unhappy O. C. Toosypegs wiping his eyes, and snuffling, in the
middle of the road.
Nothing of any importance occurred during the remainder of the journey.
The whole party arrived safely in the city, and were domesticated with
the friend in whose house the earl and countess were staying.
The duty of informing Rita of her new-found parentage devolved upon Lady
Maude. In the gentlest and kindest manner possible, she performed her
task; and great was the astonishment and greater the mortification of
the supercilious little lady on learning who she really was. "Some
natural tears she shed;" but when the countess informed her she was
still to reside with them as before, and not being completely selfish
after all, she consented at last to wipe them, and met her mother with
quite a decent show of affection. Poor Marguerite! she clasped the
little gilded, glittering butterfly to her breast, and wept over her
with a passionate love that touched every heart. There was a
perceptible coldness and jealousy in the dainty little lady's greeting
of Erminie, whom she looked upon as a rival and natural enemy; but the
gentleness and sweetness of the new-found heiress were not to be
resisted; and before they all separated for the night Lady Rita made up
her mind that matters were, after all, by no means so bad as she had at
first supposed.
Ray passed a week with the family in Baltimore, and then returned to
Judestown--on business, he said, but as more than one of the party
shrewdly guessed, to see Pet. He found her worthy father at home, and
unbounded was the astonishment of that most upright gentleman upon
learning all that had transpired during his absence. Inwardly he
rejoiced at the annihilation of the gang of smugglers, and fervently
thanked his stars that his own connection with them had not been
discovered.
But another surprise was in store for him when Ray appeared before him
and formally solicited the hand of his daughter. Ray Germaine, the
gipsy's grandson, and Ray Germaine, Lady De Courcy's son, were two very
different personages; and his worship, the judge, was graciously pleased
to give a prompt assent. The first would have been, in no very choice
terms, shown the door; the latter was taken by the hand and cordially
told, after the manner of fathers in the play, to "take her and be
happy," which Pet assured him he would find some difficulty in being,
once she was his wife.
And so our Pet was engaged at last; and Ray returned to Baltimore to
inform his friends of his success and make arrangements for their
marriage, which the judge, who thought it would be something added to
his already overwhelming dignity to be father-in-law of the son of a
peeress, desired might take place as soon as possible.
Erminie clapped her hands with delight when she heard of it, and Lady
Maude, whose heart the wild elf had taken by storm, expressed her
heartfelt pleasure.
"And you must return with us to England as soon as you are married,"
said Lord De Courcy, to the bridegroom-elect.
"And we will all live together. Oh, it will be so nice to be near Pet!"
said Erminie delightedly.
Ray laughed and shook his head.
"We may accompany you to England, as both Pet and I desire to visit it,
but our future home must be here."
"Why not in England as well as here?" asked his lordship.
"Oh, well, for many reasons. One is, Petronilla would never consent;
another is that I am too much attached to this land of my adoption to
wish to leave it for any other; and thirdly and lastly, I have already
attained some slight degree of fame in my profession here, and I do not
wish to lose it now by going to another land."
"But, my dearest boy, I do not like the idea of being so far separated
from you," said Lady Maude, anxiously.
"Oh, to cross the Atlantic is a mere pleasure-trip now, my dear mother,"
laughed Ray; "so we will meet at intervals, after all. As I intend to be
a great man one of these days--"
"You can be that, easily, by growing fat," interrupted Ranty. "You can't
be reached now with anything less than a ten-foot pole; and if you only
grow stout with years, I'll back you against any man in the community
for greatness. You'll make Daniel Lambert himself look to his laurels."
"By the way, Erminie, I have a message for you from your old admirer,
Mr. Toosypegs," said Ray. "He says he can't bear the idea of letting you
go without seeing you again: so he is coming here, and the admiral with
him."
"Miss Priscilla ought to come, too, and make the party complete," said
Ranty. "I wonder she is so imprudent as to let that innocent youth
journey so far alone. There is no telling what may happen to him in a
depraved place like this."
"I am sure I shall be glad to see Mr. Toosypegs again, and the dear old
admiral. Oh, I do love him," exclaimed Erminie.
"I wish I could get you to say that about his nephew," said Ranty, with
an appealing look.
Lord De Courcy smiled encouragingly on the youth as, together with Lady
Maude, he left the room.