"Yes."
"Great Heaven! how just is thy retribution! And at last, in my dying hour, I behold before me the child of Esther Erliston and Alfred Oranmore!" exclaimed the dying woman, falling back on her pillow, and clasping her hands.
"_What!_" exclaimed Gipsy, springing forward, and seizing her by the arm. "Whose child, did you say I was?"
"The only daughter of Esther Erliston and Alfred Oranmore; and heiress, in your mother"s right, of Mount Sunset Hall," replied Mrs. Oranmore.
"And grandchild of Squire Erliston?"
"Yes."
Gipsy staggered back, and covered her face with her hands. Her emotion was but momentary, however; and again approaching the bed, she said, in a tone that was perfectly calm, though her wild, excited eyes spoke a different tale:
"Tell me all about this. How came I to be left to perish on the sh.o.r.e?"
"Leave the room, both of you," said the sick woman, to her attendants.
They obeyed. "Now, sit down beside me," she continued, turning to Gipsy; "and tell me, are you married?"
"Yes, they say so--to old Dr. Nicholas Wiseman."
"Great heaven! what did you say?" exclaimed Mrs. Oranmore, in a voice of horror.
"Yes. It"s surprising, ain"t it, that I married that old man. But that"s got nothing to do with your story. Go on," urged Gipsy.
"Child! child!" said the dying woman faintly, "_you have wedded the murderer of your mother_."
With a low, sharp cry Gipsy sprang to her feet--her countenance blanched to the hue of death.
"Did he know your history?" asked Mrs. Oranmore, breaking the long pause that followed.
"Yes; he heard it a few weeks before we were married," said Gipsy, in a voice that was hoa.r.s.e and unnatural.
"Then he married you that he might possess Mount Sunset. Oh, the villainy of that wretch! But let him beware! for the day of retribution is at hand."
"Tell me all, from the beginning," said Gipsy, seating herself, and speaking in a tone as stern, and with a face as firm and rigid, as that of the grim invalid herself; but those eyes--those eyes--how they blazed!
There is little need to recapitulate the tale told to Gipsy--she related only what the reader already knows; the death of Esther by _her_ instigation, but by _his_ hand; and the infant left to perish in the waves.
"I suppose he left you on the sh.o.r.e, thinking the waves would wash you away," concluded Mrs. Oranmore, "when you were providentially saved by the same Almighty power that guarded Moses in his cradle of bulrushes. I supposed you had perished, and so did he; but the agonies of remorse I have suffered for what I have done, I can never reveal. Night and day, sleeping or waking, the last dying shrieks of Esther Oranmore have been ringing in my ears. My son married Lizzie Erliston; and his violent death was but the beginning of my living punishment. For _his_ son"s sake, I have kept my dreadful secret during life; but now, at the hour of death, a power over which I have no control compels me to reveal all.
I am beyond the power of the law--I go to answer for my crimes at the bar of G.o.d; therefore, I fear not in making these disclosures. My hour has come."
"But he shall not escape!" said Gipsy, rising from the chair, on which she sat as if petrified, while listening to the story of her birth. "No!
by the heaven above us both, his life shall pay for this! Woman," she continued, turning fiercely upon Mrs. Oranmore, "you _shall not_ die until you have done justice to the child of her you have murdered! I will send for a magistrate; and you must make a deposition of all you have told me to him. Death shall not enter here yet, to cheat the gallows of its due!"
She sprang to the bell, and rang a peal that brought all the servants in the house flocking wildly into the room.
"Go to the nearest magistrate," she said, turning to the boy who had accompanied her from St. Mark"s--"fly! vanish! Tell him it is a matter of life and death. Go! and be back here in ten minutes, or you shall rue it!"
The boy fled, frightened out of his wits by her fierce words and looks.
Shutting the door in the faces of the others, Gipsy seated herself; and setting her teeth hard together, and clenching her hands, she fixed her eyes on the floor, and sat as immovable as if turning to stone. Mrs.
Oranmore lay in silence--either not willing or not able to speak.
Ere fifteen minutes had thus pa.s.sed, the boy returned, accompanied by a magistrate--a short, bl.u.s.tering, important personage. He bowed to Gipsy--who arose upon his entrance--and began drawing off his gloves, making some remark upon the inclemency of the weather, which she abruptly cut short, by saying:
"This woman is dying, and wishes to make a deposition. Here are writing-materials; sit down and commence--you have no time to spare."
Hurried away by her impetuosity, the little man found himself, before he was aware of it, sitting by the bedside, pen in hand, writing and listening, with many an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of wonder, horror, and amazement.
At length the deposition was duly drawn up and signed, and he arose, exclaiming:
"But, good heaven! madam, do you not know, if you survive, you will be arrested too, and----"
"Hush!" said Gipsy, sternly; "she is dying."
"I tell you I did not murder her," she exclaimed, almost springing up in bed; "it was he who gave her the poison! I never did it. Listen! do you not hear her shrieks? or is it not the cries of the fiends I hear already? _He_ was afraid. Ha! ha! ha!" she said, with a horrid laugh, "I mocked him until he ventured to do it. He drowned her child, too; he said he did--he threw it into the sea; and dead people tell no tales.
Who said it was alive? I will never believe it! It is dead! It is dead!"
She sank back exhausted. The magistrate gazed, white with horror; but Gipsy was calm, stern, and still.
"Look, look! they come for me--their arms are outstretched--they approach--they strangle me. Off, demon--off, I say!" A wild, piercing shriek rang through the house, then she fell back, her jaw dropped, her eyes grew glazed, her face rigid, and Madge Oranmore was dead.
There was a moment"s appalled silence. Then the magistrate said:
"Let us leave this dreadful place; the very air seems tainted with blood."
Without a word, she turned and followed him from the room, and the house. Rejecting all his invitations to let him find lodgings for her in the city during the night, she accompanied him to his office, received a warrant for the arrest of Dr. Wiseman; and with two constables, set off immediately for Sunset Hall.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI.
RETRIBUTION.
"Oh, woman wronged can cherish hate More deep and dark than manhood may, And when the mockery of fate Hath left revenge her chosen way."
--WHITTIER.
It was the afternoon of the following day. The squire sat alone, muttering to himself: "Singular! most singular! most ex-_cess_-ively singular! wants a private interview, eh! What the d.i.c.kens can be in old Wiseman"s noddle now? Maybe he wants to divorce Gipsy, and marry Lizzie.
Ha! ha! ha! that would be a joke. Wonder what old Mother Oranmore wanted? that"s another secret. I suppose she told Gipsy and--ha! here"s Gipsy herself. "Speak of Old Nick, and he"ll appear," as Solomon says.
Well, what"s the news?"
"Where"s Dr. Wiseman?" inquired Gipsy, abruptly.
"Up stairs. He sent down word some time ago, that he had something important to tell me, and wanted a private interview. Think of that! But what is the matter with you? You look as if you"d been riding on a broomstick all night--as if you were the Witch of Endor, who told King Saul"s fortune long ago."
As he spoke, a slow, heavy footstep was heard descending the stairs.
"There"s old Wiseman now, pegging along," said the squire. "I never see him walking, since he broke his shin-bone, that he doesn"t remind me of Old Nick himself. Now for this wonderful secret of his."