"Ah! you fear to say--you fear you harma de priest--ha?"
Minnie had thus far said nothing, but now she rose and looked at Girasole, and then at Ethel. Then she twined one arm around Ethel"s waist, and turned her large, soft, childish eyes upon Girasole.
"What do you mean," she said, "by _always_ coming here and teasing, and worrying, and firing off pistols, and frightening people? I"m sure it was horrid enough for you to make me come to this wretched place, when you _know_ I don"t like it, without annoying me so. Why did you go and take away poor darling Kitty? And what do you mean now, pray, by coming here? I never was treated so unkindly in my life. I did not think that _any one_ could be so very, very rude."
"Charming mees," said Girasole, with a deprecating air, "it pains me to do any ting dat you do not like."
"It don"t pain you," said Minnie--"it don"t pain you _at all_. You"re _always_ teasing me. You _never_ do what I want you to. You wouldn"t even give me a chair."
"Alas, carissima mia, to-morra you sall haf all! But dis place is so remote."
"It is _not_ remote," said Minnie. "It"s close by roads and villages and things. Why, here is Ethel; she has been in a village where there are houses, and people, and as many chairs as she wants."
"Oh, mees, eef you will but wait an" be patient--eef you will but wait an" see how tender I will be, an" how I lof you."
"You _don"t_ love me," said Minnie, "one bit. Is this love--not to give me a chair? I have been standing up till I am nearly ready to drop. And you have nothing better than some wretched promises. I don"t care for to-morrow; I want to be comfortable to-day. You won"t let me have a single thing. And now you come to tease me again, and frighten poor, dear, darling Ethel."
"Eet ees because she deceif me--she come wit a plot--she steal in here. Eef she had wait, all would be well."
"You mustn"t _dare_ to touch her," said Minnie, vehemently. "You _shall_ leave her here. She _shall_ stay with me."
"I am ver pain--oh, very; but oh, my angel--sweet--charming mees--eet ees dangaire to my lof. She plot to take you away. An" all my life is in you. Tink what I haf to do to gain you!"
Minnie looked upon Girasole, with her large eyes dilated with excitement and resentment.
"You are a horrid, horrid man," she exclaimed. "I _hate_ you."
"Oh, my angel," pleaded Girasole, with deep agitation, "take back dat word."
"I"m sorry you ever saved my life," said Minnie, very calmly; "and I"m sorry I ever saw you. I _hate_ you."
"Ah, you gif me torment. You do not mean dis. You say once you lof me."
"_I_ did not say I loved _you_. It was _you_ who said you loved _me_.
_I_ never liked _you_. And I don"t really see how I _could_ be engaged to you when I was engaged to another man before. He is the only one whom I recognize now. I don"t know you at all. For I couldn"t be bound to two men; could I, Ethel dear?"
Ethel did not reply to this strange question.
But upon Girasole its effect was very great. The manner of Minnie had been excessively perplexing to him all through this eventful day. If she had stormed and gone into a fine frenzy he could have borne it. It would have been natural. But she was perfectly unconcerned, and her only complaint was about trifles. Such trifles too! He felt ashamed to think that he could have subjected to such annoyances a woman whom he so dearly loved. And now he was once more puzzled. Minnie confronted him, looking at him fixedly, without one particle of fear, with her large, earnest, innocent eyes fastened upon his--with the calm, cool gaze, of some high-minded child rebuking a younger child-companion.
This was a proceeding which he was not prepared for. Besides, the child-innocence of her face and of her words actually daunted him. She seemed so fearless, because she was so innocent. She became a greater puzzle than ever. He had never seen much of her before, and this day"s experience of her had actually daunted him and confounded him. And what was the worst to him of all her words was her calm and simple declaration, "I hate you!"
"Yes," said Minnie, thoughtfully, "it must be so; and dear Kitty would have said the same, only she was so awfully prejudiced. And I always thought he was so nice. Yes, I think I really must be engaged to him.
But as for you," she said, turning full upon Girasole, "I hate you!"
Girasole"s face grew white with rage and jealousy.
"Aha!" said he. "You lof _him_. Aha! An" you were engage to _him_.
Aha!"
"Yes, I really think so."
"Aha! Well, listen," cried Girasole, in a hoa.r.s.e voice--"listen.
He--he--de rival--de one you say you are engage--he is dead!"
And with this he fastened upon Minnie his eyes that now gleamed with rage, and had an expression in them that might have made Ethel quiver with horror, but she did not, for she knew that Girasole was mistaken on that point.
As for Minnie, she was not at all impressed by his fierce looks.
"I don"t think you really know what you"re talking about," said she; "and you"re very, very unpleasant. At any rate, you are altogether in the wrong when you say he is dead."
"Dead! He is dead! I swear it!" cried Girasole, whose manner was a little toned down by Minnie"s coolness.
"This is getting to be awfully funny, you know," said Minnie. "I really think we don"t know what one another is talking about. I"m sure _I_ don"t, and I"m sure _he_ don"t, either; does he, Ethel darling?"
"De Inglis milor," said Girasole. "He is dead."
"Well, but I don"t mean him at all," said Minnie.
"Who--who?" gasped Girasole. "Who--who--who?"
"Why, the person I mean," said Minnie, very placidly, "is Rufus K.
Gunn."
Girasole uttered something like a howl, and retreated.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
UNDER ARREST.
Girasole retreated half-way down the stairs, and then he stopped for some time and thought. Then he came back and motioned to Ethel.
"You must come," he said, gruffly.
"You shall not," said Minnie.
"No, no, darling," said Ethel; "I had better go. It will only get you into fresh trouble. And I"ll be back as soon as I can."
"Oh, how I _hate_ you!" said Minnie to Girasole. The latter said nothing. Ethel kissed Minnie, and descended the stairs after him.
The Irish priest was standing over the grave bathed in a cold perspiration, his heart throbbing violently, every new thud of the earth, as it sounded violently against the coffin, sending a cold chill of horror through every nerve. Already enough earth had been thrown to cover three-quarters of the lid, and at the foot it was heaped up some distance. He tried to frame some excuse to get the men away. His brain whirled; his mind was confused; his thoughts refused to be collected.
And now, in the midst of this, the attention of all was attracted by a loud stern voice, which sounded from some one near. The priest looked around. The men stopped shoveling, and turned to see the cause of the noise.
Girasole was seen approaching, and was already near enough to be distinguished. Behind him followed a female form. At this sight the priest"s mind misgave him.