"If it is, I wish to know it. I will pay you according to the fortune you reveal, so proceed."
"In the first place you would like to know where your wife is, and I can find her in a hurry, and the man she lives with will some day make her weep. You don"t know even why she married you, but I can tell you all about that and the mystery you are working on, too."
Scott had laughed at the idea of fortune-telling, but he was quite sure that this old gypsy possessed the knowledge of some facts he wished to know.
"Did you tell me anything more when you were here?" Scott asked.
"I did tell you something you did not like to hear: that there was the stain of blood on your hands."
"Anything more?"
"Yes, I see you lying asleep, with a long knife above your head in the hand of a man. If you will let me I will help you."
Scott did not for a moment entertain the idea that Meg was wise from any supernatural power. He believed she knew something of his private affairs, and that she had a secret to sell. He had no idea what the secret was, or how she had gained possession of it, but what she had told him, together with some other facts that he possessed, strongly convinced him that she was interested in his affairs in some way. But while Meg thought that Scott"s sole object was to find his wife, his ideas lay entirely in another direction.
"I can tell you something that you would like to know, a great secret, but you will have to pay me well."
"Do you know where my wife is?"
"No, but I can find her."
"Is this the secret you wish me to pay a big price for?"
"Oh, no, it is something that would make you wish you had never been born, if you knew it."
"Well, here is your money," said Scott, dropping three silver dollars in her hand. "Leave me your address, and when I want your a.s.sistance I will call on you."
"Yes," said Scott, as he was left again to himself, "I am sure she is the same, and she pretends to know all about Irene, and she thinks, no doubt, I will pay her a fabulous price for imparting the knowledge to me, but she is mistaken. It would do me no good to know. Poor, foolish girl," he said, as he stood with folded arms, gazing out upon the street. "How easily she was flattered. G.o.d knows I pity her for her vanity. I wish she might have looked ahead, and seen the misery in store for her. She will soon be left alone again, for that villain will go in search of another weak-minded victim."
At that moment a carriage, drawn by a pair of unruly horses, dashed down the street. An infirm old woman, who was at that moment crossing, screamed in affright. A score of hands went up to stay the fractious animals, and in a measure checked their speed, but there was but one who had the courage to do more, and the old woman would have been trampled to death had it not been for the aid of a woman who, springing quickly forward, caught the bridle and held it firmly until stronger hands came to her rescue. Scott, seeing the danger, lost no time in going to offer a.s.sistance.
"Are you hurt?" the lady asked of the old woman, who stood trembling in every limb.
"No, but I"m so scared I can"t hardly stand," she said.
"Are you unharmed?" Scott asked, addressing the young lady, who he noticed was plainly dressed, but had a very handsome face, surrounded by cl.u.s.tering curls of auburn hair.
"I am not hurt in the least," she said, pulling her veil further over her face, and, turning around, she walked briskly away, though not until Scott had time to notice the graceful carriage of the full and well-developed form.
"Do you know that lady?" asked a gentleman bystander.
"I do not," Scott replied, as he gave the reins into the hands of the driver of the spirited animals.
"That is Miss Elsworth, the auth.o.r.ess."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, you have, no doubt, read some of her works."
"I do not know, but she possesses a great deal of courage."
CHAPTER x.x.x.
BESSIE"S SAD STORY.
Miss Elsworth flitted here and there like a shadow, and no one ever knew where to find her. When called upon she was sure to have just gone to the country, or was not to be disturbed. It was a year since her removal to the old house at Roxbury, and her time was divided between living quietly there and attending to business which required her presence in the city. Mrs. Morris had declared that she never could stay one night alone, but she was finally persuaded, when told that Bessie would be kept in close confinement, and if she chose she could sleep at the house of Mrs. Graves. "It was quite necessary,"
Miss Elsworth told Mrs. Morris, "she should be called to the city occasionally, and she could not tell just how long she would remain, but never," she said, "longer than was really necessary."
"Well," Mrs. Morris said, "I ain"t no coward, but I don"t relish the idea of stayin" alone in such a ghostly hollow as this ere."
Miss Elsworth had returned to Roxbury, and there was general rejoicing at the farm house. The entire family of Mr. Graves had grown to love and respect her, and when she went away it was as though a member of the family had left them. She was so bright, so brave, and, above all, so kind to Bessie. Mrs. Morris could not find words to express her delight, and Miss Elsworth was greatly relieved when she ceased speaking of the wonderful loneliness she had experienced while Miss Elsworth was away.
Bessie had heard of her return, and she tried every conceivable plan to gain an interview with her, and not until Miss Elsworth interceded did she accomplish her purpose.
"I"m not afraid of Miss Robin," she said, throwing her arms around Blanche"s neck. "She will not hurt me, and I don"t believe she is crazy, if they do say she is; and I want her to come to my room and tell me about that place. Won"t you come, Miss Robin?"
"Yes," Miss Elsworth said, as she followed her up the broad, easy stairway, covered with its soft, bright carpet. Opening a door near the top of the stairs, Bessie motioned Blanche to enter. It was a pleasant room, well furnished, but the most disorderly place that Blanche had ever seen. Bessie grasped her arm, and hurrying her to a seat near the bed she sat down close beside her.
"Now, Miss Robin," she said, as she leaned over in Blanche"s lap, and clasped her little white hands together, "now you need not look around at things, because you know just how it is when one is packing up; you know they always get things in a mess. You see, I"m going back to boarding school, and I can"t keep things in order. Don"t you believe it?" she asked, with an angry look.
"Certainly," said Blanche, looking at Bessie, and thinking what a lovely face it must have been before that strange light came to those eyes--eyes of a wonderful blue, fringed with such heavy black lashes.
The long silken hair was floating about Bessie"s shoulders, and, lifting one thick lock, Blanche said:
"Your hair is wonderfully beautiful, Bessie."
"There, now, Miss Robin, don"t you tell me that. I don"t believe a word of it. He used to just go wild over my hair, and for a long time I believed it, but now I know he is a----"
"What?"
"A liar. There, you made me say it, and I didn"t mean to. I know it was wicked, but you made me say it. But, now, don"t you tell Ross, for if you do, Miss Robin--off goes your head."
Blanche smiled at Bessie"s droll remark.
"Oh, you need not laugh. I can take your head off in a minute, because, you see, you are only just a wee little robin, and one little shot would kill you dead."
"But you would not kill a robin, would you?"
"Not if the robin kept still."
"Very well, I will keep still."
"And you"ll not tell Ross?"