Sharing Her Crime: A Novel. May Agnes Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ was a simpleton – ran away, and all that, before she was out of her bibs and tuckers. Both died – knew they would. 'The days of the transgressors shall be short on the earth,' as Solomon says. But Liz has got her eye-teeth cut. Smart girl, my Liz."

      "I anticipate great pleasure in making the acquaintance of Miss Erliston," said Oranmore, carelessly; "her beauty and accomplishments have made her name familiar to me long ago."

      "Yes, yes, Liz is good-looking – deucedly good-looking; very like what I was at her age. Ah, you're laughing, you rascal! Well, I dare say I'm no beauty now; but never mind that at present. 'Handsome is as handsome does,' as Solomon says. Come, get your traps and come along. Giles, fly round – we're in a hurry."

      Thus adjured, Giles kindly consented to "fly round." All was soon ready; and, after giving orders to have his portmanteau sent after him, young Oranmore mounted his horse, and, accompanied by the squire, rode off toward Mount Sunset Hall, the squire enlivening the way by numerous quotations from Solomon.

      On reaching the Hall, his host ushered him into the parlor, where, seated at the piano, was the squire's daughter, Lizzie, singing, by some singular coincidence:

      "There's somebody coming to marry me —

      There's somebody coming to woo."

      Whether Miss Lizzie had seen that somebody coming through the window, I cannot say.

      She rose abruptly from her seat as they entered, exclaiming:

      "Oh, papa! I'm so glad you have come."

      Then, seeing the stranger, she drew back with the prettiest affectation of embarrassment in the world.

      Lizzie Erliston was pretty – decidedly pretty – with a little round, graceful figure, snowy complexion, rosebud lips, and sparkling, vivacious blue eyes. Graceful, thoughtless, airy, dressy, and a most finished flirt was little Lizzie.

      "Mr. Oranmore, my daughter Liz; Liz, Mr. Oranmore, son of my old friend. Fact! Hurry up breakfast now – I'm starving."

      "I am delighted to welcome the son of papa's friend." said Lizzie, courtesying to the handsome stranger, who returned the salutation with easy gallantry.

      Breakfast was brought in, and the trio, together with worthy Mrs. Gower, were soon seated around the table.

      "I am afraid, Mr. Oranmore, you will find it very dull here, after being accustomed to the gayety of city life. Our village is the quietest place in the world."

      "Dull!" repeated Oranmore. "Did angels ever condescend to dwell on this earth. I should say they had taken up their abode in St. Mark's."

      He fixed his large dark eyes on her face, and bowed with a look of such ardent yet respectful admiration as he spoke, that Lizzie blushed "celestial, rosy red," and thought it the prettiest speech she had ever heard.

      "Fudge!" grunted the squire.

      "Ah, Mr. Oranmore, I see you are a sad flatterer," said the little lady, smilingly, buttering another roll.

      "Not so, Miss Erliston. Dare I speak what I think, I should indeed be deemed a flatterer," replied Oranmore, gallantly.

      "Bah!" muttered the squire, with a look of intense disgust.

      At this moment a child's shrill screams resounded in one of the rooms above, growing louder and louder each moment.

      "There – that's Aurora! Just listen to the little wretch!" exclaimed Lizzie. "That child will be the death of us yet, with her horrid yells. Her lungs must be made of cast-iron, or something harder, for she is incessantly screaming."

      The Squire darted an angry look at Mrs. Gower, who faltered out: She was very sorry – that she had told Totty to be sure and keep her quiet – that she didn't know what was the matter, she was sure —

      "Ring the bell!" said the squire, savagely cutting her short. The summons was answered by the little darkey, Totty.

      "Well, Totty, what's the matter?" said Lizzie. "Don't you hear the baby squalling there like a little tempest? Why don't you attend to her?"

      "Lor! Miss Lizzie, 'twan't none o' my fault – 'deed 'twan't," said the little darkey. "Miss Roarer's a-roarin' 'cause she can't put her feet in de sugar-bowl. 'Deed I can't 'vent her, to save my precious life. Nobody can't do nothing wid dat 'ar little limb."

      "I'll do something to you you won't like if you don't make her stop!" said the angry squire. "Be off with you now; and, if I hear another word, I'll – I'll twist your neck for you!"

      "Marse, I declare I can't stop her," said Totty, dodging in alarm toward the door.

      "Be off!" thundered the squire, in a rage, hurling a hot roll at the black head of Totty, who adroitly dodged and vanished instanter.

      "Of all diabolical inventions, young ones are the worst!" snappishly exclaimed Squire Erliston, bringing down his fist on the table. "Pests! plagues! abominations! Mrs. Gower, ma'am, if you don't give it a sleeping draught when it takes to yelling, I'll – I'll – I'll – "

      "By the way, Mr. Oranmore, as you are from the city," broke in Lizzie, "perhaps you may have heard of some one there who has lost a child?"

      "What – what did you say? – a child?" exclaimed Oranmore, starting so suddenly and looking so wild, that all looked at him in surprise.

      "Yes. But, dear me, how pale you look! Are you ill?"

      "Ill! Oh, no; pray go on," said Oranmore, recovering himself by an effort.

      "Well; last Christmas eve, Mrs. Gower was returning from the city, where she had been to make purchases, and taking the shore road, picked up an infant on the beach, and brought it home. It is a wonder no inquiries were made about it."

      Barry Oranmore breathed freely again. It could not be his child, for he had seen the nurse before leaving the city; and she, fearing to lose her annuity, had told him the child was alive and well: therefore it must be another.

      A week passed rapidly away at Sunset Hall. There were sails on the bay, and rides over the hills, and shady forest walks, and drives through the village, and long romantic rambles in the moonlight. And Lizzie Erliston was in love. Was he? She thought so sometimes when his deep, dark eyes would rest on her, and fill with softest languor as they wandered side by side. But, then, had she not discovered his restlessness, his evident longing to be away, though he still remained? Something in his conduct saddened and troubled her; for she loved him as devotedly as it was in the power of a nature essentially shallow and selfish to love. But the dangerous spell of his voice and smile threw a glamour over her senses. She could almost have loved his very faults, had she known them. And, yielding herself to that witching spell, Lizzie Erliston, who had often caught others, at last found herself caught.

      CHAPTER VII.

      THE CYPRESS WREATH

      "Bride, upon thy marriage-day,

      Did the fluttering of thy breath

      Speak of joy or woe beneath?

      And the hue that went and came

      On thy cheek like waving flame,

      Flowed that crimson from the unrest,

      Or the gladness of thy breast?" – Hemans.

      "Squire СКАЧАТЬ