"Remove your hand!" said the young man; "and think it unusual forbearance on my part, that I do not chastise you as you deserve. We shall meet again, and with a sterner greeting." So they parted.

CHAPTER II.

THE GYPSY CAMP.

The clear, unshadowed sun, as it declined towards the western verge of the horizon, shone brightly upon the gypsy encampment, a few miles from Redwood. The wandering tribe had displayed their proverbial taste, in their selection of a spot wherein to pitch their tents. A green and glossy pasture was partly surrounded by a luxuriant forest of ancient oaks, which supplied the crew with firewood; while a beautiful and clear stream, the pride and boast of the county, curved into the waving gra.s.s land, and kept it ever fresh and verdant. Here and there its silvery bosom reflected a small tent, or the figure of an idler, bending over the bank, with fishing rod in hand, a perfect picture of patience and philosophy. Half a dozen tents served to accommodate the gregarious fraternity; and though the sail cloths which composed them were worn and weather-beaten, yet their brown hues harmonized well with the rich tints of the landscape, and showed distinct enough against the dark background of the forest. As the shades of the evening darkened the ancestral trees, a line of fire was lit up, the flames of which glared ruddily against the huge trunks of the woodland, and played and flickered in the rippling stream. Huge kettles, suspended on forked sticks, were beginning to send up a savory steam; and several swarthy beings, lounging round the fires, occasionally fed them, or basking in the blaze, watched the bubbling of the caldrons with intense anxiety. Even the king of the gypsies observed the preparations for supper with an eager air, which ill a.s.sorted with his lofty forehead and reverend white beard. Every moment some stroller would come in with a pilfered fowl, or a basket of eggs; and each addition to the feast was hailed with shouts of applause by the swarthy crew.

Somewhat remote from this scene of bustle and noise, at the door of a small tent, sat two female gypsies. One of these was the queen, an aged crone, who, though bent with age and care, and wrinkled by time and the indulgence of vehement pa.s.sions, yet prided herself upon the unfrosted darkness of her raven tresses, which fell over her shoulders in profusion. A turban of rich crimson cloth crowned her head, and a shawl of the same color and material was wrapped around her shoulders.

Her skinny hands were supported by a silver-headed staff, which was covered with quaint carvings. Her gown was of dark serge, and her shoes were pointed, and turned up in the Oriental fashion, and garnished with broad silver buckles. She sat apart, and the rising moon shone down upon her dusky figure, and threw her wild features into bold relief. At her feet sat a beautiful girl, with dark Grecian features, and a full, voluptuous form. She, too, had long, flowing, raven tresses, into which were twisted strings of pearl. From a necklace of topaz hung a little silver crucifix, resting upon a full and heaving bust, to which was fitted a close jacket, made of deep-blue cloth, and fastened together with loops and silver b.u.t.tons.

Her soft and round arms were naked, save at the shoulders, and her wrists were encircled with tarnished gold bracelets. Her white petticoat was short enough to display a well-turned ankle, and a small foot, encased in neat black slippers. Her features, dark and sun-browned, showed to more advantage in the pale moonlight than they would have done in the broad blaze of day. The gypsy girl sat at the feet of the queen, and looking up in her face, listened attentively to her discourse.

"Myra," said the queen of the gypsies, "do you love him yet?"

"Love him!" repeated the girl. "Yes, mother--pa.s.sionately. To obtain his hand--his heart, I would peril every thing!"

"Strange and mysterious pa.s.sion!" said the crone, "which defies reason and law. Many years agone I loved with the same intense devotion. The same fiery blood courses in your veins; the same contempt of obstacles. Yet the man I loved was n.o.bler and prouder than the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's. We lived among the Gitanos of Spain, when we were wedded. Five sons I bore to the partner of my cares. Where are they?

One followed his father to the gibbet; a second hurled defiance at his enemies, as he perished in the flames of an _auto da fe_; the third and fourth died in the galleys; the fifth--the fifth, Myra--my best beloved, my brave, my beautiful, received his death wound in defending me from outrage. _You are his child!_ Judge, then, how I love you, my daughter. You love the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's--he shall marry you."

"Ah, mother!" said the gypsy girl, "I fear me he is lost. He is the accepted lover of Margaret Ellis. She did love a young stranger; but the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's has Farmer Ellis in his debt, and threatened to throw him in jail, if the latter did not grant him the hand of his daughter. He has done so, and the wedding day is fixed.

Alas! before he saw his May-day queen, he loved me, and promised to marry me. Often beneath that very moon, mother, has he sat and told me his love. When I smiled at his protestations, he would speak of his wealth, and tell me of hidden stores of gold, for a thrifty and a rich man is the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's. I do not love him less because he does not frown upon our wandering tribe, but has lax principles that suit the fiery pa.s.sions of our race. I know not in what consists the art by which he won me; it is enough for me to know that I am devoted to him. Alas! that knowledge is too much, since he has owned the fascination of the Queen of the May."

"Enough said, daughter!" cried the crone. "Before the altar he shall marry you. He shall love you better than he loves the May queen. What are her attractions when compared to yours? Praise from the old is little to the young; yet let me say that I have wandered east and west, north and south; have seen the Georgian and Sicilian maids, have seen the dark-haired girls of Naples, and the donnas of Madrid; yet never did these aged eyes rest on a finer form or face than yours, my daughter."

The gypsy girl smiled.

"Ay," said the old woman, "now you look lovelier than ever. That smile is like a sunbeam to my heart; it thaws the frost of age. Believe me, Myra, the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's shall adore you."

"Then you must have love charms," said the gypsy girl, blushing.

"Love charms I have," said the old woman, "and those of wondrous potency. We are a favored race, Myra. Descended from the old Egyptians, we inherit their mysterious learning. To a few among us, the queens and magi of our tribes, there has come down a knowledge of charms and medicine, and some of the secrets of astrology. Go, Myra; leave me. I will provide for your peace. Yes, yes, I have love charms.

I have them!"

The gypsy girl smiled, rose, kissed the hand of her grandmother, and then bounded away like a fawn.

"Poor child!" muttered the old woman, when alone; "she must not die of a broken heart. Love charms, did she say! Yes--I have them for fools; but the love charm I shall use to give her joy is poison. The betrothed bride of the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's lies ill of an unknown malady. The physicians cannot do her good, for she is sick of a wounded heart. To-night the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's, who has faith in my skill, comes to seek a remedy. He shall have one. Does he think to spurn the poor gypsy girl? He is mistaken. He plighted his troth to her in the silence of the forest; they broke a piece of gold across a running brook; they swore truth and fidelity! One has broken the oath, but it shall be sworn anew. None but Myra shall wed the s.e.xton of St.

Hubert's!"

CHAPTER III.

RETRIBUTION.

It was a fierce and stormy night. The wind howled around the houses of Redwood, and wherever a shutter had lost its fastening, it flapped to and fro with a frequent and alarming sound. The rain, too, descended in torrents, and flooded the streets of the village, while ever and anon heavy peals of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning increased the terror of the night. In the house of Farmer Ellis a few persons were a.s.sembled to witness the bridal of the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's.

The bridegroom was as one excited by wine, for there was a wild radiance in his eyes and an unwonted smile upon his lips, and he occasionally gave utterance to some jest, and when it failed of producing the expected mirth, his own laugh sounded hollow and strange. The bride, too, so pearly pale, in her white dress, with white roses in her hair, seemed like the bride of Corinth in the German tale. A few of the guests, huddled anxiously together, whispered among themselves, "It is a churchyard bridal."

Still the cake and wine went round, and the strange laugh of the bridegroom was more frequent. The night wore on, and the arrival of the clergyman was prolonged far beyond the expected time. At length he came, and the ceremony was about to take place, when the bride suddenly sank in the arms of her companions. They raised her, and applied the usual remedies resorted to in cases of fainting, but the vital spark itself had fled.

In the depth of a stormy night, the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's sought the queen of the gypsies. He was mounted on an active horse, and accompanied by the sheriff of the county and a few resolute men, well mounted and armed to the teeth. As he approached the river which bounded the gypsy camp upon one side, the s.e.xton looked in vain for a guiding light--no fires blazed upon the green, no hidden glare was reflected in the mirror of the stream. Still he spurred on his horse, and followed hard by his companions, gallantly forded the stream and crossed the open meadows. The tents had all been struck, and no sound was heard in that deserted place, except the rushing of the boisterous wind and the tinkling of the raindrops as they fell upon the river.

The parties reined up their horses, and the s.e.xton and the sheriff held a brief conference together. While they were yet conversing, a broad and brilliant blaze shot up from the centre of the forest, illuminating a wide and well-trodden path which led directly to the light. The first flash of radiance dazzled the eyes of the hors.e.m.e.n, but when they became accustomed to the glare, they beheld distinctly several wild forms lounging around the fire, evidently unconscious of the approach of danger.

"Now is our time, my lads," said the sheriff, in a low tone. "Forward, and we shall have them all."

Every rowel was instantly employed, and the party pushed forward at a gallop. Bowing their heads to avoid the swaying branches, they bent over their horses' necks in the intense ardor of pursuit. The sheriff and the s.e.xton rode side by side, and had nearly attained their object, when their horses fell suddenly, and threw them to the ground with violence. In fine, the whole party had stumbled upon pitfalls dug for them, and not a horseman of the troop escaped an overthrow. While they were rolling on the ground, entangled in the stirrups, and receiving severe injuries from the struggling horses, a shrill cry arose from the depth of the woods, and a dozen stout ruffians set upon them, seized, and pinioned them. The s.e.xton and the sheriff were conducted by two of the gang to the presence of the gypsy queen, who sat upon a rude form raised upon the trunk of a huge oak, and sheltered by an ample awning of oiled cloth. The sheriff's followers were borne away in another direction. The wild woman and her wilder attendants were perfectly distinct in the ruddy firelight, though the whole scene had, to the eyes of the victims, the appearance of a vision of night.

"Well, sirs," said the queen, "you came to see us, and you have found us. Have you not some message for us? You myrmidon of the law, have you no greeting for the queen of the gypsies?"

The sheriff looked at the queen and then at her attendants. They were fierce-looking, unshorn fellows, with butchers' knives stuck in their rope girdles, and seemed but to await a nod from her tawny majesty to employ their formidable weapons.

"Have you nothing for us?" asked the dark lady.

"Nothing," said the sheriff, faintly.

"Ho, ho!" laughed the wrinkled crone. "The man of law is forgetful.

You, _Dommerar_, search him, and see if he speaks the truth."

A sandy-haired little fellow advanced at the summons, and rifled the pockets of the sheriff with a dexterity which proved him an adept in the business. A teacher of music would have envied his fingering.

Having caused the pockets of the sheriff to disgorge, he thus, in the canting language, enumerated their contents:--

"The _moabite's ribbin runs thin_, (the sheriff's cash runs low.) He has no _mint_, (gold,) and only a _mopus_ or two."

"Fool!" said the queen, "has he no paper?"

"Ay, ay, missus, here's his _fiddle_," (writ,) was the answer.

"Give it me," cried the queen. "Here, you _patrico_, our eyes are bad.

Read this scrawl, and acquaint us with the contents."

The _patrico_, or hedge priest, a fellow in a rusty, black suit, with a beard of three weeks' growth, bleared eyes, and a red, Bardolph nose, took the writ, which he had more difficulty in reading than Tony Lumpkin, when he received the letter of Hastings. At first, he held it upside down, then reversed it, looking at it at arm's length, and then gave it a closer scrutiny. He finally gave it as his opinion, that it empowered the _queer-cuffin_ (so he termed the sheriff) to seize upon the so called queen of the gypsies, accused of the crime of murder, and also to apprehend her followers. When he had concluded, the old crone s.n.a.t.c.hed the writ from his hand, and, tearing it to pieces, flung the fragments into the face of the sheriff.

"Take him away," said she, "and leave us alone with the s.e.xton of St.

Hubert's. Guard him well, for we wish to show him how we administer justice among us. We will be judge and jury, and our _upright man_ shall be the executioner."

She waved her tawny hand with the air of a princess dismissing her courtiers, and her mandate was obeyed. She was left alone with the s.e.xton of St. Hubert's. Looking him steadily in the face, she said,--

"John Pembroke, I give you joy of your marriage."

"Wretched woman!" said the s.e.xton, "you poisoned her. By your hand she died."

"You are mistaken," answered the old woman, with a bitter smile. "She is not dead, but sleepeth. You see the devil can quote Scripture. It was my first intention to have poisoned her; but my second thoughts were better. So, instead of the medicine you sought, I gave you a powerful narcotic, which has thrown her into a deep sleep. She lies, at this moment, you know, in the chapel of St. Hubert's. There are flowers on her coffin, and there is a shroud around her. If I am not very much mistaken, about this hour she awakes."

"And perishes! Fiend in human shape, how you have deceived me! At this hour, remote from help, my Margaret is dying."

"She is not your Margaret, neither is she dying," said the crone.

"Listen to me. I sent a trusty messenger to him that Margaret loves--to him who loves her fondly and faithfully--and if all things have gone as well as I antic.i.p.ate, by this time she is in his arms.

The draught she drank is harmless."