The Gypsy Queen's Vow

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AN UNLOOKED-FOR LOVER

Judge Lawless was pacing up and down the floor of his study with rapid, excited strides, his brows knit, his face flushed, his hands clenched, his teeth set, his whole look, attitude, and bearing, speaking of deepest, intensest excitement. When in profound or troubled thought, he had a habit (many have) of talking to himself unconsciously; and now he muttered, between his teeth:

“I am going mad – I am mad – bewitched – bewildered! To think that I, at my years, should fall in love like a boy of eighteen. I, who fancied I had outlived all such rubbish. But, oh that girl! that glorious girl! that angel of beauty! that transcendently radiant creature! that lovely, bewildering enchanting, intoxicating Erminie! Good heavens! how the very thought of her sets my head whirling! that electric Erminie! with her angel-smile and irradiated face! Who could help loving her? Not I, certainly, and yet it is only one short week since her return home. Oh, that I could win her to love me! Oh, to possess that love-angel! Oh, Erminie! Erminie!” And breathing out his very soul in the syllables of her name, he sunk into a chair, and leaned his throbbing head on his hand.

Judge Lawless had all his life computed himself as a grave, self-possessed, dignified gentleman; excessively proud, excessively unbending, and so calm and unimpassioned that it seemed a matter of doubt whether he was made of common flesh and blood or cast-iron. But now, at the mature age of five-and-forty, all his pride and dignity blew away, like a whiff of down on a blast, at the first glimpse of Erminie Germaine’s fair, sunshiny, blooming young face; and here he was, now, making a downright fool of himself – as many another old gentlemen has done, is doing, and will continue to do, while the world goes round. Forgetting that he was nearly treble her age, forgetting his high position in the world and her lowly one, forgetting he was far more likely to be some day her father-in-law than her husband, forgetting everything, in a word, but that her beauty had turned his brain, Judge Lawless sat down to reflect on the best course to pursue in the present somewhat unsatisfactory state of affairs.

Judge Lawless was, as I told you, a grave, calm-pulsed gentleman, who considered himself as good, not to say considerably better, than any other man in the world, and held in the profoundest contempt the little corner of the world in which he lived, and its quiet, hum-drum inhabitants. Therefore, he heard Pet boisterously relating the arrival of Mr. and Miss Germaine with the greatest indifference, and without the remotest idea of ever giving either of them another thought beyond a cool caution to Pet not to associate too freely with people of “that set”; but when, the next morning, riding past the Old Barrens Cottage on his way to Judestown, a vision met his eyes of such dazzling beauty that involuntarily he stood stock-still to gaze, Judge Lawless found that the only one in the world worth thinking of was one of “that set.” There stood Erminie at the gate, in her trim, spotless muslin morning-dress, with her snowy linen collar and cuffs, looking as fresh, and pure, and fair, as the beautiful form they draped. The morning sunshine flashed in her shining, waving, thick, soft hair, gilded the roses on her cheeks, kindled a brighter light in the large, soft, violet eyes, and lay like a friend’s kiss on the full and rounded lips. Judge Lawless was spellbound, enchanted, bewildered, bedeviled, to use his own phrase. In all his life he had never seen so dazzling a beauty – in all his life he had never expected to see anyone half so lovely again; and there he stood, gazing upon her like a man in a dream, quite unconscious that the young lady, whoever she was, might think this prolonged stare very strange, to say the least of it. But she did not think it very strange at all. She recognized him, of course; and thinking he was merely trying to identify her, she pushed open the gate, and came out to him with a blush and a smile, and, being always a little awed and afraid of his stately grandeur, held out her hand to him with a girlish timidity quite charming.

“I suppose you have forgotten me, sir,” she said, lifting the irresistible violet eyes to his face. “I am Erminie Germaine.”

“Little Erminie? Why, how pret – a – I mean, how well you are looking!” he said, taking the hand she offered, and holding it a much longer time than was strictly necessary. “Who would ever think! Why don’t you come over to Heath Hill some time, Miss Germaine?”

“I have promised Miss Lawless to go and spend the day with her soon,” said Erminie, embarrassed by his too-ardent gaze, and striving to withdraw her hand. “I hope she is well?”

“Who? Eh? Oh, yes! she’s well. Come over to-morrow, Miss Germaine. I shall be very glad to see you.”

“I thank you, sir; I shall be most happy to do so,” replied Erminie, growing more and more embarrassed by his open, admiring gazes, and again trying to withdraw her hand.

But the judge, quite unconsciously, held the little snowflake fast, and seemed inclined to commit petty larceny by keeping it altogether, while he gazed and gazed in the sweet, blushing face, with its waving hair and drooping eyes, and fell desperately and more desperately in love every moment.

“Won’t you come in, Judge Lawless?” said Erminie, at last, confused by her situation, fearing to offend him, yet wishing to get away.

“Come in? Oh, yes – to be sure!” exclaimed the judge, with alacrity. “I was just thinking – a – of going in to see your grandmother. I hope she is quite well.”

And the judge, who had never entered the cottage before, nor dreamed in the most remote way of ever doing so, actually got off his horse, tied him to a stake, and followed the surprised Erminie into the house. And then, forgetting Ketura, and his business in Judestown, and all other sublunary things, in the presence of this enchanting maiden, there he remained for three mortal hours, until the unlooked-for entrance of Ray, who had been over the moor gunning, and now returned with a well-filled game-bag, looking happy, handsome, and with a powerful appetite. As his eye fell upon their strange guest, he started, colored slightly, and then bowed with cold hauteur. Judge Lawless returned it with one no less stiff; for though in love with the sister, it by no means followed he was very passionately enamored of the brother. And then discovering, to his horror, that the whole morning was gone, he rode off, followed by the haunting vision of a sweet young face, with waving, floating hair, and dark, lustrous, violet eyes.

And from that hour may be dated the “decline and fall” of Judge Lawless.

His business was given up for visits to the cottage; his family concerns were neglected for day-dreams that, however excusable in youths with faintly-sprouting mustaches, were quite absurd in a dark, dignified, “potent, grave, and reverend seigneur” like Judge Adolphus Lawless. But when love comes in at the door, sense flies out at the window, to change the adage a little, and especially where gentlemen on the disagreeable side of forty are concerned. So Judge Lawless was deaf, blind and dumb to that awful bugbear, “They say,” and might have been seen at the cottage morning, noon, and night, to the utter amazement and complete astonishment of all who knew him, and to none more so than to his blue-eyed inflammation of the heart herself. Erminie was at a loss – completely at a loss, and so was Ray. Neither of them dreamed – no one dreamed – that the pompous, haughty Prince Grandison of a Judge Lawless could have fallen in love at all, much less with the little, obscure cottage-girl, Erminie Germaine – tainted, as she was, by that greatest of all crimes, poverty. Obscure, I said; let me retract that word. Erminie Germaine – beautiful Erminie – was known and celebrated far beyond Old Barrens Cottage for her beauty, and goodness, and gentleness, and all the other qualities that make some women a little lower than the angels. But no one thought that on a heart of flint like his – or, rather, no heart at all – the Venus de Medicis herself, should she step out alive from her pedestal, could make the slightest impression; and therefore, though our Erminie was every bit as good-looking as that scantily-draped lady of whom the world raves, though she had grown to be another Helen for whom another Troy might have been lost, no one set his visits to the cottage down to her, but rather to eccentricity, to some scheme, to some inexplicable notion, to anything at all but to the real cause.

And so Judge Lawless was in love, and unsuspected. And as he sat there in his library, with his head in his hand, thinking and pondering, and revolving, and wondering, on the best method of bringing matters to a crisis, and astonishing his friends, his intention was to raise Miss Germaine to the dignity of his wife. Judge Lawless was severely moral; but how to propose – that was the trying horn of the dilemma. Judge Lawless was not accustomed to proposing; he had not attempted it for the last five-and-twenty years, and then the lady had saved him the trouble. Mrs. Lawless had been a wild young heiress, who fell violently in love with the “sweet” curling hair and “divine” whiskers of the handsome young lawyer, and not being troubled with that disagreeable disease incident to most very young ladies, yclept bashfulness, had, like a girl of honor, come to the point at once, and, in a very composed, upright, and downright way, tendered him her hand and fortune. The ambitious young lawyer, nothing loth, took her at her word, and, one fine moonlight night, a fourth-story window was opened, a rope-ladder put in requisition; then a carriage; then a parson; then a ring, and “Adolphus Lawless, barrister at law,” as his shingle then announced him, was wooed and won.

But this was quite another thing. He was in love now, which he hadn’t been the first time; and love makes the boldest warrior that ever clove helmets and heads in battle as timid as a – I was going to say girl; but I won’t, for in such a case, they are not timid at all – but as a newly-fledged gosling. Not that he feared a refusal. Judge Lawless drew himself up until his pantaloon-straps cracked, and looked indignantly in the glass at himself for entertaining such an idea an instant. But he didn’t know the formula – that was it. Things had changed so since he was a garçon, and the manner of popping the question might have changed with the rest. It would never do to make himself ridiculous; though, as the thought crossed his mind, he drew himself up again to the full extent of his six feet, odd inches, and felt indignant at the notion of his being ridiculous under any circumstances whatever.

“Have her I must, come what will!” he said, getting up again, and resuming his 2:40 pace up and down the floor. “I am mad about that girl, I believe. The world may laugh and sneer at the idea of my marrying a – well, a pauper, in point of fact, when I could win, if I chose, the highest in the land. Well, let them. If Judge Lawless cannot do as he pleases, I should like to know who can. I have wealth enough to do us both; the old admiral will leave his estate and bank-stock to Ranty and Pet, and, h’m-m-m, ah! – Yes, have her I must – that’s settled. And this very afternoon shall I ride over, and let her know the honor in store for her!”

And that very afternoon, true to his promise, Judge Lawless, arrayed in a somber, dignified suit of black, with his hair and whiskers oiled and scented to that extent that his fast mare, Wildfire, lifted up her head and looked at him in grave astonishment, and inwardly resolved to keep a wary eye on her master for the future, lest he should take to dandyism in his old age, made his way to Old Barrens Cottage.

Arriving at the cottage, he fastened his mare, and rapped at the cottage-door with his riding-whip, in a grand and important sort of way befitting the occasion. Erminie herself opened it; and, at sight of her beautiful, rounded form, the taper waist, the swelling bust, the white, rounded throat, on which the graceful little head was poised with the queenly air of a royal princess; the waving, sunshiny hair, the smiling lips, the soft tender, violet eyes, Judge Lawless was twice, and thrice, as deeply, and irretrievably, and desperately in love as ever.

He came in. Erminie was alone. How he thanked the gods for that! took a seat, stood his cane in the corner, laid his hat on the table, drew out a snowy cambric handkerchief, redolent of musk, eau de cologne, ottar of roses, and bergamot, from one of those intensely mysterious pockets gentlemen, for some inscrutable reason, wear in their coat-tails, blew his nose, replaced his handkerchief, laid a hand on each knee, looked at Erminie, and prepared her for what was coming by a loud “ahem!”

Erminie, whose rosy fingers were flying, as if by stress, on some article of dress, did not look up; so all these significant preparations, proper to be done, and which are always done, I believe, whenever elderly men go to propose, were quite thrown away upon her.

“Ahem!” repeated the judge, with some severity, and yet looking with longing eyes at the graceful form and sweet drooping face before him, “Miss Erminie!”

She looked up inquiringly, with a smile.

“Ahem!” The stately judge was rather embarrassed. “Perhaps, Miss Germaine, you are not in utter ignorance of – ahem – of the object of my visits here. I have revolved the matter over in all its bearings, and have come to the conclusion that – ahem! – that I am at perfect liberty to please myself in this matter. The world may wonder – no doubt it will; but I trust I have wisdom enough to direct my own actions; and though it may stare, it cannot but admire the person I – ahem! – I have chosen!”

The judge made a dead halt, drew out his handkerchief again, until the air would have reminded you of “Ceylon’s spicy breezes,” and shifted his left leg over his right, and then his right one over his left. Erminie, not understanding one word of this valedictory, had dropped her work, and sat looking at him, with wide-open eyes.

“In short, therefore, Miss Germaine, we will, if you please, consider the matter settled; and you will greatly oblige me by naming the earliest possible day for the ceremony.”

“The ceremony! What ceremony, sir?” said the puzzled Erminie, looking prettier than ever in her perplexity.

“Why, our marriage, to be sure!”

“Our marriage?”

“Certainly, my love. The earlier the day, the sooner my happiness will be complete!”

And the judge raised her hand to his lips, with the stately formality of five-and-twenty years before, fearing to venture any further; for there was a look in the sweet, wondering eyes that made him rather uneasy.

“Judge Lawless, excuse me. I do not know what you mean. I fear I have misunderstood you,” said Erminie, more perplexed than she ever was before in the whole course of her life.

“Misunderstood me? Impossible, Miss Germaine! I have used the plainest possible language, I think, in asking you to be my wife!”

“Your wife?”

“Yes, my wife! Why this surprise, dear girl? Why, Erminie! Good heavens, Erminie! is it possible you really have not understood me all this time? Why, dearest, fairest girl, I love you – I wish you to be my wife! Do you understand now?”

He would have passed his arm around her waist; but, crimson with burning blushes, she sprung to her feet, a vivid light in her beautiful eyes, and raised her hand to wave him off.

“You are mocking me, Judge Lawless! If you have had your amusement, we will drop the subject.”

“Mocking you, my beautiful Erminie! I swear to you I love you with all my heart and soul! Only make me happy, by saying you will be my wife!”

The conviction that he was really serious, now for the first time dawned upon Erminie’s mind. The rosy tide flooded neck and brow again, and she dropped her flushed face in her hands, as she remembered he was Ranty’s father.

“I am not surprised that you should wonder at my choice,” said the judge, complacently. “Of course the world expects I should marry a woman of rank; but I like you, and am determined to please myself, let them wonder as they will!”