among those that crowded around the carriage of robert burns earlier in the evening, listening to his inspiring oration, stood a girl of twenty or thereabouts, whose pale, haggard face and tearful eyes attracted some passing attention from those near her. she was dressed in an ankle length skirt of gray, over which a red shawl had been tastefully draped. a black velvet bodice confined the loose white gimpe at the waist, while from her left shoulder a brilliant plaid hung gracefully to the bottom of her dress. around her neck row upon row of different colored beads hung loosely to her waist. upon the blue-black hair which fell around her face in waving masses, a wreath of white and pink heather was twined becomingly. her unusual attire attracted much attention.
“she must be a gypsy,” they told each other wonderingly. finally, after many conjectures, someone in the crowd volunteered the information that she was a street singer who had been seen singing through the streets of the town for a day or so. their curiosity appeased, they turned to their idol once more. every now and then a convulsive sob shook the young girl’s slender, graceful figure. like one who hungered for food and drink she watched the[224] speaker, her heart in her eyes, her hands clasped tightly upon her breast. when the eager throng unhitched the horses from the open carriage she had breathlessly watched every movement, and when they, with wild bursts of applause and good-natured laughter, sped away up princes street, pulling the carriage behind them, she had swiftly followed, the center of a noisy gang of street urchins and idle brawlers.
with a mighty cheer, which brought the watchmen running to the spot pell-mell, they finally stopped at athol castle and quickly lined themselves on each side of the striped awning avenue, from the curbing to the door, to watch the great man pass within.
the gypsy frantically elbowed her way through the pompous coachmen and good-natured cabbies who had pressed forward to witness the new arrival, and reached the inner edge of the crowd. at that moment robert stepped from his carriage and walked quickly up the avenue. with a little cry of joy she stretched out her hands to arrest his attention, but he passed inside without having once caught a glimpse of this strange follower.
a derisive laugh went up from those who had curiously watched the peculiar actions of the gypsy. at the sound she dropped her arms hurriedly, the blood rushing to her pale cheeks. with one quick, startled glance at the mocking faces beside her, she[225] turned quickly and threaded her way through the line of splendid equipages, with their prancing horses, till she reached a secluded part of the street, where she stopped and looked back at the brilliantly lighted castle, tears of bitter disappointment and despair slowly trickling down her wan cheeks. as she stood there in the bright moonlight, a prey to her bitter thoughts, a handsome equipage, drawn by a prancing pair of steeds, attracted her listless attention. as it slowly drove past the wretched girl a sweet young face crowned with golden hair appeared in the open window, followed by a white arm. her little hand was noticeably bare of jewels. with a sweet word of pity the girl tossed a silver piece at the feet of her unfortunate sister. the gypsy indifferently watched the carriage out of sight. then, after a moment’s hesitation, she stooped and picked up the coin, and without looking at it put it carelessly in her pocket, a flush of shame and mortification mantling her dark cheek. for a while she stood in moody silence, listening to the strains of music which came faintly to her from the castle. suddenly she lifted her face to the heavens, her arms upraised, her lips moving in some prayer or incantation. for a moment she stood thus, then slowly her arms dropped to her side. there was a new calm look of determination in her face as she quickly traced her steps back to where the crowds still lingered about the closed doors of athol castle. she stood on the outskirts of[226] the crowd unseen in the shadow, her restless eyes searching here and there, peering into the open windows, up and down the high stone wall which bordered the huge garden, then back again, finally resting upon the closed portals with a look of keen disappointment shining in their depths. what she sought was evidently not there. she stamped her foot in impotent despair, a muttered imprecation on her lips; she would search again. gradually she made her way back unnoticed by the crowd, who were intent on listening to the music which floated out bewitchingly on the still air, till she reached the wall where it joined the corner of the castle. motionless she stood under its shadow, her heart beating loudly as some idler drew near her place of concealment. suddenly a form loomed up before her. with a startled cry she pressed close against the ivied wall in sudden terror.
“she come this way,” a voice cried eagerly.
“aye, sandy, she’s hidin’ among the ivy,” said another.
she heard them beating noisily about the thick vines which hung in wild profusion over the walls, her heart in her mouth. frantically she tore the vines apart until she reached the bare wall behind. then with breathless eagerness she pulled them together again, effectually concealing her presence from her pursuers. she pressed closer and closer against the cold stones, shivering apprehensively as they approached her hiding place. suddenly she[227] felt her support give way with a dull, creaking noise, and before she could recover her equilibrium, she found herself in a heap on the ground. she looked up in time to see the door through which she had fallen swing quickly into place and realized that unwittingly she had found an old and evidently unused entrance through the wall. quickly rising to her feet she looked about her, then she gave a little cry of joy as she caught sight of the splashing fountains in the moonlight, for she knew she was inside the gardens belonging to the duke of athol. eagerly she gazed about her at the leafy shrubberies, the massive oaks and beeches, the rose garden with its wealth of scented flowers. and for a brief moment she gave herself up to the painful reveries the familiar sights recalled to memory, while the tears of self-pity and heart-longing welled up in her gloomy eyes and flowed unrestrainedly down her cheeks. presently, with a mirthless laugh of impatience, she dashed the tears angrily away and walked quickly up the grassy terrace toward the brilliantly lighted castle. through the large window which looked over the low balcony she watched the incessant stream of people coming and going, while others walked aimlessly about the rooms or chatted in groups. for some time she crouched beside the low silver spruce, her eyes fixed upon the moving scenes within. then with a start she recognized the golden-haired young lady who had given her the silver piece, surrounded by a group of cavaliers. she[228] saw, too, with a pang of jealousy, the tenderness with which the poet greeted her and led her up to the haughty lady in purple. for some time she watched them in melancholy silence, a prey to conflicting emotions. by and by a group of ladies drifted out on the balcony. they were discussing the golden-haired girl, who had been introduced into their midst that evening, and the announcement of her marriage to the poet, robert burns. the gypsy, as she heard those words, uttered a smothered cry of amazement and horror, then sank half fainting on the grassy lawn, moaning like one stricken unto death. how long she lay there with senses dulled by pain she never knew. presently, bitter recollection returned and with it an agony of fear that blanched her lips and made her limbs to quake, while grief and despair, like two grim sentinels, stood eager watch beside her. slowly she staggered to her feet and turned her weary eyes once more upon the balcony. there was no one there. listlessly she watched the gay figures darting past the windows. suddenly her muscles tightened like a hound’s on the scent. the golden-haired girl suddenly glided out on the balcony, a glorious vision of loveliness. pensively she leaned over the railing watching the swans, which looked ghostly in the moonlight, swimming majestically round and round the small pond of water into which the spraying fountain was playing.
