"The boy hastened away to spread the news. With the greatest difficulty
the body was recovered, and conveyed to Shut-up Dubarry. The inquest
that sat upon it rendered the simple verdict, 'Found Dead'; for whether
the death were accidental or suicidal, or whether it resulted from the
fall upon the rocks, or from the waters of the cascade, the Dogberries
of that jury could not decide.
"The gipsy girl was buried; and her brutal protector coarsely professed
himself to be greatly relieved by her death. And he assembled all his
servants before him, and forbade them, under the penalty of his heaviest
displeasure, ever to mention the name of Gentiliska to the lady he was
about to bring home as his wife. These slaves knew their master, and in
great fear and trembling they each and all solemnly promised to obey
him. Then he left home for the eastern part of the State from which he
was to bring his bride. On this occasion he was gone a month.
"It was in the middle of the month of November that he returned to
Shut-up Dubarry, bringing with him his fair young bride. She was a
Fairfax, from the county that was named after her family. She was
unquestionably a lady of the highest and purest order, and the
neighboring gentry, ever pleased to welcome such an one among them,
called on her, invited her to their houses, and gave dinner or supper
parties in her honor.
"Philip Dubarry, who had recently fretted at the galling 'ban' under
which, for the transient love of the gipsy girl, he had voluntarily
placed himself, now rejoiced at being delivered from it, and entered
with all the zest of novelty into the social pleasures of the place. He
loved his beautiful and high-born wife with both passion and pride, and
she loved some imaginary hero in his form, and was happy in the
illusion. Thus all went merry as a marriage bell until one dark and
dismal day in December, when the rain fell in floods and the wind raved
around the house, and the state of the weather kept the newly married
couple closely confined within doors, his bride turned to him, and
inquired quietly: "'Who is that little dark-haired girl with the piercing black eyes, and
in the short red cloak, that I see so often around the house?' "'What did you say?' inquired Philip Dubarry, in a quavering voice.
"'Who is that little girl in the red cloak, who seems so much at home in
the house? Is she deaf and dumb? I speak to her, but she never answers
me; generally indeed, she goes away as soon as she perceives that I
notice her. Who is she, Phil?' and the young wife looked at her husband
for an answer. But his face was that of a corpse, and his form was
shaking with an ague fit, for the guilty are ever cowardly.