"But poverty never yet prevented a gipsy from taking a mate. He found one in the daughter of another travelling tinker, poorer, if possible, than himself. She lived only long enough to bring him one child, and then died, it is said, from the hardships of her life."
"That was miserable," sighed Sybil.
"It was so miserable that her widowed husband never tried marriage any more; but he brought up his son to his own trade—that of a travelling tinker. And when the time came for him to give up the ghost, he placed the casket in the hand of the boy, saying:
"Your mother died of want, rather than let it be sold for a sum that might have saved her life and made her comfortable; because she said that in it was her child's destiny. Keep it and guard it as you would guard your heart's blood.
"And so the old tinker died, and the young tramp, with the heirloom in his possession, set out to seek his fortunes.
"But he did not go upon the quest alone. Like most improvident young tramps, he took a mate. His wife was my mother. I remember both my parents while they were yet young and handsome, and very happy despite their poverty. My father—But let me stop! Before I go any further, I wish to ask you a question."
"Ask it."
"Do you believe that any one may become so maddened with causeless jealousy as to commit a crime?"
"I not only believe it, but know it."
"Then I will go on. My father doted on my mother—just doted on her! But my poor mother had a friend and benefactor, of whom my father grew insanely, furiously, but causelessly jealous.