"One day he did a cruel murder, and found out when it was too late that he had slain the father of his wife, who, in coming after her at all was only looking to the interests of his poor, unowned daughter. Ah! a volume might be written on that tragedy; but let it pass! My mother died of grief. But long ere that my father had fled the country an outlaw and the companion of outlaws.
"Once his still absorbing love for his wife drew him back to England, at the imminent risk of his life. His wife was dead, and his daughter was a little wretched child, knocked about among beggars and tramps, and in extreme danger of that last evil—that last, and worst evil that could have befallen her—being taken care of by the parish!"
"That is a severe sarcasm," said Sybil, rebukingly.
"Is it? If ever you are free again, lady, visit the most destitute homes in the world, and then the best alms-houses in your reach, and find out for yourself whether it is not better to die a free beggar than to live an imprisoned pauper. The manner in which Workhouse Charity 'whips the devil round the stump' by satisfying its conscience without benefiting its object, is one of the funniest jokes, as well as one of the most curious subjects of study, that can be found in social life."
"I am sorry to hear you say so; but go on with your story."
"My father, bowed down with remorse for his crime, and grief for the loss of his wife, found yet something to live for in me, his only child. He brought me away to the coast of France, where he and his pals were carrying on a very successful business in the smuggling line.
"They run goods to and fro between the French and English shores of the Channel. One day he was fatally wounded in an encounter with the Excise officers, near St. Margaret's. He was taken prisoner, but all the other members of his band escaped. When he knew he was dying, he sent for me, and the officers were kind enough to have me looked up.
"I was then wandering about the village in a state of destitution, in which I must have perished but for the kindness of the poorest among the poor, who shared their crusts and their pallets with me.
"I was taken to my father, who was dying in the Dover jail. He gave me the silver casket, telling me what a sacred heirloom it was, and how he had kept it through every temptation to part with it, and that I must guard it as the most precious jewel of my life; for that one day it might be the means of making me a lady."
"I didn't say 'Bosh' to my dying father; but I have said 'Bosh' ever since, every time I have thought of that bauble! It never did any good to my father, or my grandfather, and it is not likely to relent in my favor. Beyond the fact that it proves my great-grandmother, the Gipsy Queen, to have been an honest woman, I don't see any use it is to her descendants."