"I have it still, as I told you before; because from the hour of my poor father's death, I have never known a want, or felt a temptation to part with it. I was adopted by his band, who have always treated me like a princess."
"But I have a sort of spite against it, for all that, for it never yet did what was expected of it; and so, the first time I find myself hungry without the means of procuring food, I will sell the silver casket to the first purchaser I can find; and the first time I want to light a candle and can't find any other piece of paper, I will burn the marriage license."
"Don't you do it!" exclaimed Sybil, eagerly, earnestly; "burn, sell anything you possess sooner! I believe that that casket has been preserved through three generations for your sake, yours! And if, as your poor father hinted, it does not make you a lady,—for nothing but nature and education can make one a lady, you know—it will be sure to make you a woman of wealth and position!"
"Bosh! I will say 'bosh' to you; for you are not my father," sneered the girl.
"Suppose I were able to furnish you with the key to the lock of this sealed family history of yours? Suppose I could point out to you the place where Philip Dewberry, as you called him, carried his gipsy wife Gentiliska; where she died without other children; and where he also subsequently died without other heirs?" inquired Sybil.
"If you could do that, you could do wonders!" laughed the girl incredulously.
"I believe I can do all this! I believe I can give you the sequel and complement of the family history you have told me!" said Sybil seriously.
"How is it possible? You can know nothing of it. I am English, you are American. The ocean divides our countries, and the century divides that past history from the present."
"Divides and unites!" said Sybil.
"But how is that?"