All this greatly distressed poor Vere de Vere, for it seems there are depths of degradation to which some women of the underworld refuse to sink, and there are crimes so abhorrent as to shock even their paralyzed sense of morality.
“I shall see that girl,” said poor Vere de Vere. “I used to know her, and she was not a bad-hearted person.” So, while her companions went to “Blinkey’s” place as usual, she made her way to the house of her slanderer. When she entered, the wretched woman came toward her, staggering and hiccoughing; she was followed by a negro porter.
“Beat her up,” she shouted, “she’s trying to take my man from me.”
The negro advanced threateningly, and the defenceless girl, seeing a be-ribboned dagger hanging on the wall above her head, seized it. The negro, in a sudden frenzy, threw the drunken woman upon the weapon, and in a moment she fell to the floor fatally injured.
“It is the curse,” said Vere de Vere, as she rushed from the house. Her white dress was spattered with blood, and, unconsciously, she held the dagger clutched tightly in one hand while she ran through the streets of Colon to “Blinkey’s” place.
“What in the name of God have you been doin’, kid?” asked “Blinkey,” as he took the blood-stained dagger from her hand.
“It is the curse,” she moaned; and “Blinkey” afterward said that the hurt look in the girl’s eyes made him feel ill. To the bewilderment of the awe-struck drinkers, Vere de Vere took her violin in her blood-stained hands and played “Dixie.” Amid a tumult of applause the police came in and tore her from her violin.
“And the sins of the parents shall be visited upon the children,” said the girl, as she was led to the street, where a hooting mob stood ready to offer her indignities.
So the last descendant of a great cavalier leads the life of a malefactor among negroes in the penitentiary at Panama, and the curse written in the life-blood of the poor gypsy boy has had its fulfillment.