'It does you great credit, Miss Whichello,' said Dr Pendle, patting her hand; 'and I have the highest respect both for you and your niece. I am proud, my dear lady, that she should become my daughter. But tell me how your unhappy sister became acquainted with this man?'
'He was a violinist,' replied Miss Whichello, 'a public violinist, and played most beautifully. Annie heard him and saw him, and lost her head over his looks and genius. He called himself Amaru, but his real name was Pharaoh Bosvile.'
'A strange name, Miss Whichello.'
'It is a gipsy name, bishop. Bosvile was a gipsy. He learned the violin in Hungary or Spain, I don't know which, and played wonderfully. Afterwards he had an accident which hurt his hand, and he could not play; that was the reason he married Annie—just for her money, the wretch!'
'A gipsy,' murmured the bishop, who had turned pale.
'Yes; an English gipsy, but like all those people he wandered far and near. The accident which hurt his hand also marked his cheek with a scar.'
'The right cheek?' gasped Dr Pendle, leaning forward.
'Why, yes,' said Miss Whichello, rather astonished at the bishop's emotion; 'that was how I recognised him here when he called himself Jentham. He—'
With a cry the bishop sprang to his feet in a state of uncontrollable agitation, shaking and white. 'W—was Jentham—Bos—Bosvile?' he stammered. 'Are—are you sure?'
'I am certain,' replied Miss Whichello, with a scared look. 'I have seen him dozens of times. Bishop!' Her voice rose in a scream, for Dr Pendle had fallen forward on his desk.