I now know all the mysteries, Jack, which have so long puzzled me. I was right in supposing there was a connection between Tim, Miss Linisfarne, and Dr. Merle. There is a very close connection which concerns Meg and concerns me. What it is you shall now hear, so prepare your sceptical mind for tales of wonder.
In my last epistle I told you how Miss Linisfarne stood aloof when her plans were overturned, and shut herself up in the Court. Meg--tender-hearted girl as she is--regretted that one to whom she owed much should be thus estranged and lonely. She consulted both Mr. Jarner and myself as to the advisability of seeking a reconciliation with Miss Linisfarne, and we--suspecting no danger--approved of her resolution. Would that we had forbidden the visit, for it led to nothing but evil! Yet it fulfilled the prophecy, so I suppose was to be. Certainly it was out of our powers to advert the decrees of Fate. Fire and flame--false father--false mother! There is the riddle, Jack, and here is the interpretation thereof.
Meg went to the Court one evening, at six o'clock, and saw Miss Linisfarne, who professed herself glad to be reconciled. Nay, more, she pretended to approve of the marriage, and said she would give Meg a wedding present. This was none other than the portrait of my ancestor, Sir Alurde, whom I so greatly resemble. It was very kind of her offering it to Meg, especially as it belonged to me! But, mark you, the cunning of the woman! She asserted that she had seen me in the interval, and had asked and obtained my permission to give the portrait. This statement, I need hardly tell you, was pure invention.
Naturally enough Meg believed her story, and went with her to the west wing, where Miss Linisfarne had removed the picture. It was in a small room, slashed to pieces, and in that room the mad woman--for she was quite mad--locked up my poor darling, and set fire to the place. Whether it was by accident or design, I do not know; but she soon had the Court in a blaze. It is now completely gutted, and only the bare walls stand to show where the house once stood. The home of my ancestors is gone, but I care nothing for that. Meg is safe, and for that alone I am thankful.
Tinker Tim was at the fire, and saved Miss Linisfarne. I rescued Meg by the merest accident. The brave girl wrenched out the bars of her prison-house, and climbed out. I saw her hanging on to the ivy which overgrows this part of the house, and by some miracle--for I cannot tell you how I did it--I extricated her from the perilous situation. We went to see after Miss Linisfarne, and then received a surprise.
I know you won't believe it, Jack, for I was sceptical myself, until convinced by hearing the story in detail. Meg is not the daughter of Dr. Merle. You must remember how I wondered that so fine a nature, so beautiful a girl, could have for parent so contemptible a specimen of humanity. My wonder was legitimate. She is not Merle's daughter, but the child of Miss Linisfarne and Tinker Tim. There, sir, what do you think of that for a startling piece of news? I am so astonished myself that as yet I can hardly believe it. Nevertheless, it is perfectly true. Here is the story. More wonderful than any yet invented by fiction-mongers.
Some twenty-five, or it may be more, years ago Tinker Tim--whose other name, by the way, is Lovel--was a handsome young gipsy. He was more ambitious than the rest of his race, and wished to be great. A strange thing for a Romany, for, as a rule, they are content with their humble condition and wandering life. Tim, however, left the tents of his people and went among the Gorgios. He had plenty of money left to him by his father, who was a noted prizefighter. He told no one that he was a gipsy, and, owing to his foreign looks, was supposed to be some Eastern prince. This is not to be wondered at, for, as you know, the Romany originally came from India many hundred years ago. Desiring to learn what pleasure there was in the life of a Gorgio, Tim encouraged the idea, and by a lavish use of his money managed to see a good deal of society. All this sounds extraordinary, but I believe it to be true. Though only a vagabond gipsy, Tim is a splendid looking man, and has a remarkably keen brain. I can quite well imagine that he could pass himself off for an Eastern prince, and gull society for at least a season. This is what occurred. He was much made of by the fashionable world, and while the lion of the season met with Miss Linisfarne.
She was then just twenty years of ago, and a very beautiful woman. She fell in love with Tim and he with her. I do not know the details of the courtship, but it ended in a secret marriage performed by a Church of England clergyman. Tim would not be married publicly by a parson, as it would destroy his pretensions as an Eastern prince, and Miss Linisfarne would not be married in any other way. They compromised by a secret marriage, and Tim met his wife on the Continent, where they lived for some time. No one, not even the parents of Miss Linisfarne, knew of the marriage, and as she was abroad with a companion, secretly bribed to keep the marriage quiet, no harm was suspected. Then Tim, in a moment of weakness, told his wife that he was no prince, but only a wandering gipsy. To his surprise her love turned to hate. She considered that she had been tricked, as it had been her desire when the marriage was avowed to appear in London as a princess. She was an ambitious woman, and the discovery of the truth made her wrathful. Both she and her husband had fiery tempers, so in the end they parted. Miss Linisfarne returned to her people, and Tim was left abroad, vowing to revenge himself on his hardhearted wife. You can guess what that revenge was.
About this time Merle, or rather Mallard, came into the story. He was a wealthy young doctor, madly in love with Miss Linisfarne. She, finding she was about to become a mother, accepted his addresses in order to conceal the disgrace. To her parents she confessed the truth, and they, deeming the ceremony with Tim no true marriage, as he was a gipsy, urged on the match with Mallard. All would have gone well had it taken place at once; but Mallard was called away to Italy, where his father was dying, and when he returned Miss Linisfarne had disappeared. The parents refused to tell this lover where she was; but, having unlimited money at his command, he had no difficulty in finding her hiding place. There he learned the truth, for he found she had given birth to a female child. She cynically avowed her connection with Tim, and drove Mallard mad for the time being. He had not at any time a strong brain, and the shock proved too much for him, so for three years he was in a lunatic asylum. When Miss Linisfarne returned to London, and told her parents all, they were so enraged at her folly and disgrace, that they exiled her to Farbis Court, where she spent the remainder of her miserable life. Much as I condemn her conduct, I must confess to a feeling of pity for the agony she endured all those years in the lonely house. If she sinned, she was bitterly punished.
When Mallard came out of the asylum he was a complete wreck, and did not mend matters by taking to opium. He wandered about the world for two years, but found no peace. Then he formed a design of withdrawing from a world which had no further charms for him, since his life had been ruined by a woman. Yet he still loved Miss Linisfarne, and went down to the village where he had learned the truth. He found Miss Linisfarne had gone away, but the child, now five years of age, was still there, and with the child a gipsy who asserted he was the father. This of course was Tim, and with his strong will he soon obtained an ascendency over the weak mind of Mallard. Tim wished to force the mother to bring up her child and train it according to her duty, yet all the time remain in ignorance of the truth. He heard that Miss Linisfarne had gone to Farbis Court, and therefore proposed to Mallard that, as he wished to retire from the world, he also should go there under an assumed name, and adopt Meg--so the child was named--as his daughter. At first Mallard refused, but in the end yielded. The use of opium had already rendered him a tool in the hands of the gipsy, and when Meg was five years of age she was taken down to Farbis with her adopted father.