“Yes.”
“She never forgot your face, nor your kindness. Her name was Zula, and so is mine.”
“Are you really not Miss Elsworth?”
“No, I am only Zula, the gypsy girl.”
“A gypsy,” Scott said in a low voice. “Can it be? Miss Elsworth, Blanche, I cannot believe it. I cannot believe you guilty of so much deception.”
“Let me tell you why I deceived you. It was because I had sworn to return your kindness in some way, and I have tried.”
“You are none the less lovely, if you are a gypsy.”
Zula, as we must now call her, turned her beautiful eyes full upon Scott’s face as she said:
“You will see no beauty when I tell you that I am of the very lowest parentage, and old Meg is my mother, and Crisp is my brother.”
“Good heavens! Do not tell me that.”