“It is true.”
Scott rang the bell, and as a servant appeared he said:
“Order the horses and carriage, and take these two notes to the numbers indicated. Tell the persons to come immediately.”
The servant departed, and Scott remained thoughtful for a few moments with his head bowed upon his hands. At length he looked up, gazing straight into Zula’s eyes, and said:
“Zula—if that is your name—I cannot bear deceit, but I believe that your motive has been a pure one; but I have loved you more for your beauty of thought and actions than for your loveliness of face, and now you tell me that you are not an authoress.”
“You are mistaken in that. I said I was not Miss Elsworth, the authoress, but I am ‘Auralia,’ and only a gypsy girl, the daughter of a low fortune-teller and a sister of one of the most degraded of men.”
“I have seen old Meg at her home, but I never saw you there.”
“I have not seen her for years; not since I received that cruel beating from Crisp.”
“I have sent for her, and when she comes I will ask you to step into the next apartment, as she has promised to tell me something of Irene’s history, which she claims to know, and which your presence might interfere with, but Zula,” he said, taking a step nearer to her, “I cannot help loving you if you are a gypsy girl. You must have been a brave, good girl to have fought so many hard battles, which I know you must of necessity have been compelled to do, to reach the standard you have. You have done a noble work, and however low your birth, whatever misfortune you may have met, so that you have come out of the fire purified, and with a name honored by yourself and your God, my love is still the same. Zula, this shall not 317 come between us. I loved the woman whom the world praised, but I love the gypsy girl none the less.”