"Do you mind me?" said the gipsy; "I have known you long, aye very long. You were very small when I brought you to this place. I did well for you then. Are you grateful?"
Tamar now did turn and look at her, and looked eagerly, and carefully, and intently on her dark and weather-beaten countenance.
"Ah!" said the gipsy, whilst a smile of scorn distorted her lip,--"so you will demean yourself now to look upon me; and you would like to know what I could tell you?"
"Indeed, indeed, I would!" exclaimed Tamar, all flushed and trembling. "Oh, in pity, in mercy tell me who I am and who are my parents?--if they still live; if I have any chance or--hope of seeing them?"
"One is no more," replied the gipsy. "She from whom I took you lies in the earth on Norwood Common. I stretched the corpse myself,--it was a bonny corpse."
Tamar fetched a deep, a very deep sigh. "Does my father live?" she asked.
"Your father!" repeated the gipsy, with a malignant laugh,--"your father!"
Tamar became more and more agitated; but excessive feeling made her appear almost insensible. With great effort she repeated,--"Does my father live?"
"He does," replied the woman, with a malignant smile, "and shall I tell you where and how?--shut up, confined in a strong-hold, caught like a vile animal in a trap. Do you understand me, Tamar? I think they call you Tamar."
"What!" said the poor girl, gasping for breath, "is my father a convicted felon?"