"Tell me all about this. How came I to be left to perish on the shore?"
"Leave the room, both of you," said the sick woman, to her attendants. They obeyed. "Now, sit down beside me," she continued, turning to Gipsy; "and tell me, are you married?"
"Yes, they say so—to old Dr. Nicholas Wiseman."
"Great heaven! what did you say?" exclaimed Mrs. Oranmore, in a voice of horror.
"Yes. It's surprising, ain't it, that I married that old man. But that's got nothing to do with your story. Go on," urged Gipsy.
"Child! child!" said the dying woman faintly, "you have wedded the murderer of your mother."
With a low, sharp cry Gipsy sprang to her feet—her countenance blanched to the hue of death.
"Did he know your history?" asked Mrs. Oranmore, breaking the long pause that followed.
"Yes; he heard it a few weeks before we were married," said Gipsy, in a voice that was hoarse and unnatural.
"Then he married you that he might possess Mount Sunset. Oh, the villainy of that wretch! But let him beware! for the day of retribution is at hand."