under any stress
of poverty, parting with the silver casket." The girl paused for a
moment and then resumed:

"But poverty never yet prevented a gipsy from taking a mate. He found
one in the daughter of another travelling tinker, poorer, if possible,
than himself. She lived only long enough to bring him one child, and
then died, it is said, from the hardships of her life."

"That was miserable," sighed Sybil.

"It was so miserable that her widowed husband never tried marriage any
more; but he brought up his son to his own trade--that of a travelling
tinker. And when the time came for him to give up the ghost, he placed
the casket in the hand of the boy, saying:

"Your mother died of want, rather than let it be sold for a sum that
might have saved her life and made her comfortable; because she said
that in it was her child's destiny. Keep it and guard it as you would
guard your heart's blood.

"And so the old tinker died, and the young tramp, with the heirloom in
his possession, set out to seek his fortunes.

"But he did not go upon the quest alone. Like most improvident young
tramps, he took a mate. His wife was my mother. I remember both my
parents while they were yet young and handsome, and very happy despite
their poverty. My father--But let me stop! Before I go any further, I
wish to ask you a question."

"Ask it."

"Do you believe that any one may become so maddened with causeless
jealousy as to commit a crime?"

"I not only believe it, but know it."

"Then I will go on. My father doted on my mother--just doted on her! But
my poor mother had a friend and benefactor, of whom my father grew
insanely, furiously, but causelessly jealous.

"One day he did a cruel murder, and found out when it was too late that
he had slain the father of his wife, who, in coming after her at all was
only looking to the interests of his poor, unowned daughter. Ah! a
volume might be written on that tragedy; but let it pass! My mother died
of grief. But long ere that my father had fled the country an outlaw and
the companion of outlaws.

"Once his still absorbing love for his wife drew him back to England, at
the imminent risk of his life. His wife was dead, and his daughter was a
little wretched child, knocked about among beggars and tramps, and in
extreme danger of that last evil--that last, and worst evil that could
have befallen her--being taken care of by the parish!"

"That is a severe sarcasm," said Sybil, rebukingl