Part 65 (1/2)
”Perhaps I have more for which to ask forgiveness than any other one present. Years ago,” said Zula, ”I lived with a band of gypsies. I may have been a bad child, but I hardly think I deserved the cruel punishment which I received at the hands of my mother and brother.”
Crisp dropped his head upon his breast.
”So often was I beaten that I grew to hate the man who called himself my brother, and I swore to have revenge, and at one time I should, no doubt, have died under the lash had it not been for the interference of a kind hearted gentleman, who happened to be hunting in the woods.
The night before my escape from my persecutors I heard them talking when they thought I was asleep. The gentleman had given me his address on a card, and they, overhearing a portion of our conversation, as they entered the tent, searched me for it. I could not exactly understand, at the time, what their intentions were, but I learned enough to know that they meant to harm him in some way, but fortunately I had returned the card to the gentleman, telling him that I could remember.”
”Are you going to tell----”
Meg stopped abruptly as Zula motioned her to be silent, and, turning her lovely eyes toward Scott, she said:
”This part of my confession, Mr. Wilmer, is more for you and your family than any other. When I left the woods I pa.s.sed the night in the storm, and the darkness being so intense I could not find my way out, and after wandering about until I could go no longer, I waited under a huge tree until the morning began to dawn, when I hurried to the city for fear of being pursued. I had a small bag of money, which a friend had given me, and this I took to purchase a suit of boy's clothing. I had resolved not to be captured by my brother again. Before donning my male attire I went to a barber shop and had my hair cut in real boy style, selling it for the sum of fifteen dollars. It happened that not long after I reached the city an advertis.e.m.e.nt appeared wanting an office boy, and Providence led me to the home of Scott Wilmer, and there I remained watching that no harm might come to him, for I had sworn to repay his kindness and that of his sister. It happened that one cold, dark night, I was obliged to go some distance from home, on an errand, and on my way back I saw a form crouching in the shadow of an old building. It excited my suspicion, and I stole behind the boards in order to determine the man's intention. A woman soon joined him, and my heart almost stood still when I discovered that the man's voice was that of my brother, and the woman--it matters not who.”
”Oh, you needn't try to hide it,” said Meg.
”No, no,” said Crisp, knitting his coa.r.s.e black brows, ”you needn't lie for Rene, for you know it was her.”
”In their conversation I found that they intended to rob my kind employer, and I swore at that moment that I would risk my own life if they attempted it. I also heard them telling of a stolen will that Crisp had in his possession, and I knew by his conversation that some one had been terribly wronged, and that it was a young girl, but I did not hear her name, if they mentioned it at all. I hurried home and waited for the would-be murderer. I had sworn, when a child, that I would shoot Crisp and I did.”
”It was you, was it?” Crisp said, springing toward Zula, with clinched fists.
”It was Zula.”
”Why did you not tell me of their intentions,” Scott asked, ”and save yourself the trouble?”
Zula's eyes were cast down, and the color came to her face, as she said:
”Because I could not bear to tell you of your wife's wickedness, and I knew Paul could save you.”
”But where is Paul? I do not exactly understand,” said Mrs. Wilmer.
”He stands before you.”
”And Miss Elsworth, who is she?”
”She is but a gnome. Auralia and Zula the gypsy girl are one.”
Mr. Le Moyne stepped to Zula's side.
”Then if you are Zula, you must be my brother's long lost child,” he said, joyfully.
”She lies, she lies,” screamed old Meg. ”She don't look like Zula.”
Zula pushed the rich velvet sleeve back and, pointing to a long scar, said:
”You see I still carry the mark of the lash.”
”It's a lie, it's a lie,” shouted Crisp, ”and if you don't get more marks it will be because Crisp don't live.”
Zula drew from her pocket the same little pistol which she had carried in her childhood days, and pointing it upward, she said in a clear, firm voice: