“Your mother was a Gypsy. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me. And now, my angel, that I am acquainted with your sentiments on this subject, I shall readily fulfil a promise which I made to your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. She could not say a word, much less move. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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