"Why--because the girl I loved was engaged to a religious lunatic?" cried Lovel, his pale face growing red with anger. "It was for that very reason I stayed. I was determined that beautiful Milly should not be sacrificed to that cold-blooded fanatic. Besides, she loved me, and but for the attraction of Herne's money she would have become my wife. I met her often, as you know; and some wretch sent tales of these meetings to Herne." "Do you know who wrote Herne those letters?" asked Paul eagerly. "No; if I did, I'd kick the person who sent them," said Lovel viciously. "I have no idea who was so cruel. Well, Mexton, while paying court to Milly, and urging her to break off the engagement with Herne, I met with old Mother Jimboy, the gipsy. She positively haunted my steps, and never saw me without speaking to me. I found her a great nuisance." "Perhaps she wrote the anonymous letters," suggested Mexton, thinking of the dirty paper and the illegible handwriting as described by Catinka. Lovel shook his head very decidedly. "No, my friend," he said, gravely. "Mother Jimboy did not write those letters, for a reason which you shall hear. She would do nothing to injure me; but, on the contrary, she would protect me as the apple of her eye. For my sake she told a lie at the inquest, so that I should not be suspected of a crime which I did not commit." "She must have strong reason for this guardianship," said Mexton, surprised. "A strong one," assented Lovel, nodding. "The reason of kinship, Mr. Mexton." He paused to give effect to his words. "That old gipsy is my grandmother." "Your grandmother!" echoed Paul, curiously. "Are you, then, a gipsy?" "On my father's side I am--half a Romany, half a Gorgio; but my looks are of the gipsy race. Can you not see for yourself?" he said, turning his face to the light. It was as he stated, for on looking at him keenly Paul beheld unmistakable traces of Romany blood--the oval face, swart and Oriental, the thin nose, the full red lips, and above all the peaked eyes, with the glazed look which reveals the true gipsy. Lovel looked like an Arab astray in the West; and would have suited the rich robes of the Oriental rather than the plain garb of an English gentleman. Paul instinctively felt that the young man spoke the truth. He was no Englishman; he was not even kin to the dark Spaniard or the swart Italian; he was of the gentle Romany, undeniably a gipsy. "When did you discover that you were of gipsy blood?" asked Paul. "I have told you," said Lovel quietly. "About three weeks ago. On the day before that fatal Sunday night I met Milly on the common, and she promised to meet me in the Winding Lane the next night, after service. Shortly before, Gran Jimboy had read Milly's hand, and prophesied that she would come by a violent death. I was angry with the old woman, and when Milly left me I went in search of Mother Jimboy to reprove her." "How did she take your reproof?"