CHAPTER XXXIII. YOU HAVE TRIUMPHED. Laurie and his father were both listening with eager interest to the story of Gipsy’s parentage, and now the general asked: “But the girl’s father--what was his name?” “It was James Whitney, and her mother’s name was Rosalind. She called her child for herself.” “So, then, Gipsy Darke is hereafter Rosalind Whitney? Now, then, her grandfather’s name?” exclaimed the old general curiously. “It was Jasper Carrington, of Fair Lawns, Florida.” “Jasper Carrington, of Florida! Why, we were at school together as boys! A grand young man was Jasper. But he is dead now. I remember his sensational first marriage with the beautiful gipsy girl. It created a sensation and was in all the papers. I met him once with his wife. They seemed ideally happy. But his second wife brought him into bankruptcy and misfortune. Their children died. Fair Lawns, their lovely home, was burned to the ground and Jasper himself died of burns received in saving his wife’s life. She wasn’t worth it, for she married again six months after his death,” said the general reminiscently. Whereupon Mrs. Ritchie, who had listened a long time without speaking, inquired: “What became of Gipsy Darke’s father?” “I beg your pardon, her name is Miss Whitney,” observed the general. “Well, then, Miss Whitney?” crossly. Magdala, the Gipsy, at whom she looked, replied: “The man went to the dogs. Dissipated and reckless, he was killed in a duel over an actress. People who wrong any one of gipsy blood mostly die violent deaths.” “Oh, nonsense--a percentage of people always die of accidents, and then the gipsies claim the credit!” cried the old general testily; adding: “I am very glad to know all about the parentage of my sister’s heiress, and now I think it is about time for some one to go to the gipsy camp and identify the girl.” “Let me go!” cried Lelia eagerly. “Certainly not!” her husband answered, with latent sternness. “My father and I will attend to the matter. Stay, Magdala, the distance is short to the camp, we will walk over with you.” Lelia flew out of the room, apparently in the sulks. But she was mounted on her bicycle and flying over the road to the camp before the other three had got down to the gate. She had conceived the idea of appealing to Gipsy’s mercy. It was her only chance. The young girl, lying on a light cot within the gipsy queen’s tent, started up in dire alarm as her arch enemy flashed before her sight. “Miss Ritchie!” she cried, flinging out an arm as if to defend herself. “Mrs. Willoughby, if you please,” returned the other, adding proudly: “Laurie and I are married now, you know.” “Yes, yes. I was looking in the window and saw the ceremony. I forgot it for the moment!” Gipsy returned wearily, shrinkingly, wondering if her enemy had come to finish her terrible work of that night.