"You did
not know?" he asked. "She did not tell you she was made my wife those
years ago? She did not tell you she was the daughter of the Romany King?
So it is, you see, she is afraid to tell the truth."
Ingolby's knitted bulk heaved with desire to injure. "Your wife--you
melodious sinner! Do you think such tomfoolery has any effect in this
civilized country? She is about as much your wife as I am your brother.
Don't talk your heathenish rot here. I said I'd help you to get your
own, because you played the fiddle as few men can play it, and I owe you
a lot for that hour's music; but there's nothing belonging to Gabriel
Druse that belongs to you, and his daughter least of all. Look out--
don't sit on the fiddle, damn you!"
The Romany had made a motion as if to sit down on the chair where the
fiddle was, but stopped short at Ingolby's warning. For an instant
Jethro had an inclination to seize the fiddle and break it across his
knees. It would be an exquisite thing to destroy five thousand dollars'
worth of this man's property at a single wrench and blow. But the spirit
of the musician asserted itself before the vengeful lover could carry out
his purpose; as Ingolby felt sure it would.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79