more her abrupt and practically unexplained appearance among us, impressed me as testimony to her being the victim—but not the resigned victim—of some grave injustice. She purposed to right herself, or, if that could not be, to avenge herself; and to that end had she come to Cedarcliffe.
Such was my line of argument. And there was something more. I did not believe that Sinfire was the daughter of my uncle. I believed her to be of gypsy blood. How she came to know anything of my uncle's affairs, and how she came by his letter, I could only conjecture; but the problem was not insoluble. It was harder to account for her cultivation, her perfect manners, and her familiarity with the ways of society; but great natural tact and intelligence, joined to an unfaltering purpose, can accomplish miracles; and moreover there might be (and indeed must be) circumstances in her past life, of which I know nothing at present, that would partly explain it. Still, there is an enigma here that I don't pretend to fathom. But let us recapitulate the situation, as I conceive it at present. Sinfire is a gypsy, who at some time, in some way, has been brought into relations with polite society and has learnt its ways. Either before or after this time, she met my brother Henry, and they fell in love with each other. After the affair had gone a certain length, be it more or less, Henry deserted her. Her acquaintance with him had brought her into contact with my uncle, whom Henry, perhaps, was staying with. After Henry left her, she attached herself to my uncle (he being childless, or having lost his children, and a widower) and won his confidence. At his death, he left her what small property he had, and gave her the letter which she brought to us,—he being prompted thereto, let us say, by a knowledge of the wrong done her, and a desire to see it righted. She came to us, expecting that sooner or later Henry would return, and that she would then be able to force him to come to terms,—either to marry her, or to account to her in some manner: she would even be capable of stabbing him through the heart, if it should come to that. Such was the aspect of my theory at the time of our interview in the laboratory.
The result of that interview, so far as it had any result, was to confirm me in the leading points of my theory,—that she was a gypsy, and that Henry was no stranger to her. It was not conclusive, but it was certainly not contradictory of these hypotheses. It would involve the disappointment of John's hopes, and it would complicate my own attitude towards Sinfire. Ought I to expose her as an adventuress? No; for two reasons: first, that it is not absolutely certain that she is one; secondly, that, even if she be all I imagine, she still has human
