I am a Kingsland, you know, and the son of a daring race." "That is my brave boy! Send them out of the room, Olivia--priest, doctor, Mildred, and all--then come close to me, close, close, for my voice is failing--and listen." Lady Kingsland arose--fair and stately still as twelve years before, and eminently self-sustained in this trying hour.

In half a minute she had turned out rector, physician, and daughter, and knelt again by that bed of death.
"The first part of my story, Olivia," began the dying man, "belongs to you.

Years before I knew you, when I was a young, hot-headed, rashly impulsive boy, traveling in Spain, I fell in with a gang of wandering gypsies.

I had been robbed and wounded by mountain brigands; those gypsies found me, took me to their tents, cared for me, cured me.

But long after I was well I lingered with them, for the fairest thing the sun shone on was my black-eyed nurse, Zenith.