'Nay, Charlie; it never shall! But if you are so averse to him, do not go to Lincoln. I hate him. I distrust him more and more. You are pale and tired too, Charlie. Is it the old trouble?' Deborah leaned forward, where she sat opposite him; the sweet confidante of father and brother was wont to forget all her own joys and sorrows in theirs.
Charlie raised his dark beautiful eyes to hers, then dropped them; the furtive glance was enough. Deborah thought of her gold, and her heart began to throb with tumultuous joy. 'Is it much, Charlie? More than—twenty guineas?'
Charlie laughed a bitter laugh. 'Don't ask me, child,' he said; 'you cannot help me, Deb. I am undone!'
'Not so undone but that I can help you a little,' whispered Deborah softly, and ran towards the bed. Then she drew Charlie's hands down from his moody face, and with her own all radiant, laid her treasure in his hands. 'See, Charlie! This is mine, my very own. I have never had such riches before. Just before you came in, dear boy, I was racking my brains as to what I could buy you with these guineas, and now I give them all to you in place of presents. Don't thank me; it is thanks enough to let me stand thy friend. For what need have I for money? To me it would be worthless!'
'Who gave ye this, Deb?'
'A fairy—a true fairy, who knew your need.'
'Not May Warriston?'
'May Warriston? No! What ails you?'
'Deb, I cannot rob thee, dear. Thou needst a thousand little gewgaws such as women love. Say no more o' this;' and Charlie gave her back the gold.
But Deborah was on her knees, putting her soft face up to his. 'Charlie, it will break my heart if you disdain my poor gift. I tell you again, I have no need for money—only as a temptation for finery and trinkets which it would be sin for me to wear. Old Charlie, sweet old Charlie, I will be mistress here!' And Deborah poured her gold into his pocket and closed it up. 'You will not go to Lincoln now?'