'You can read my heart then? No; I do not hate you, Kingston; I love you as my kinsman and my brother's truest friend.'
'Not always his true friend, Deb,' said Kingston quickly. 'Don't give me more than my due.'
'Well, I don't hate you for your candour, but rather love you, King.'
'Dost love me, Deb?' Kingston Fleming looked up strangely and suddenly from under his long love-lock with his old arch smile, but there was a wistful sadness in it too.
Deborah blushed scarlet at the sudden question. 'Love ye?' she begged curtly, to hide her confusion. 'Ay, well enough. We shall be friends, I know. We will quarrel no more, King; we two must be friends.'
'Friends, sweet heart—friends?' What ailed him as he murmured these words? He seemed like one distraught. Springing up, he paced to and fro the long length of the saloon, then stopped before the maiden.
'Well, good-bye, Deb. I am tongue-tied in thy presence. I had better go. Kiss me!'
Deborah blushed. 'Nay; I never did that.'
'Is that a reason ye never should?' And Kingston stooped and kissed her.
He was gone. Was it pleasure or pain that caused Deborah's heart to beat so wildly?