'Not my father?'
'No.'
'Has Master Sinclair been here lately?'
'Yes; he was over yesterday morning.'
Then the gloaming parted as it were to admit of a blink of sunshine, and the dark eyes that were gazing up sought the haggard eyes that were gazing down upon them, and all in a flash. Twilight and the wild sweet solitude around them drew those proud hearts together with a power that yearning nature could not resist. The spell of Love was woven around them. Not one word was uttered: stern silence, weary endless longing, pride, grief, trouble, despair, all were now hushed in one long embrace. Long and wordless as had been estrangement, so swift and wordless the wooing; no syllable was needed to tell what the soul had known.
What mattered it in that supreme moment that he was a hunted ruined fugitive—that she was a poor and penniless girl—that they met but to part again? The sweet summer breeze was blowing round them; the trees trembled with gladness overhead; they were young; the world was wide and free. The solemn warning voice of the old clock, for them spoke in vain.
When Mistress Dinnage could speak, she whispered on his breast: 'Thou'rt in trouble.'
'In trouble? Yes.' Then, with a reckless laugh, he took her face between his hands, and answered by wild and passionate kisses.
'Nay; thou must speak,' she went on earnestly, and holding back his head with her little hands. 'Kisses will not aid thee, or I would kiss thee till I died. Speak, Master Fleming! Art thou ruined?'
'Ay; stick and stone.'