Then rang out the bells of Enderby, loud and clear, the refrain, 'I love him, and I hate him too!' Low in the lull, loud and clear on the gale, 'I love him, and I hate him too!'

Mistress Dinnage in those days was well-nigh desperate. After hearing that Deborah Fleming was betrothed to Adam Sinclair and was to be wedded to him in three weeks' time, she knew no rest. It was all for Charlie, it was on his account; Charlie therefore must know of this, and there would be an end of it. For two evenings Mistress Dinnage watched for her lover in vain. She had talked herself hoarse to Deborah; she had exhausted threats and entreaties: she might as well have talked to the idle wind—and so she knew—as to Deborah once resolved. On the third evening-watch, however, Margaret saw the well-known form. She was out in a moment under the gloom of the trees and the twilight.

'I have somewhat to tell you, Charlie. Let me speak quickly and clearly, love. Your sister Deborah is betrothed to Master Sinclair; they are to be wedded in two weeks and four days. There have been sad doings at Enderby. Your father! Ah! I dare not tell ye what I fear. But oh! grievous trouble has he been in through tidings from Master Sinclair about you! So Mistress Deborah promised then and there to be Master Sinclair's wife. Oh, I tell you she is desperate since! She loves another; I know it; but she gives up all for you and Enderby.'

'Can this be true! Meg, I will kill him first. Has he betrayed me then? What tidings has he sent?'

'I know not; but of terrible losses, be sure. Ah, dear, are ye not in terrible trouble, and waiting about for love of me? Stay no longer, Charlie! Think not o' me; I will follow; I've got good courage. Release sweet Mistress Deborah.'

'How, quotha? Death only will release that mad reckless girl. Ah! I might have known her.'

'Neither prayers nor commands, Charlie, would she listen to; no, not if you were rolling in riches now, she says she would not break her oath. Charlie! O love, what do I urge you to! You must fight that old man, and we must fly. Not to kill him, Charlie, hark ye!—not to kill him; but to disable him for what life he has left! Think me merciless, unwomanly; I care not, so that it saves her. Or stay, stay, Charlie! Will ye use all your influence first to turn him? O ye can talk to tenderness a heart o' stone! Talk to Adam Sinclair then till he melts to pity; but set sweet Deborah free!'

'Talk to him!' said Charlie Fleming, with a short laugh; 'ay, I will talk. But we have old accounts to settle first, old debts to square. We have a little affair to settle between ourselves, Adam Sinclair and I. Hark ye, Meg! He has accused me of foul play—not to my face, not he! but behind my back. He has accused me of cheating at cards—a dirty trick to brand on a man; and as ye know, love, whatever Charlie Fleming's faults, he would scorn so foul an act. I don't mind telling ye now, Meg, that I must wipe off this slander with blood. All my comrades are up in arms at it; and even now I am on my way to Lincoln, to meet Adam Sinclair face to face; and in case I fall, Meg—to bid thee now farewell.' He took her in his arms; he folded back the long dark hair from the passionate face. In bitter wrath and passion had she trembled at hearing of the foul slander put on his fair fame; and her fiery spirit, following the spirit of his words, had made her grasp his hands, and pant and frown in eagerness for revenge. But when she pictured him dead—lying perchance beneath the old man's deadly shot, stiffening in his blood, in the perished glory of his youth and strength—then her woman's heart began to shudder and to faint: she leaned on his broad breast and moaned.

'What! sick?' he whispered. 'Faint? A little poltroon! The wife of a Fleming must be brave. Thou wouldst hate and despise Charles Fleming if he could for one moment brook such an insult as this. Come; I meant to bid thee good-bye, and hide this from thee; but now I have told thee all, thou must face death with me, and take it as it comes.'

'I know it! I know it! Not for one moment would I say aught but "Go!" Yet, pity my woman's fears; think how long I have loved but thee! Ay, I have kissed the stones where thy shadow passed! and to lose thee now, now—my husband of but a week, my darling husband! Nay; I will not grieve before 'tis time!' she cried with sudden fire, gazing up at him. 'See! I am so brave that I would fain be thy second, and see thy true shot speed to that old coward heart! Oh, thou'lt kill him, Charlie, thou'lt kill him, or hurt him sorely. A dead-shot he may be; but men say thine is deadlier. Nay; do not laugh; I have listened, till I know better than thou canst know thyself, all Charles Fleming's brave gifts. They say thou'rt a deadly shot.'