'She has forgot. Only try.'
'Where is she? And the poor old master?'
'They are in the house. I will run to him; and Lady Deb shall go into the garden, unwitting you are here. It is best so. Go round.'
'But stay, Mistress Dinnage, one moment. Where is Charlie Fleming?'
'How can I tell you?' replied Mistress Margaret with her old hauteur. 'His sister would better know;' and turned away, as the scarlet blood dyed face and throat and hands.
So Kingston sauntered round, just as if his heart were not knocking against his side with tumultuous love and desperate longing hope.
There soon walked his sweet love into the garden. Little did Kingston, there watching through the trees, know of the great fortune that had befallen her, or he would have seen himself far enough away before seeking Deborah Fleming's ear. Hark! she is singing. She is passing close to him while she sings, his first—last—only love! She was looking pale and sorrowful, that sweet Rose of Enderby. O to pluck that fair Rose from the thorny stem of Enderby, and wear it for ever on his breast! As he gazed, Kingston Fleming felt himself capable of anything for her dear sake. His heart swelled with joy and triumph, to think that she was poor and lonely, and that he could hew a place for her amongst the great ones of the earth. He stepped forward, and faltered—'Deborah!'
Deborah was taken aback. She stood, and first faded to a white rose and then flushed to a red, and not a word to say.
'Deborah,' said Kingston Fleming, 'don't resent my coming. I heard of my uncle Vincent's illness—and, of Master Sinclair's death. Love! I will not offend by word or look or deed; only bid me serve thee!'
'And hast forgiven me, Kingston?' faltered the girl, her passionate love pleading wildly within her breast, and quelling all else beside, forgetting utterly that she too had thought herself aggrieved.