'I wish ye were aught else. Deb, I would ye were a beggar!'
'O loving wish! I have been beggar long enough. Why dost wish this? Tell me.'
'Because it is Adam Sinclair's gold; because ye owe all to him. But Deb, I must bid ye adieu, love, when I have seen your father. I came but for a few hours; I have business at Granta.'
'Always going! always gone! King, ye are like a wreath of smoke—ever evanishing in thin air.'
He wrung her hand, and turned away; yet he saw that tears were in her eyes. Deborah felt that if he went, he went for ever. The truth flashed upon her: he loved her still, but her fortune sundered them in his eyes. What should she do? Woo him? He knew not even of her love. She plucked a daisy from the grass, and gave it him: 'King, rememberest thou? "He loved me not?"'
'Who loved thee not?' And he stood and gazed upon her.
Trembling like an aspen leaf at her own boldness, she answered tremulously: 'Why, Kingston Fleming.'
'Didst love Kingston Fleming then?'
'Then—now—and always!' And she sank upon his breast.
(To be concluded next month.)