'I see now, Master Parry, why it is more convenient to negotiate with Mistress Fleming than with Sir Vincent. I am a woman. You can threaten me, and think to daunt me; but you shall find yourself mistaken. If ye are not this arch-villain himself, ye are playing into his hands. Why, I tell ye, girl as I am, and ignorant, I know the emptiness of your threats! To what end would this forged paper be published? What harm could it do Charles Fleming? To publish this'—and Deborah rose with a laugh of scorn, and struck her hand upon it—'would be but to bring disgrace on him who published it—disgrace! ay, and death! My brother's innocence would be proved, and this man brought to the gallows. Now, would ye have me buy it, Master Parry? Nay, you had better not, for I would have no mercy on the author of this villainy. Destroy it! Nay; I would publish it to all the world.'
'Ah Mistress, ye know little of the world then, or of the result of such a trial. It might go hard with Master Fleming, I warn ye. But if ye will have it so, I'll e'en give this back, and let him work his will. He's not a man to be made a foe of with impunity. I sadly fear ye will rue this rash act. I might have saved you. But be it, Mistress Fleming, as you will.'
With a savage consciousness of having been worsted, nay, utterly defeated, by a young and dauntless maiden, Master Parry stood with hat and bag in hand. Mistress Fleming had read him through. He had won neither gold nor favour from the future Mistress of Lincoln, only stern defiance and proud disdain.
How he hated her, but how blandly he smiled!
'I am not afraid,' quoth haughty Mistress Fleming; and looking beyond the lawyer and over his head, she bowed him calmly to the door.
One low reverence and a muttered curse between his teeth, and the doors of Enderby closed for aye on Master Parry.
Deborah was herself then. With thoughts collected and brows lowering she threw open all the windows; then standing on the hearth, she muttered: 'He has done it himself. I am trembling now with passion—only I would not vent it on a thing so mean—though my hands ached to be at him, woman as I am! Have I acted and judged aright? Oh, I know not; I know naught o' business; I cannot abide it. But I have acted a woman's part in this; not from pity, but because it would shame me to drag the name of Fleming through such mud. Only I was fain to shew the worm what I could do. O King, King! where art thou? O dear father; and poor, brave, gallant, honourable Charlie! Where, where is father, that I may tell him this great good news? O my precious brother, to think we should e'er have doubted thee! Well-a-day! I am a rich heiress—I am a great lady; I will pay all our debts; and Enderby—Enderby is mine! to give away to father and to Charlie! O wretched Adam Sinclair—poor perjured soul! Would your wealth not do such untold good, I would none of it. Honour and charity together shall wipe the stains from off your gold, and make it good for use.'
Sir Vincent came home late one evening, some days after Adam Sinclair's death. Some one, some careless tongue had told him suddenly that Adam Sinclair had met his death at the hand of Charles Fleming. He stopped at the lodge, and got off his horse feebly.
'Mistress Dinnage,' said he, 'where is my boy Charlie?'