But he went on: 'Who lives here?'
'You and I, father, and I hope Charlie soon. Adam Sinclair gave us this place. Wasn't it good of him?'
'Adam Sinclair?' He looked bewildered, and shook his head. 'I know naught of him, Deb. Deb, little Deb, I was thinking of Kate Shaw. I saw her yesterday.'
'Who was she, father, dear?'
He stared at her. 'Why, your mother!'
Her heart fluttered. 'My mother! And did you see her yesterday?'
'Ay; she was walking under the trees yonder. But she looked ill, sadly ill; her hair was as white as mine. She gave me such a look!'
Deborah went and kneeled by her father, and put her arms around him. 'Poor sweet father! This could not be. Thou knowest my mother died long, long ago. And was her name Kate Shaw, father?'
'Ay;' and he smiled. Wrapt and intent, his eyes seemed gazing far through and away. 'She was Kate Shaw, Deb; a gipsy lass, and beautiful as the dawn. No one like her! Such eyes, such feet, such grace! Sweet Kate! sweet Kate!'
Deborah knew that her mother's name had been Kate. She marvelled, trembled.