The old gray eyes, growing dim with age, looked straight and honestly on their young Mistress, yet humbly too, as he answered in a low voice: 'Where she ought to be, Mistress Deborah—off to her young husband, Master Charlie Fleming.'
'Jordan, Jordan! Is this true? Her husband? Ye bewilder me. Are they wedded then? Is she gone to Ireland?'
'Sure enow! O Mistress Deborah, I come to ask forgiveness! It isn't for the like o' Jordan Dinnage to have his daughter Mistress Fleming; but dear heaven knows I know'd naught, an' never sought it out, nor had high notions. Mistress Deborah, I ask forgiveness, an' I hope the master'll forgive me.'
Deborah took the old trembling hand. 'The master is in no state to blame or to forgive. But, Jordan, thou may'st give me joy o' this. It gladdens mine heart in my sore troubles like a sunbeam on a dark, dark cloud. Forgive thee? Ay, I am proud to be Margaret Fleming's sister; an' well believe my father would bid her welcome too—faithful honest Jordan. Now come, Jordan, come, and see how he lies. He knows me not, and he calls ever upon Charlie. Hast sent my letter to Ireland? Hast the address?'
'Ay, ay; it's gone.'
'Then I will write again to-night. Heaven send he may come in time. Sometimes, Jordan, he lieth in a stupor; again he calls for Charlie or for me.'
Reverently pulling his white forelock, with his old habit of respect, to his fiery but beloved master, Jordan stood at the foot of the bed, and saw the shadow of death on the face of Vincent Fleming.
'My boy,' murmured the dying man, with his eyes upon Jordan—'my boy Charlie!'
Old Jordan gazed helplessly and sorrowfully from him to the doctor who stood by, and Marjory, who entered. 'What's to be done?' he muttered. 'It kills him!'
'Patience, patience!' whispered the solemn doctor; 'he may see his son yet. There is great hope for him, Mistress Fleming; keep good heart.'