And thus it came to pass that Deborah, watching at her father's bedside, heard rumours of that battle by which the name of Charles Fleming became famous. It was early morning. The great wild clouds of dawn were parted, and rolled asunder. The glorious sun rose on the watcher's weary eyes, and steeped the land in splendour. Deborah threw up the windows wide, and returned to the dying man. O heaven, tender mercy, cannot the light of summer sunrise rob that dear face of aught of its wintry wanness?
'Father, sweet father!' she said in thrilling tones of grief, 'art thou not better? See the glorious sun, father!'
'Nay, Deb,' he answered plaintively; 'I see no sun; mine eyes are dark. How little thou dost look to me! Thou'rt grown so small! My child, my darling, I am very ill.'
Then Deborah raised his head upon her shoulder; she knew that he was himself again, himself but to die; her brave heart sank, yet she answered calmly: 'Yes, thou hast been very ill. Dost thou remember all that happed?'
'Ay, ay. My boy, my boy!' And he sobbed.
'Hush, father; that was wrong; that was false! That was a wicked forgery. Charlie never wronged thee by thought or deed. Charlie hath ever been loyal to thee and thine. Art thou content now, dear?'
A brilliant smile stole over the fading face of Vincent Fleming. 'Ay,' said he, 'content to die!' He lay musing, his eyes closed. 'Deb,' said he at last, 'whisper me. My boy is true to me—is't not so?'
'Yes, father; true as steel: he loves thee dearly. And for thee,' she went on, with heaving breast, 'he hath done brave things! Charlie is a soldier, and men are all saying he hath won great honour and renown.'
'Ah, Deb; thank God, thank God for this! And thou, Deb, sweet Deb, how is't with thee?'
'I am rich, dear. I am betrothed to King Fleming, whom I love most dearly; and I have wealth enough for all. It is well with thy two children, thou seest.'