"What is't now?" he said, impatiently. "What art staring at? Thine eyes be like saucers."
"I be wondering what thou wilt say an' I tell thee somewhat," she answered, softly.
"Out with it then. Thou hast seen Berwick, I wager. I heard he was to be in town; he hath followed thee, Deb, an'—well, pretty one—things are settled between thee at last?"
"Verily, no!" she cried, her face colouring, "an' thou canst not better that guessing, thou hadst best not try again."
"No? Then what's to do, little sister?"
"Dost remember I told thee they had found one to take thy part at Blackfriars?"
"Egad, yes, that thought has been i' my head ever since. 'Fore Heaven, I would some one sent me word who 'twas. I ache for news. Hast heard who 'twas, Deb?"
"'Twas I," she answered, the pink going from her face. "'Twas I, Debora!"
The young fellow caught at the window ledge and looked at her steadily without a word. Then he broke into a strange laugh. Taking the girl by the shoulder he swung her to the fading light.
"What dost mean?" he said, hoarsely. "Tell me the truth."