That night Charlie's secretly made wife Meg Dinnage wrote and
despatched a letter to Kingston Fleming, in this wise: 'Master Kingston
Fleming, we are in a sore strait. Master Sinclair is dead; ye may have
heard it. Master Charles Fleming is gone away. My Lady Deb is all
alone, for her poor father is helpless on our hands. As ye are kind and
true, come with speed to Enderby. You will be welcome.'
That same night Mistress Fleming and Deborah conferred long together,
and talked themselves light-hearted about the future. Then said
Mistress Fleming: 'Let me brush your lovely long hair, Lady Deb; for
soon you will have a maid for this and a maid for that. Lady o' Lincoln
Castle! Oh, who would have thought on such luck! I no longer hate the
poor fox who has died and left you all, but pity him from my heart. Ah,
Lady Deb, I wish Master Fleming could hear o' this.'
'_You_ know where he is hiding, Mistress Dinnage, but will not tell me.'
'Nay; I am under oath. But why should Master Fleming tell "Mistress
Dinnage" his hiding-place?'
'Ye cannot blind me, Margaret; you are also a maiden; you are happy.
Nay; come round to me, dear. The time has come. But my own selfish
sorrows have kept me dumb hitherto. Margaret, you love him! He has
spoken!' Deborah leaned back in her chair, gazing up, with her hair
falling like a golden shower behind her.
Mistress Fleming, dark-haired, dark-eyed, blushing, drooped, till she
sank and laid her head on Deborah's knees. The action was eloquent.
'And ye have kept this from me?' whispered Deborah, drooping over her.
'O Mistress Dinnage, Mistress Dinnage! but you shall be wedded now as
soon as ever Lincoln tragedy is blown over, and poor Adam Sinclair's
fate forgot. Meantime, what doeth Charlie, dear? Speak! I will guard
the secret.'
'He has gone to fight. He has 'listed with the Irish to fight against
England. Ye have driven me to add to your sorrows, Lady Deb; lightening
my own heart to tell you this.'
'O Margaret, Margaret! what could induce him to do this mad thing? Has
he really joined?'
'A week ago.'
'And a private! O Charlie Fleming, this is a sore trouble, yet no
disgrace. But you thought yourself a ruined man.'
'We must pray for him, Lady Deb. Oh, night and day he is my prayer. God
guard him!'
'It is well father cannot know of _this_;' and Deborah fell into deep
thought.
'Mistress Dinnage,' said she suddenly, 'I was happy this morning: I
heard from May Warriston.'
'I saw you did.'
'She told me news. Mistress Blancheflower was married a month ago at
Naples to Count Mazzini. There was a very grand wedding.'
'What! Did she desert Master King Fleming then, for this foreign
count?'
'Ay, she did!' said Deborah bitterly. 'I would not have believed
it. And I taunted him, and called him false and a traitor, Mistress
Dinnage, when he came over last and told me he was free. And now I hear
that _she_ threw him over so soon as the rich count appeared. Heaven
forgive her! She has cost me much.'
'For naught,' added Mistress Fleming fiercely; and then Mistress
Fleming thought, and laughed to herself. 'When Master King Fleming
comes again,' she continued softly, 'you will not chide him _then_.
No; you will be kind, for sake of those hard words. I like Master King
Fleming dearly.'
'Nay,' answered Deborah, speaking coldly and blushing warmly; 'I have
more to forgive than he. We both spoke hotly; but King said a hard
thing of me anent my wedding Master Sinclair. We were both hot. But
take my word for it, Mistress Dinnage, he will come no more to Enderby.'
'He will, and will be welcome too. He would make the Master his old
self again; so father says, and I well believe it.'
'O hush, Mistress Dinnage, hush! He will come no more to Enderby, nor
do we need him now.'
One long day passed; but another dawn brought Kingston Fleming.
Mistress Margaret, eagerly watching from her window, saw him ride up,
and was out before Marjory. As she stood in the early sun, he wondered
at her beauty, though his soul was in another's. She held his horse;
he wondered at her graciousness, little wotting that the girl's proud
heart was all subdued by the same subtle shaft that quivered in his
own. She thought of herself no more.
'Thank ye,' said Kingston. 'And thank ye, dear Mistress Dinnage, for
the little letter. Did Deborah know of _that_?'
'Nay; I writ without her knowledge. But she will welcome ye. Only try.'
'O Mistress Dinnage, I was hard and brutal with her.'
'She has forgot. Only try.'
'Where is she? And the poor old master?'
'They are in the house. I will run to him; and Lady Deb shall go into
the garden, unwitting you are here. It is best so. Go round.'
'But stay, Mistress Dinnage, one moment. Where is Charlie Fleming?'
'How can I tell you?' replied Mistress Margaret with her old hauteur.
'His sister would better know;' and turned away, as the scarlet blood
dyed face and throat and hands.
So Kingston sauntered round, just as if his heart were not knocking
against his side with tumultuous love and desperate longing hope.
There soon walked his sweet love into the garden. Little did Kingston,
there watching through the trees, know of the great fortune that had
befallen her, or he would have seen himself far enough away before
seeking Deborah Fleming's ear. Hark! she is singing. She is passing
close to him while she sings, his first--last--only love! She was
looking pale and sorrowful, that sweet Rose of Enderby. O to pluck
that fair Rose from the thorny stem of Enderby, and wear it for ever
on his breast! As he gazed, Kingston Fleming felt himself capable of
anything for her dear sake. His heart swelled with joy and triumph, to
think that she was poor and lonely, and that _he_ could hew a place
for her amongst the great ones of the earth. He stepped forward, and
faltered--'Deborah!'
Deborah was taken aback. She stood, and first faded to a white rose and
then flushed to a red, and not a word to say.
'Deborah,' said Kingston Fleming, 'don't resent my coming. I heard of
my uncle Vincent's illness--and, of Master Sinclair's death. Love! I
will not offend by word or look or deed; only bid me serve thee!'
'And hast forgiven me, Kingston?' faltered the girl, her passionate
love pleading wildly within her breast, and quelling all else beside,
forgetting utterly that she too had thought herself aggrieved.
'_Forgiven_ thee, Deb?' asked Kingston, paling. 'Hast thou forgiven
_me_? I did thee grievous wrong; I knew my words were base and false,
my noble one!'
'Ah, speak not of that, for heaven's sake! We were mad, King, and both
maybe have been to blame in our past lives. We know all now; there is
no secret between us.'
'No. If I know of Master Sinclair's death, you know of Mistress
Blancheflower's wedding.'
'Dost know _all_, King?' asked Deborah suddenly, and tears and laughter
were lurking in her upraised eyes.
'Nay; what more? Naught will surprise me.'
'Charlie has cut himself off from England, and enlisted with the Irish
rebels. Master Sinclair, little knowing my brother would kill him, has
left me all his wealth and lands.'
Kingston started; he had frowned at the first tidings, but the last
overclouded his brow like night. 'I knew naught of all this,' he
answered calmly.
'Yes, King,' continued Mistress Fleming, with her old gaiety, 'I am a
great lady now! It seems so strange for poor Deborah Fleming to be an
heiress. But bethink ye: this will save Charlie; we will have him back
soon!'
'Ay; it will save Charlie,' muttered Kingston thoughtfully.
'Why, you are not glad at my good fortune! Father, dear father, when he
is himself, will be right glad to hear it. King, you once told me you
would be proud of me if I were a grand lady. Now, ye have not a word o'
congratulation to offer me, though I am Lady of Lincoln!'
'I wish ye were aught else. Deb, I would ye were a beggar!'
'O loving wish! I have been beggar long enough. Why dost wish this?
Tell me.'
'Because it is Adam Sinclair's gold; because ye owe all to _him_. But
Deb, I must bid ye adieu, love, when I have seen your father. I came
but for a few hours; I have business at Granta.'
'Always going! always gone! King, ye are like a wreath of smoke--ever
evanishing in thin air.'
He wrung her hand, and turned away; yet he saw that tears were in her
eyes. Deborah felt that if he went, he went for ever. The truth flashed
upon her: he loved her still, but her fortune sundered them in his
eyes. What should she do? Woo him? He knew not even of her love. She
plucked a daisy from the grass, and gave it him: 'King, rememberest
thou? "He loved me _not_?"'
'_Who_ loved thee not?' And he stood and gazed upon her.
Trembling like an aspen leaf at her own boldness, she answered
tremulously: 'Why, Kingston Fleming.'
'Didst love Kingston Fleming _then_?'
'Then--now--and always!' And she sank upon his breast.
(_To be concluded next month._)