'Why, father, he professes too great love for you; I doubt a little
these mighty professions. My love makes my eyes like lynx's eyes, to
see through all who work _thee_ harm.'
'Then they have proved too keen. Adam Sinclair would cut off his right
hand for me. I say not for love; he comes not of a loving kind, and men
o' the world deal not in such stuff one towards another; but because in
former years I saved him from a worse trouble than ever _I_ have known.
There; it is _gratitude_ that binds this man to me, and he has shewn
it.'
'Ah! Then I will thrust away this distrust that is not worthy of me. I
never knew the heart that was not grateful for great service done. And
what is more, I'll ne'er believe in ingratitude. Dear Adam Sinclair!
Good old man! Grateful, grim, old, true friend of my father, I will
strive to forget that you have ever wished to wed me; so I may grow to
like you as a friend.'
Sir Vincent laughed. 'And this is hard? What dost like? Whom dost like,
Deb? Of all the brave fellows thou seest in the hunting-field, whom
couldst thou choose?'
'Faith, father, I can see no "brave fellow" there but the poor gallant
one streaming along in the bushy-tailed red-brown coat!'
'Sir Reynard? Ha, ha! Thou'rt thy father's true daughter. But not one
beside Master Fox?'
'Not one.'
'I am glad on't. They are all rattle-pates or penniless. I wish to give
thee to better folk.'
'Hark to him! Thou ambitious old dear! Well-a-day, I am in no haste to
wed. As Deborah Fleming, I am happy. Oh, that I might never change that
name!'
'Pshaw! Thou'lt not say this always; but unless with thy full and free
consent, Deborah Fleming thou shalt remain.'
'This is the gipsy prophecy,' said Deborah, as she went up the great
oak stairs. 'The grand old man who would meet me at the gates of my own
home.' Then in her own room, musing: 'But "love and greatness should
come hand in hand." God forbid that I ever love ye, Adam Sinclair!
Unless some false witch should blind my eyes with "love in idleness,"
I never will. Oh, keep me from it, kind Providence! If ever so deluded
and deceived, I would wake up to misery! If I saw father _starving_,
would I? No; for in so doing, I would kill both my body and _soul_. I
wonder, will King Fleming ever return? I had well nigh forgot him. And
he will be for wedding Mistress Blancheflower. Why she must be getting
old. Ah, well-a-day, we all grow old.'