Kingston sat on his stool and stared before him: his odd brown face--a face beautiful with the changeful lights of feeling and intellect--assumed a hundred rapid expressions of wonder, regret, pity, remorse, and amaze. His beautiful child-cousin was 'one too much for him.' He never could comprehend her. He did not even admire her tanned dishevelled beauty, and he certainly did not love her; but he stayed himself to pity her, thinking that with such ungovernable passions she must go mad at last. With that, his boyish face grew sad, and he looked very forlorn, sitting in Deborah's sanctum with his lank yellow hair straying across his brow. As for Deborah, after a storm of tears hidden in the pantry, she dried her eyes on her apron like a poor passionate child, and went to seek Charlie, with no malice in her heart--only shame. Charlie was cleaning his gun in the saddle-room, watched at a respectful distance by Mistress Dinnage, who was squatting on the ground and looking low in spirits. Charlie was too busy to glance at Deb's tear-stained face, and Deborah knew him too well to kiss him when he was either intent on business or in sight of a girl. It was happiness enough to Deborah, after a careless word between them, to stand near him, to see the great strong boyish frame, at present even in its strength so loosely knit and jointed, and the brown bony hands, the dear familiar face, the unkempt locks, the wild sombre eyes, that so strangely courted and yet repelled affection.
'Art going back to-night?' ventured Deborah at length, timidly for her.
'Ah, then you will need Bayard, and father has him.'
'Then if father _does_ return, I will ride Bayard.'
'I can't squire girls. You must ride with King.'
'Then I will not have you scampering alone.'
'I will ride with Jordan Dinnage. But you know, Charlie, I can keep up with the best.'
'I don't like to lose you, old Charlie; we miss you sore. I fear, dear love, you are hard put to it for money. Are they _all_ better off than you?'
'Oh, I know not and care not. I am well enough.'
Deborah sighed deeply: 'Not well enough for _thee_. But as yet, father is hard pressed; it has been a bad time for the coaching, and father is well-nigh sick of it. If he gets luck he will give up for a spell, and perchance take to it again.'