He smiled. 'I should love to tease thee now, if I had ease of mind. Give me your hand, Deb. Now climb, and gather that rose, and give it me with a gracious grace, as I saw you give to _another_.' 'I never climbed, though. Will _this_ not content you, Master Fleming?' 'Nay, the highest, the highest! the "Rose of Enderby." I was blind, I was stone-blind! I never cared for roses; the taste comes too late. A student's life kills joy, and men grow blind in burrowing in books.' 'Well, there! Can your old blind eyes see that? I will fasten it in your coat.--Nay, you shall not, Kingston Fleming!' Deborah started back, with all her fiery soul blazing in her eyes, for Kingston would fain have drawn her to him and thanked her with a kiss. She plucked the rose to atoms and scattered it in the night air. 'Some maidens might think this cousinly of you; not I. I will not abide this familiarity.' His face looked pale and changed in the moonlight. 'Have I offended you, Deborah? Can I not even be your brother--for love of the olden time? Nay, see me! Look on me, Deb; I have need of pity. Do ye not see I am in trouble?' All the girl's passion vanished; she drew near and laid her hands in his; she felt those strong hands trembling like leaves in the wind. 'In trouble, King?' she asked tenderly and piteously, with her sweet face upturned. 'Ye are ever hinting this; yet never win the courage to tell me where this trouble lies. Trust Deborah Fleming! She is the receiver of troubles; she is used to them. Deborah Fleming can prove a truer sister to you, perchance, than by idle words and caresses.' But the strangely sensitive and impassioned nature of Kingston Fleming was all stirred and tempest-tossed; the gay calm summer sea was swept by a great storm-wind, which stirred the depths beneath. 'Nay, child,' he whispered, with hurried agitated breath; 'I cannot tell. Thou'dst hate me, Deb--hate me. I cannot afford to lose thy friendship even. Deb, I have few true friends. But above all, I have been mine own worst enemy! Ah Deborah, _I am most miserable_.' His head sank: lorn, dejected, despairing, he stood before her, the wild, high-spirited, light-hearted Kingston Fleming! 'Thou shalt not be miserable,' said Deborah, trembling herself, and her great lovely eyes brimming over with tears, while she pressed to his side, and twined her arms round one of his. 'All will be right, King. But for hating, I cannot hate thee, dear, being constant to my kinsfolk and my friends. Yet I will not press thee to confide in me. Take comfort. These be dark days for us all, King; brighter will come yet.' 'Thou'rt an angel-comforter, Deb.' Kingston had regained some calmness, and resumed his walk, holding Deb's hand upon his arm. 'But of all human infirmities, ye would hate weakness most. Isn't it so?' 'Weakness? Well, yes. I like not weak men. You are not weak, King?' He laughed aloud and bitterly. 'Weak as water! Ah, ye will know it some day, perchance!'