“Well, I want you, Deborah--_you_--to get used to the thought of a London life. You see, my dearest child, I live a most harassing life, bound by ties and responsibilities that are a perpetual burden to me. I want some one near me who would be sweet and kind, and capable of self-sacrifice for a man she loved; who would bear with his caprices, keep him straight through his temptations, who would care nothing for the world, but only for him. It’s a great deal to ask, Deborah; and I don’t think there are many women capable of it.” The girl interrupted him by laughing softly. She was brimming over with happiness. “Why, Rees, those things are not sacrifices to any woman worth her salt. Your London ladies must be poor creatures if they’ve taught you to think differently. And if I’m a little ‘countrified’ at first, as you seem to think, I promise you that in the pride of being your wife I shall soon grow into a very elegant person indeed.” “My wife!” said Rees, coming closer to her, and joining his arms round her waist. “Yes, that would be jolly, wouldn’t it? For me to come home and find you waiting for me, making a lovely picture by the fireside. But you know, Deb, I’m very poor. I can’t afford to marry yet. In the meantime I am slowly dying, I really believe, for want of the care that only a woman can give.” Deborah started and looked down with anxious solicitude into his face. “Oh, Rees, you don’t mean that. It can’t be true! If it is, of course mamma and I must leave Carstow and come up at once to you.” “But you can’t break up the old home like that,” objected Rees, quickly. “It would be most unfair both to my mother and to Hervey.” “Yes, but if there is nothing else to be done to save your life, Rees, I know neither of them would hesitate for a moment.” Rees leapt up from the floor and began to pace up and down the little room in a state of high excitement. At that moment there was heard the sound of a latch-key in the front door, and then steps along the passage. The door of the room was thrown open, and a well-dressed elderly man came quickly in. Deborah started up in astonishment. “Lord St. Austell!” she exclaimed. With a bow and a harsh laugh the man came nearer. Rees stamped his foot, and said haughtily: “Don’t mention that wretch’s name here.” Deborah looked at the new-comer again. It was Amos Goodhare. Except that he was evidently older, better-dressed, and that he lacked the earl’s geniality of manner, Amos was the very counterpart of Lord St. Austell, down to the libertinism of expression which had always marred the earl’s countenance.