," went on Aaron without
noticing her remark. "But I do not. You shall marry Paul before I go to
America."

"Lor'!" cried Deborah, "whatever are you a-goin' there for, sir?"

"That's my business," said Aaron, dryly, "but I go as soon as I can. I
have sold the books; and the furniture of these rooms shall be disposed
of before the end of the week. My gems I take to Amsterdam for sale, and
I go abroad next week. When I return in a fortnight you can marry Mr.
Beecot. He is a good young man. I quite approve of him."

Deborah snorted. "Seems to me as though you was glad to get quit of my
pretty," she murmured, but too low to be overheard.

"Oh, father," cried Sylvia, putting her arms round Norman's neck, "how
good you are! I _do_ love him so."

"I hope the love will continue," said her father, cynically, and
removing the girl's arms, to the secret indignation of Deborah. "I shall
call on Mr. Beecot to-morrow and speak to him myself about the matter.
If we come to an arrangement, for I have a condition to make before I
give my entire consent, I shall allow you a certain sum to live on. Then
I shall go to America, and when I die you will inherit all my
money--when I die," he added, casting the usual look over his shoulders.
"But I won't die for many a long day," he said, with a determined air.
"At least, I hope not."

"You are healthy enough, father."

"Yes! Yes--but healthy people die in queer ways."

Deborah intervened impatiently. "I'm glad you wish to make my lily-queen
happy, sir," said she, nodding, "but change your mind you may if Mr.
Beecot don't fall in."

"Fall in?" queried Aaron.

"With this arrangements--what is they?"

Aaron looked undecided, then spoke impulsively, walking towards the door
as he did so. "Let Mr. Beecot give me that opal serpent," he said, "and
he shall have Sylvia and enough to live on."

"But, father, it is lost," cried Sylvia, in dismay.

She spoke to the empty air. Norman had hastily passed through the door
and was descending the stairs quicker than usual. Sylvia, in her
eagerness to explain, would have followed, but Deborah drew her back
with rough gentleness. "Let him go, lily-queen," she said; "let sleeping
dogs lie if you love me."

"Deborah, what do you mean?" asked Sylvia, breathlessly.

"I don't mean anything that have a meaning," said Miss Junk,
enigmatically, "but your par's willing to sell you for that dratted
brooch, whatever he wants it for. And you to be put aga