hop below was denuded, and there were nothing but
bare shelves, much to the disgust of Bart, who, like Othello, found his
occupation gone. The next day the furniture was to be sold, and when
Deborah was comforting Sylvia at the week's end the fiat had already
gone forth. Whither he intended to transfer his household the old man
did not say, and this, in particular, was the cause of Sylvia's grief.
She dreaded lest she should see her lover no more. This she said to
Deborah.

"See him you shall, and this very day," cried the maiden, cheerfully.
"Why, there's that dress. I can't make up my mind whether to have
magenter or liliac, both being suited to my complexion. Not that it's
cream of the valley smother in rosebuds as yours is, my angel, but a
dress I must have, and your pa can't deny my taking you to choose."

"But, Debby, it seems wrong to deceive father in this way."

"It do," admitted Debby, "and it is. We'll speak this very night--you
and me in duets, as you might say, my pretty. He sha'n't say as we've
gone to hide behind a hedge."

"But we have, Debby, for six months," said Sylvia.

"Because I'm a hardened and bold creature," said Deborah, fiercely, "so
don't say it's you as held your tongue, for that you didn't, my
honeycomb. Many and many a time have you said to me, ses you, 'Oh, do
tell my par,' and many a time have I said to you, ses I, 'No, my
precious, not for Joseph,' whoever he may be, drat him!"

"Now, Debby, you're taking all the blame on yourself!"

"And who have the broader shoulders, you or me, my flower?" asked Debby,
fondly. "I'm as wicked as Bart, and that's saying much, for the way he
bolts his food is dreadful to think of. Never will I have a corkidile
for a husband. But here," cried Deborah, beginning to bustle, "it's the
dress I'm thinking of. Magenter or lilacs in full boom. What do you
think, my honey-pot?"

So the end of Deborah's shameless diplomacy was, that the two went, not
to the inferior draper's where Debby bought her extraordinary
garments--though they went there later in a Jesuitical manner--but to
the hospital, where to her joy Sylvia was allowed to see Paul. He looked
thin and pale, but was quite himself and very cheerful. "My darling," he
said, kissing Sylvia's hand, while Debby sat bolt upright near the bed,
with a large handbag, and played propriety by glaring. "Now I shall get
well quickly. The sight of you is better than all medicine."

"I should think so," sniffed