n't like his taking upon himself to criticise what we
choose to do; but no doubt Goldsworthy IS a pretty big pill to
swallow--to a chap like him, always so faddy about breeding and
manners, and that sort of thing."

"If he is too faddy for the society that I can put up with, though it
be that of chimney-sweeps," said Deb, "he is too faddy for me, father."

"Now, my dear, don't talk so," the old man pleaded with her, quite
agitated by her mood. "We all have our little weaknesses--we have to
make allowances for temperament and for bringing up. Don't let a trifle
like this estrange you two--don't, Debbie, for my sake. Let me go down
to my grave feeling that one of you, at least, is safe and happy, and
well provided for."

"Decidedly," thought Deborah, "father is not the same man that he was
before his illness."

She understood the cause of his change of views on her engagement
better a few weeks later.

He had parted with his eldest daughter then, and the emotion of the
event had fatally affected him. Owing to some obscure working of the
"influence" which her social position had brought to her husband, the
latter had been promoted to the charge of a Melbourne parish. The
affair was arranged while they were still at Redford, and just on the
completion of the improvements to the local parsonage. In spite of all
they had done to make this first home fit for her, family and friends
were unanimous in hailing her removal to another and more distant
one--out of the buzz of the gossip of her native neighbourhood--as the
best thing that could have happened. But when it came to the point of
sending her forth to battle with her fate alone for the rest of her
life, the wrench was dreadful. She was the bravest of them all under
the ordeal. The shattered father, whose right hand she had been for so
many happy years, and whose heart was broken with the weight of his
responsibility for her misfortunes, was completely overwhelmed. She had
not been gone twelve hours when Deb found him in his office chair,
unable to rise from it, or to answer her questions. And he never spoke
again. He made signs that he wanted Claud sent for, and when the young
man quickly came, looked significant things at him and Deb, as they
stood by his bedside hand in hand. Then he lapsed into stupor and died,
without waiting for a third stroke.

Through all the shock and sorrow of the time, Claud was Deborah's
mainstay and consolation. He took the role of neare