As Debby spoke, across Frank Evan’s face there passed the look that seldom comes but once to any young man’s countenance; for suddenly the moment dawned when love asserted its supremacy, and putting pride, doubt, and fear underneath its feet, ruled the strong heart royally and bent it to its will.  Debby’s thoughts had floated across the sea; but they came swiftly back when her companion spoke again, steadily and slow, but with a subtile change in tone and manner which arrested them at once.

“Miss Dora, if you should meet a man who had known a laborious youth, a solitary manhood, who had no sweet domestic ties to make home beautiful and keep his nature warm, who longed most ardently to be so blessed, and made it the aim of his life to grow more worthy the good gift, should it ever come,—­if you should learn that you possessed the power to make this fellow-creature’s happiness, could you find it in your gentle heart to take compassion on him for the love of ’Brother Will’?”

Debby was silent, wondering why heart and nerves and brain were stirred by such a sudden thrill, why she dared not look up, and why, when she desired so much to speak, she could only answer, in a voice that sounded strange to her own ears,—­

“I cannot tell.”

Still, steadily and slow, with strong emotion deepening and softening his voice, the lover at her side went on,—­

“Will you ask yourself this question in some quiet hour?  For such a man has lived in the sunshine of your presence for eight happy weeks, and now, when his holiday is done, he finds that the old solitude will be more sorrowful than ever, unless he can discover whether his summer dream will change into a beautiful reality.  Miss Dora, I have very little to offer you; a faithful heart to cherish you, a strong arm to work for you, an honest name to give into your keeping,—­these are all; but if they have any worth in your eyes, they are most truly yours forever.”

Debby was steadying her voice to reply, when a troop of bathers came shouting down the bank, and she took flight into her dressing-room, there to sit staring at the wall, till the advent of Aunt Pen forced her to resume the business of the hour by assuming her aquatic attire and stealing shyly down into the surf.

Frank Evan, still pacing in the footprints they had lately made, watched the lithe figure tripping to and fro, and, as he looked, murmured to himself the last line of a ballad Debby sometimes sang,—­

    “Dance light! for my heart it lies under your feet, love!”

Presently a great wave swept Debby up, and stranded her very near him, much to her confusion and his satisfaction.  Shaking the spray out of her eyes, she was hurrying away, when Frank said,—­

“You will trip, Miss Dora; let me tie these strings for you”; and, suiting the action to the word, he knelt down and began to fasten the cords of her bathing-shoe.

Debby stood looking down at the tall head bent before her, with a curious sense of wonder that a look from her could make a strong man flush and pale, as he had done; and she was trying to concoct some friendly speech, when Frank, still fumbling at the knots, said, very earnestly and low,—­