"Where is Harry?" said George Vine that same evening, as he sat in his
study, surrounded by his living specimens of natural history, and with
the paper before him that he had vainly tried to fill.
"He must be waiting about down in the town--for news," said Louise,
looking up from her work.
"He ought to have been here to dinner, my dear," said the naturalist
querulously; "it would have been some comfort. Tut--tut--tut! I cannot
collect my thoughts; everything seems to slip from me."
"Then why not leave it, dear, for the present? This terrible trouble
has unhinged you."
She had risen and gone to the back of his chair, to pass her arm
lovingly about his neck, and he leaned back, dropping his pen to take
her hand and play with it, pressing it to his lips from time to time.
"I suppose I had better," he said sadly; "but I am dreadfully
behindhand--four letters from the Society unanswered. I wish they did
not expect so much from me, my darling."
"I do not," said Louise, smiling. "Why should you wish to be less
learned than you are?"
"Had we not better go again to Van Heldre's now?"
"I think I would leave it till quite the last thing."
"Ye-es," said Vine, hesitating, "perhaps so; but I don't like it, my
child. Van Heldre has always been to me like a brother, and it seems so
strange and hard to be almost driven from his side. Doctor's like a
tyrant, and as for Crampton--there, wait till the poor fellow is well
again, and if we together do not give Master Crampton a severe setting
down my name is not what it is."
"You must forgive it, dear; he is so anxious about his master."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Vine pettishly; "but the man is so
insolently overbearing. Really, my dear, if he has been in the habit of
behaving to Harry as he has conducted himself towards us, I do not
wonder at the poor boy's intense dislike to the office routine."
"It is not fair to judge him now," said Louise.
"No, my dear, I suppose not; but it is very painful, when I feel as if
you and I have quite a right in that poor fellow's bedroom, to be
literally expelled, Madelaine siding with the doctor, and poor Mrs Van
Heldre really utterly broken down."
"We should only make matters more painful by interfering. Let us go and
ask how Mr Van Heldre is about ten, and I will get Madelaine to let me
sit up with her and help."
"No," said Vine, rising and pacing the room, "I shall not sit down
quietly. I feel that it is my duty to insist upon being there. I shall
go up at once."
"Wait till I put on my things, dear."
"No; I shall only go for an hour now, and I will come back and fetch you
later on."
"But, papa dear!"
"There, there, there! don't be alarmed, I shall not get out of temper
with Crampton now. That will keep."
"Then you will go--now?"
"Yes," he said decidedly; "I cannot sit here."
"But you hardly tasted your dinner. Let me get you some tea first."
"My dear child, I can touch nothing; and pray don't oppose me. I am in
such a state of nervous irritation that if you do I am sure I shall say
something unkind, and then I shall be more upset than I am now."
"I am not afraid," said Louise, hanging on his shoulder for a few
moments, and then kissing his wrinkled, careworn brow.
"Thank you, my darling, thank you. You will not mind being left? Harry
ought to be here."
"Oh, no, dear; but you will come back soon and tell me all. Harry will
be here before then."
"Of course, my dear, of course."
"And you will give my dear love to Madelaine," Louise cried, as her
father moved away from the door.
He nodded, and with bended head went off down the path, while, after
watching till he had disappeared, Louise stood gazing out to sea as the
evening began to close in, and a soft, melancholy breeze came whispering
among the trees.
She could not tell why it was, but everything seemed to wear a different
aspect, and a profound sense of dejection came upon her, which brought
the tears to her eyes.
Where could Harry be? It was hours since she had seen him, and as she
felt how much she required help and counsel at that time; her thoughts
strayed to Duncan Leslie, and she looked across an intervening
depression to the steep cliff-path, which led up past Uncle Luke's den
to the Mine House, where a faint light twinkled, and away beyond, like a
giant finger pointing upward, the great chimney shaft towered.
She stood gazing at that faint light for some minutes, with her eyes
growing dim, and the troubled feelings which had often assailed her in
secret increasing till, with cheeks burning and an angry ejaculation,
she turned into the house, where she fetched her work from the study,
and was soon after seated by the window trying to sew. At the end of a
few minutes she rose and rang for the lamp, which was brought in by the
cook.
"Where's Liza?" said Louise.
"Gone down into the town, ma'am," said the cook, looking at her
uneasily.
"What for? She did not ask leave."
"She said she would not be long, ma'am," said the woman evasively.
"Tell her to bring in the tea the moment my father returns. Let
everything be ready."
"Yes, ma'am."
The woman hurried out, and Louise sat gazing at the door, thinking that
the woman's manner was strange.
"I am upset," she said with a sigh, "and that makes things seem
different."
She had been dreaming over her work for a few minutes when she started,
for she heard voices talking loudly. She sat up in her chair with her
senses on the strain, trembling lest there should be bad news from the
Van Heldres'. She was not kept long in suspense, for there was a quick
step in the hall, a sharp rap at the door, and Liza entered, scarlet
with excitement and exertion, her shawl over one arm, her hat hanging by
its strings from the other.
"Liza!"
"Yes, miss, it's me. Can I speak to you a minute?"
"Have you brought news from Mr Van Heldre's?"
"Which I have, miss, and I haven't."
"How is he?" cried Louise, paying no heed to Liza's paradoxical
declaration.
"No better, and no worse, miss; but it wasn't about that. I leaves you
this day month, miss; and as much sooner as you can suit yourself."
"Very well, Liza. That will do."
"No, miss!" cried the girl excitedly, "it won't do. 'Cusing people o'
being thiefs when it was nothing but a bit of a bundle o' old rags and
things I saved, as might ha' been burnt, and they bought 'em of me, and
I bought the ribbons o' them."
"I do not wish to hear any more about that transaction, Liza; but I am
glad to hear you can explain it away. You should have been frank at
first."
"So ought other people, miss, if you'll excuse me; and not go taking
away a poor servant's character by alluding to money left on no
chimley-pieces as I never took."
"Liza!"
"Yes, miss; I know, and thinking o' sending for the police."
"I had too much feeling for you, Liza, and for your future character. I
did not even send you away."
"I should think not indeed, miss. Mother and me's as honest as the day;
and if you want police, send for 'em for them as has been picking and
stealing."
"My good girl, what do you mean?"
"Oh, you don't know o' course, miss; but you very soon will. And him
with his fine airs, and his boots never shiny enough. He'll find out
the difference now; and as to me staying in a home like this where one
of us is a thief, I've got my character to look after, and--"
There was a sharp knock and ring, and from force of habit, Liza turned.
"In a month, miss, if you please; and now you're going to hear what come
an hour ago, and is all over the town by now."
Louise caught at the table to steady herself, and her lips parted to
question the girl, but she had hurried out of the room. The door was
opened, a deep male voice was heard, and directly after Duncan Leslie
hurried in.
"It is no time for ceremony," he gasped, breathlessly. "Where is your
father?"
"At--Mr Van Heldre's," panted Louise, as she turned to him with
extended hands. "Mr Leslie, pray--pray tell me--what is wrong?"
"Tell you?" he cried, catching her almost in his arms, and holding her
firmly; and his voice sounded deep, hoarse, and full of commiseration.
"How am I to dare to tell you, Louise?"
"Mr Leslie!"
She half struggled from him, but he retained her hands.
"Tell me," he cried; "what shall I say? Am I to speak out?"
"Yes, quick! You torture me."
"Torture you, whom I would die to save from pain!"
She trembled and flushed, and turned pale by turns.
"I must tell you," he said; "there is no time to spare. I have--try and
bear it, my child, like the true, brave heart you are. Your brother--"
"Yes; quick! what do you mean?" Leslie stood looking at her for a few
moments, his mind dragged two ways, and shrinking from giving his news
as he gazed into her dilated eyes.
"Why do you not speak?" she said passionately. "Do you not see the pain
you give me?"
"I must speak," he groaned. "Where is your brother? There is a
horrible rumour in the town. Mr Crampton--"
"Crampton!"
"Accuses your brother of having robbed and struck down Mr Van Heldre."
"It is a lie!" she cried fiercely, as she snatched away her hands,
gazing at him with flashing eyes and burning cheeks. "My brother a
thief--almost a murderer! Oh!"
"It cannot be true," said Leslie; "but--"
"Weak and reckless and foolish; but--oh, why have you come up to say
these things?"
"Because I love you!" he cried passionately; and he caught her hands in
his, and held them tightly. "Because I knew that the horrible charge
must soon reach your ears, and that it would be better that it should
come from me--when you were in trouble--when you wanted help."
"It is not true--it is not true!" cried Louise, excitedly.
"Where is he? Let me see him. I may be able to advise and help.
Louise, dear Louise, let this terrible time of trial be that which
brings us together. Let me prove to you how I love you by being your
counsellor, your aid in this time of need."
She heard his words, uttered with an earnestness which told their truth;
but their effect was merely to arouse her indignation. How dared he
take advantage of her agony and weakness at a time like this, and insult
her with his professions! It was an outrage.
"Don't shrink from me," he whispered. "I will say no more now. Forgive
my clumsy blundering out of the words I have for months been longing to
speak. Only let me feel that you understand me--that I may love; and
then you will turn to me for help in this time of trouble."
For answer she pointed to the door.
"It is false," she cried; "my brother a common thief!"
"It must be false," he echoed, against his own belief; "but the charge
has been made, and he must be warned in time."
"Warned in time?" she cried. "And you, who profess to be our friend,
stood by and heard this charge made, and did not strike down the villain
who made it."
"Miss Vine--Louise, you are hasty. The shock I know is terrible, but we
must be prepared to meet it. He must not be taken unawares."
"My brother can meet such a charge as a gentleman should. It is not the
first time that so foul an attack has been made against an innocent
man."
"You are too hard upon me," he pleaded. "How could I, loving you as I
do--"
"Loving!" she cried, scornfully.
"What have I done?" he groaned. "I ran up here directly to try and be
of service. In my excitement, I spoke words that I should have kept
back for a time, but they would have vent, and--No, I am not ashamed of
what I have said," he cried, drawing himself up. "Louise Vine, I love
you, and I must help you and your brother in this terrible strait."
"Then go back to the town, and tell all who have dared to say my brother
committed this crime that what they say is false, and that his father,
his sister will prove his innocence. Go!"
"Yes, go!" said a shrill, harsh voice. "Louise, go to your room and let
me speak to this man."
"Aunt, you have heard?"
"Yes, from the servants. And I heard his last insulting words. Go to
your room, child."
She threw open the door, and, accustomed to obey from her childhood,
Louise moved slowly towards the hall; but as she turned slightly to dart
a last indignant look at the man who had set her heart beating wildly as
he at the same time roused her indignation, she saw such a look of agony
that her courage failed, a strange sense of pity stole through her, and
she stepped back and took her aunt's arm.
"Hush, aunt dear," she said, "there is no need to say more. Mr Leslie
has made a great mistake in bringing up that cruel report, and he will
go now and contradict it for my brother's sake."
"And apologise for his insult," cried Aunt Marguerite fiercely. "Child,
I bade you go to your room."
"Yes, aunt, I am going."
"I must speak to this man alone."
"Aunt, dear--"
"Pray go, Miss Vine," said Leslie, approaching and taking her hand.
She yielded, and he led her to the door.
"Nothing your aunt can say will change my feelings towards you. When
you are calm you will forgive me. Believe me, I will do everything to
clear your brother from this charge."
She looked at him wildly, and still hesitated to obey her aunt's words.
Finally, she gave way, Leslie held the door open till she was on the
stairs, and then closed it, his manner completely changing as he turned
and faced Aunt Marguerite, who stood with her head thrown back, and an
indignant look of anger in her keen eyes.
"So, sir," she exclaimed, "you in your common ignorance of everything
connected with the social life of such a family as ours, dare to come up
as a tale-bearer--as one of our servants did a few minutes back--and
tell this pitiful story about my nephew."
"I grieved greatly, Miss Vine," said Leslie in quiet businesslike tones.
"You grieved!" she cried. "A theft! Do you know that a Des Vignes
would prefer death to dishonour?"
"No, madam; but I am very glad to hear it, for that being the case Henry
Vine must be innocent."
"Innocent!" she cried scornfully. "My nephew Henri! As if it could be
for a moment in doubt!"
"I shall strive hard to help Mr Vine, your brother, to clear him from
this disgrace."
"Disgrace, sir? It is no disgrace. If the _canaille_ cast mud at one
of noble lineage, does it disgrace him? No. The disgrace is where some
plebeian--some trading person--is mad enough to advance his pretensions,
and dares to address a lady as I heard you address my niece. Let me
see, sir, did I not once give you to understand that Miss Louise des
Vignes would in all probability be soon married to a gentleman of
Auvergne--a gentleman whose lineage is as noble as her own?"
"I did understand something of the kind, madam, but until I see Miss
Louise Vine another's wife I shall boldly advance my pretensions, hoping
to the last."
"Even supposing that her brother has committed some _faux pas_?"
"That would be the greater inducement to me to stand by her in her time
of need."
"Most gratifying, I am sure, Mr Leslie, and highly creditable to one of
your nationality," said Aunt Marguerite sneeringly, as she raised her
glass to her eye, and gazed at him in an amused way. "Now may I ask you
to leave me? My brother and my nephew are from home, and I cannot
entertain you as I am sure you would wish. Good evening, Mr Leslie--
good evening."
She bowed him out with a sneering smile upon her thin lips, and Leslie
hurried back towards the town.
"What shall I do?" he muttered. "Oh, that sneering old woman, how she
does raise one's gall! Poor Louise! she did look more gentle toward the
last; and I don't believe in the Frenchman of great lineage. If there
is one, let's do battle as they did of old, if he likes. What a fool I
was to speak as I did just when she was so full of trouble! I must have
been mad--a declaration of love, and an announcement that the poor
girl's brother was in trouble. The young idiot! The scoundrel! How I
should like to have his drilling for the next five years! What shall I
do? I must help him. It's true enough, I'm afraid; and he must have
the best legal help. If I had only some one to consult with. Van
Heldre would have been the man."
There was a pause as the young man thought deeply of what steps he ought
to take next.
"Yes, with all his sham cynicism and silly whims, the old man is shrewd,
and can help when he likes. Uncle Luke!"
Volume 2, Chapter VIII.