"Louise! Where is Louise?" The step on the stairs sounded like that of
a younger man; and as the door was tried, Harry had reached the window,
from whence he was about to climb, when he fancied he saw some one
below, and he hastily closed the casement, and drew back trembling.
"Louise! open this door."
"No, no," whispered Harry. "He must not know I am here."
"Not know?"
"Am I to break this door?" was thundered from the other side.
Harry glanced once more at the window. It was fancy. Nne was below now
that he could see; and he was in the act of unfastening it when there
was a crash, the door flew open, and his father strode into the room.
It did not seem to be the same man, and Harry shrank from the fierce,
erect, angry figure which approached.
"As I might have guessed. You coward! So you would strip your sister
of what money and jewels she has and then escape!" Harry stood before
him silent and with his head averted. "You did not counsel this flight,
Louise?"
"No, father," she said, in a low voice full of pain; and she looked from
one to the other, as if mentally stunned, and unable to realise the
force of all that was taking place.
"I thought not. You abject, miserable wretch!"
Harry started, and gazed half in fear, half in wonder, at the stern,
commanding figure before him.
"It--it was to save you all from disgrace."
Vine burst into a discordant laugh.
"From disgrace--to save us from disgrace? And is this part of your
childish aunt's teaching?"
"Father! Pray!" whispered Louise, rousing herself and clinging to his
arm.
"Silence, my child!" he cried. "I am not angry with you. I blame
myself. Weak and indulgent. Tolerating that foolish woman's whims,
that her old age might pass peacefully away, I have allowed all her
follies to go; but I did not believe these seeds could strike so deep a
root. To save us from disgrace! So this is being the aristocratic
gentleman of French descent! The man who would prefer death to
dishonour--the man who scorns to sully his hands by embarking in some
honest trade! And I, wrapped in my pursuits, riding my weak hobby, have
let things go till they have ended thus!"
"But, father, think! Be merciful."
"Think? I dare not, girl. Merciful? No. He is no longer my son. We
must bear the disgrace as best we can; hide our shame elsewhere. You
and I, father and sister of a miserable convict, who in the pursuit of
money and title could stoop to rob."
"No, no, father; not rob."
"Scoundrel! don't speak, or I may forget myself, and strike you down as
you struck down your benefactor, the man who stretched out his hand to
save you from the ruin that dogged your heels."
"It was a miserable accident, father. I did not steal."
"Bah! Lies come easily to such as you; but I have no words to waste,
there is no time for that."
"No, father; quick, before it is too late," whispered Louise. "Let him
go; let him escape to France--to repent, father. He is your son."
"No. I disown him. And you counsel this--you, girl?"
"Yes, father, you will spare him," sobbed Louise; "he is my brother."
"He has broken those ties; neither son nor brother to us, my child. He
has blasted your future by branding you as a convict's sister, and
embittered the few years left to me, so that I would gladly end them
now."
"Father!"
"Hush, my child! I am rightly punished for my weakness. I hoped that
he would change. I was not blind, only patient, for I said that these
follies would soon pass, and now I am awakened to this. My son in the
hands of the police!" he laughed in a wild, discordant tone. "Monsieur
Le Comte des Vignes, I must have been mad."
"Go!" said Harry, fiercely. "Trample me down. There, let me pass.
Better in the hands of the police than here."
"No, no!" cried Louise excitedly. "Father, he must escape. It is one
great horror, do not make it worse by letting him go there."
"Worse, girl? there is no worse!" cried Vine, sternly. "I thank my God
that we are living in a land where stern good laws are pre-eminent, and
where justice rules with unswerving hand. You know not what you say."
"Yes, father--dearest father, help him to go and repent the evil he has
done."
"Go and repent? Yes, that is the only hope; but it shall be as the
honest repentant man, ready to acknowledge and bear the punishment of
his crime."
"Father!"
"Yes; look at him--look at the base, cowering wretch, ready to go and
hide his face in any shelter to escape the fate he has earned! Look at
his guilty conscience, branding him even now! And you say, let him go!"
"Yes, father. What could I say?"
"Nothing!" cried Harry, turning round, as the trampled worm turns
beneath the boot that crushes it into the earth. "It is true; I struck
poor old Van Heldre down; but whatever I may have thought before, I did
not go to steal that money. I did not steal it. And now what do you
want me to do?"
"Go: act as a man who claims such descent as ours should do, in the
country which opened to him its arms, and whose laws he has
transgressed. The police are here from London. Go and give yourself
up; suffer your punishment as one who would atone, and years hence in
the future, when you are freed, come to me and ask my pardon--kneeling
humbly by my grave."
"Father!"
"No more. The way is open now. Go at once, before you are dragged
through the streets handcuffed like some common felon. To save us from
disgrace you say--that is the only way."
He stood erect, with his eyes flashing, knit brows, and nostrils
quivering, pointing to the door, while with his left arm he supported
Louise, whose face gazed wildly into his, no mean representative of that
_Haute Noblesse_ which had sought refuge here when persecution drove
them from their land.
"Father! Harry!" cried Louise, but only the latter spoke.
"Yes," he said, drawing himself up. "You are right, I'll go."
He strode quickly toward the door; but before he reached it, Liza threw
it back.
"Miss Louise," she cried, "the police!"
With hasty stride the old man rushed to the door and thrust it to.
"Oh!" he gasped, and then after a pause there was one low, hoarse appeal
to heaven for aid, "My God!"
The adjuration spoke volumes, and for a few moments the old man stood
there as if in a cataleptic state. Then a change came over him, his
pale face flushed, the veins in his forehead stood out and throbbed, and
he dashed to his son.
"Quick, Harry! France!"
As he spoke Harry broke from him and dashed to the window, threw it
open, and was about to spring out, but he drew back. There was no fancy
this time; two policemen could be dimly seen below.
"Too late, father," he said calmly.
"No, my boy! this way, hush!"
He snatched open the door, and a quick-looking, well-knit man stood
framed in the entry.
"Ah!" he said sharply, as he fixed Harry with his eye, "Mr Henry Vine,
I arrest you on a warrant. Robbery and attempt to murder."
"No," roared the father frantically, and he flung himself upon the
officer. "Run, Harry, run!"
Louise stood clinging to the ironwork of her bedstead, sick with horror,
as a terrible struggle ensued. It only lasted a few moments; and as she
saw her father and the detective officer wrestling together, her brother
clenched his fists, set his teeth, and dashed at them.
"_No_, no; run!" roared the father in a voice she did not know; and in
obedience, Harry dashed through the doorway and was gone.
"You're mad, old man!" cried the detective, tearing himself free,
drawing back, and then rushing towards the door.
But with a wonderful display of activity and vigour, the old naturalist
sprang at him once more, and with clenched fist struck him so fierce a
blow full on the cheek that the man swerved sideways, and would have
fallen but for the wall.
"When I come back!" he roared savagely, as he recovered himself; and,
springing through the door, he bounded down the stairs after Harry Vine,
father and sister staggering to the landing just as the door across the
hall swung to with a heavy bang, and the sounds of feet rapidly beating
the shingle rose loudly on the silence of the night.
Volume 2, Chapter X.