"Well, Leslie," said Uncle Luke, as he stood gazing at the closed door
through which the two women had passed, "what do you think of that?"
"Think of that?" said Leslie absently.
"Those two. Deadly enemies grown friends. My sister will be adopting
you directly, you miserable, low-born Scotch pleb, without a drop of
noble French blood in your veins."
"Poor old woman!" said Leslie absently.
"Ah, poor old woman! Margaret and I ought to be shut up together in
some private asylum. Well, you have slept on all that?"
"No," said Leslie sadly. "I have not slept."
"You're--well, I won't say what you are--well?"
"Well?" said Leslie sadly.
"You have come to your senses I hope."
"Had I lost them?"
"_Pro tem._, young man. And it is a usurpation of our rights. One
lunatic family is enough in a town. We're all off our heads, so you had
better keep sane."
Leslie remained silently thinking over Madelaine's words.
"Look here," said Uncle Luke, "I have slept upon it, and I am cool."
"What have you learned, sir?"
"Nothing but what I knew last night--at present."
"And what do you propose doing?"
"I propose trying to act as nearly like a quite sensible man as one of
my family can."
"And Mr Vine?"
"As much like a lunatic as he can. You had better take his side and
leave me alone. He is of your opinion."
"And you remain steadfast in yours?"
"Of course, sir. I've known my niece from a child, as I told you last
night; and she could not behave like a weak, foolish, brainless girl,
infatuated over some handsome scoundrel."
"But Miss Marguerite--have you questioned her?"
"Might as well question a weather-cock. Knows nothing, or pretends she
knows nothing. There, I'm going to start at once and see if I cannot
trace her out. While I'm gone I should feel obliged if you would keep
an eye on my cottage; one way and another there are quite a couple of
pounds' worth of things up yonder which I should not like to have
stolen. You may as well come down here too, and see how my brother is
going on. Now then, I'll just step down to Van Heldre's and say a word
before I start."
"By what train shall you go?"
"Train? Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten trains. Hateful way of
travelling, but saves time. Must arrange to be driven over to catch one
at mid-day. Come and see me off."
"Yes," said Leslie, "I'll come and see you off. What shall you take
with you?"
"Tooth-brush and comb," grunted Uncle Luke. "Dessay I shall find a bit
of soap somewhere. Now then, have you anything to say before I go?"
"There is no occasion; we can make our plans as we go up."
"We?"
"Yes: I am going with you."
Uncle Luke smiled.
"I knew you would," he said, quietly chuckling.
"You knew I should? Why did you think that?"
"Because you're only a big boy after all, Duncan, and show how fond you
are of Louie at every turn."
"I am not ashamed to own that I loved her," said the young man,
bitterly.
"Loved?" said Uncle Luke, quietly. "Wonder what love's like, to make a
man such a goose. Don't be a sham, Leslie. You always meant to go.
You said to yourself, when you thought ill of the poor girl, you would
go after her and try and break the man's neck."
"Not exactly, sir."
"Well, something of the kind. And now Maddy Van Heldre has been giving
you a good setting down, and showing you what a weak baby you are--"
"Has Miss Van Heldre--"
"No, Miss Van Heldre has not said a word; but your face is as plain as a
newspaper, and I know what Maddy would say if anybody attacked my niece.
There, what's the use of talking? You will say with your lips that
Louise is nothing to you now, and that you believe she has eloped with
some French scoundrel."
Leslie bit his lip and made an impatient gesture.
"While that noble countenance of yours, of which you are so proud, has
painted upon it love and trust and hope, and all the big-boy nonsense in
which young men indulge when they think they are only a half, which
needs another half to make them complete."
"I am not going to quarrel with you," said Leslie, flushing angrily, all
the same.
"No, my boy, you are not. You are coming with me, my unfortunate young
hemisphere, to try and find that other half to which you shall some day
be joined to make you a complete little world of trouble of your own, to
roll slowly up the hill of life, hang on the top for a few hours, and
then roll rapidly down. There, we have wasted time enough in talking,
and I'll hold off. Thank ye, though, Leslie, you're a good fellow after
all."
He held out his hand, which Leslie slowly took, and Uncle Luke was
shaking it warmly as Madelaine re-entered the room.
"Well," said the old man grimly, "have you put the baby to bed?"
"Uncle Luke!" said Madelaine imploringly; "pray be serious and help us."
"Serious, my girl! I was never so serious before. I only called
Margaret a baby. So she is in intellect, and a very troublesome and
mischievous one. Glad to see though that my little matter-of-fact Dutch
doll has got the better of her. Why, Maddy, henceforth you'll be able
to lead her with a silken string."
"Uncle Luke dear--Louise," said Madelaine imploringly.
"Ah, to be sure, yes, Louise," said the old man with his eyes twinkling
mischievously. "Circumstances alter cases. Now look here, you two.
I'm only an old man, and of course thoroughly in your confidence. Sort
of respectable go-between. Why shouldn't I try and make you two happy?"
Leslie bit his lip, and Madelaine gave the old man an imploring look;
but in a mocking way, he went on.
"Now suppose I say to you two, what can be better than for you to join
hands--partners for life you know, and--"
"Mr Luke Vine!" cried Leslie sternly, "setting aside the insult to me,
is this gentlemanly, to annoy Miss Van Heldre with your mocking,
ill-chosen jokes?"
"Hark at the hot-blooded Scotchman, Maddy; and look here how pleasantly
and patiently my little Dutch doll takes it, bless her!"
He put his arm round Madelaine and held her to his side.
"Why, what are you ruffling up for in that fashion? Only a few minutes
ago you were swearing that you hated Louie, and that you gave her up to
the French nobleman--French nobleman, Maddy!--and I offer you a pleasant
anodyne for your sore heart--and a very pleasant anodyne too, eh, Maddy?
Ah, don't--don't cry--hang it all, girl, don't. I do hate to see a
woman with wet eyes. Now what have you got to sob about?"
"Is this helping us?"
"No. But I'm going to, little one. I was obliged to stick something
into Leslie, here. He is such a humbug. Swore he didn't care a bit for
Louie now, and that he believed everything that was bad of her, and yet
look at his face."
"It is impossible to quarrel with you, sir," said Leslie, with the look
of a human mastiff.
"Of course it is," cried Uncle Luke. "Well, Maddy, I've converted him.
He sees now that it's a puzzle we don't understand, and he is coming up
to town with me to solve the problem."
"I knew he would," cried Madelaine warmly. "Mr Leslie, I am very, very
glad."
"Of course, you are; and as soon as I bring Louie back, and all is
cleared, Leslie shall come and congratulate us. D'ye hear, Leslie? I'm
going to marry Madelaine. Marry her and stop up in the churchyard
afterwards," he said with a grim smile full of piteous sadness.
"Uncle Luke!"
"Well, it's right enough, my dear. At my time of life hardly worth
while to make two journeys up to the churchyard. So you could leave me
there and go back, and take possession of my estate."
"Louise."
"Ah, yes. I mustn't forget Louise," said the old man. "Let's see--
about Margaret. Leave her all right?"
"Yes; she is more calm now."
"Did you question her, and get to know anything?"
"Nothing."
"Humph!" ejaculated the old man. "Close as an oyster, or else she
doesn't know anything."
"That is what I think," said Madelaine eagerly.
"Ah, well, we are only wasting time," said Uncle Luke testily. "So now,
Leslie, business. First thing we have to do is to go up to London. No:
first thing, Maddy, is to run on to your house, and tell them what we
are going to do. You'll have to stay here, my dear, and look after
those two. Comfort George all you can; drive him with that silken
thread rein of yours, and keep a good tight curb over Margaret. There,
you'll manage them."
"Yes. Tell them at home I think it better to stay here now," said
Madelaine earnestly. "You will send me every scrap of news?"
"Leslie and I are going to secure the wire and ruin ourselves in
telegrams. Ready, Miner?"
"Yes."
"Then come on."
Madelaine caught Leslie's extended hand, and leaned towards him.
"My life on it," she whispered, "Louise is true."
He wrung her hand and hurried away.
"Good-bye, Uncle Luke. Be happy about them here; and, mind, we are
dying for news."
"Ah! yes; I know," he said testily; and he walked away--turned back, and
caught Madelaine to his breast. "Good-bye, Dutch doll. God bless you,
my darling," he said huskily. "If I could only bring back poor Harry
too!"
Madelaine stood wiping the tears from her eyes as the old man hurried
off after Leslie, but she wiped another tear away as well, one which
rested on her cheek, a big salt tear that ought almost to have been a
fossil globule of crystallised water and salt. It was the first Uncle
Luke had shed for fifty years.
Volume 3, Chapter XIV.