Of High Descent Part 105

"Gone? I cannot believe it. Mr Vine? He knows where?"

Leslie shook his head mournfully. "Some secret love," he said.

"Yes; Louise did nurture a secret love," said Madelaine scornfully, "and for a man unworthy of her."

"Poor girl!"

"Yes: poor girl! Shame upon you, Duncan Leslie! She may be gone for some good reason, but it is not as you say and think. Louise, my sister, my poor suffering friend, carry on a clandestine intrigue with some French gentleman? It is not true."

"You forget her aunt--the influence she has had upon the poor girl."

"I forget everything but the fact that Louise loved you, Duncan Leslie, with all her heart."

"No, no," he cried with an angry start.

"I tell you it is true," cried Madelaine.

"De Ligny?--a French n.o.bleman? Absurd! A fable invented by that poor old half-crazy woman to irritate you and scare you away."

"I might have thought so once, but after what I saw last night--"

"A jealous man surrounds all he sees with a glamour of his own," cried Madelaine. "Oh, where is your reason? How could you be so ready to believe it of the truest, sweetest girl that ever lived?"

"But--"

"Don't speak to me," cried Madelaine, angrily. "You know what that old woman is with her wild ideas about birth and position. Louise, deceive her father--cheat me--elope! Duncan Leslie, I did not think you could be so weak."

"I will not fight against your reproaches," he said, coldly.

"No. Come with me. Let us go down and see Uncle Luke."

"But you really think--" he faltered.

"I really think?" she cried, with her eyes flashing. "Am I to lose all faith and confidence in you? I tell you what you say is impossible."

Her words, her manner sent flashes of hope through the darkness that haunted Leslie's spirit, and without a word he turned and walked hurriedly down with her toward the town till they reached the seat in the sheltered niche where he had had that memorable conversation with Aunt Marguerite.

There he paused, and pointed to the seat.

"She sat there with me," he said bitterly, "and poured her poison into my ears till under a smiling face I felt half mad. I have tried so hard to free myself from their effect, but it has been hard--so hard. And last night--"

"You saw something which shook your confidence in Louise for the moment, but that is all gone now."

"I think--I--"

"I vouch for my friend's truth," said Madelaine proudly. "I tell you that you have been deceived."

Leslie was ghastly pale, and the injury he had received and the mental agony of the past night made him look ten years older, as he drew in a catching breath, and then said hastily--

"Come on, and let us find out the truth."

Volume 3, Chapter XII.

AUNT MARGUERITE FINDS A FRIEND.

Uncle Luke met them at the garden gate, and took Madelaine's hands in his, drawing her toward him, and kissing her brow.

"Tell me, Mr Luke," she said quickly, "it is not true?"

"What he says is not true, Maddy," said the old man quietly.

"But Louise?"

"Gone, my dear. Left here last night. No," he continued, "we know nothing except what her letter says. She has good reason for what she has done, no doubt, but it is very terrible for my brother."

Madelaine darted a triumphant look at Leslie.

"Look here, my child," said Uncle Luke, "I am uneasy about George. Go in and see him, and if he says anything about Louie, you will side with me and take her part?"

"Do you think I could believe it of Louise?" said Madelaine, proudly.

Uncle Luke held her hand in his, patting it softly the while.

"No," he said, "I don't think you could. Go to him now. Tell him it will all be cleared up some day, perhaps sooner than we think."

"Where is he?" she said quietly.

"In his study."

She nodded her head with a confident look in her eyes, crossed the hall, and tapped at the study door.

"Come in."

The words bidding her to enter were uttered in so calm and matter-of-fact a way that Madelaine felt startled, and Uncle Luke's words, "I am uneasy about George," came with a meaning they had not before possessed.

She entered, and stopped short, for there before the open window, close to which was a gla.s.s vessel full of water, stood George Vine, busy with a microscope, by whose help he was carefully examining the structure of some minute organism, while one busy hand made notes upon a sheet of paper at his side.

His face was from her, and he was so intent upon his task that he did not turn his head.

"Breakfast?" he said quietly. "I shall not have any. Yes," he added hastily; "bring me a cup of tea, Liza--no sugar, and a little dry toast."

A pang shot through Madelaine's heart, and for a few moments she strove vainly to speak.

"It is I, Mr Vine," she faltered at last in a voice she did not recognise as her own.

"Madelaine, my child!" he cried, starting and dropping his pencil as he turned. "How rude of me! So intent upon this beautiful preparation of mine here. Very, very glad to see you," he continued, as he took her hands in his. "How is your father this morning?"

"I--I have not seen him this morning," faltered Madelaine as she gazed upon the pale, lined face before her, to note the change thereon, in spite of the unnatural calmness which the old man had a.s.sumed; "I--I came on at once, as soon as I had heard."