Of High Descent Part 74

"They--surely they don't--there, quick! Ring that bell."

"Mr Van Heldre, sir. Pray--pray don't take it like that; I only did my duty by you all."

"Duty! In a fit of madness to make such a charge as this and prejudice others!" cried Van Heldre angrily. "Ring that bell, man. I cannot rest till this is set right."

"Think, sir, how I was situated," pleaded the old clerk. "You were robbed; I saw you lying, as I thought, dying, and I saw the scoundrel who had done all this escape. What could I do but call in the police?"

"The police! Then it is known by every one in the place?"

Crampton looked pityingly down at the anguished countenance before him.

"And Henry Vine? He refuted your charge? Speak, man, or you will drive me mad."

"Henry Vine did not deny the charge, sir. He was manly enough for that."

"Crampton, is this all true?"

"It was my duty, sir."

"He does not deny it? Oh! it seems monstrous. But you said the police; you gave information. Crampton--his father--his sister--my poor child!"

"Is saved from a villain, Mr Van Heldre!" cried the old clerk fiercely.

"Better she should have died than have married such a man as he."

"And I--I lying here helpless as a child," said the sick man feebly.

"But this must all be stopped. Crampton, you should not have done all this. Now go at once, fetch George Vine here, and--Henry--the young man. Where is he?"

"Gone, sir, to answer for his crime," said the old man solemnly. "Henry Vine is dead."

Volume 2, Chapter XVIII.

A t.i.tLE OF HONOUR.

Duncan Leslie sought patiently and well, but he was as unsuccessful as the rest, and after searching from a boat and being pulled close in along the sh.o.r.e, he rose at daybreak one morning, and crossing the harbour, went up along the cliff away to the east, and wherever he could find a place possible for a descent, he lowered himself from among the rocks, and searched there.

The work was toilsome, but it was an outlet for his pent-up energy, and he went on and on, reaching places where the boat could not land him; but even here he found that he had been forestalled, for hunting along among the broken rocks, he could see a figure stepping cautiously from crag to crag, where the waves washed in, and the slimy sea-wrack made the task perilous, the more so that it was the figure of a woman, whom he recognised as the old fish-dealer by the maund hanging on her back from the band across her forehead.

As he toiled after her she looked round, and waited till he came up, and addressed him in a singing tone.

"Not found him, have you, sir?"

Leslie shook his head, and continued his search, seeing the old woman on two alternate days still peering about among the rocks, like many more, for the young master, and more stubborn in her search than any of the rest.

By slow degrees the search was given up. It had been kept up long after what would have been customary under the circ.u.mstances, some of the searchers working from sheer respect for the Vines, others toiling on in the hope of reward.

But there was no result, and the last of the boats, that containing Duncan Leslie, returned to the harbour, after days of seeking to and fro along the coast.

"I felt it were no good all along, Mr Leslie sir," said the old fisherman who had been chartered for the escape. "Sea's a mystery, sir, and when she gets hold of a body she hides it where mortal man can't find it, and keeps it till she's tired, and then she throws it ash.o.r.e.

I've watched it well these thirty years, and one gets to know by degrees."

Leslie bowed his head dejectedly.

"Course I wasn't going to say so before, sir, because it's a man's dooty like to go seeking for what's lost; but, mark my words, sir, one o'

these days that poor fellow will be throwed up pretty close to where he jumped in. You mark my words, he will, and Poll Perrow will be the first to see."

Leslie thought but little of the man's words then; in fact he hardly heard them, for in those hours his mind was full of Louise's sufferings, and the terrible misfortune which had come upon the homes of those two families so linked together, and now so torn apart. Unsuccessful in his search, he was now terribly exercised in mind as to what he should do to help or show some sympathy for the poor girl who, in the sorrow which had befallen her home, seemed nearer and dearer to him than ever.

It was a hard problem to solve. He wished to show his willingness to help, but he felt that his presence at the Vines' could only be looked upon now as an intrusion, and must inflict pain.

On the other hand, he was in dread lest he should be considered indifferent, and in this state of perplexity he betook himself to Uncle Luke.

"Nonsense, my good fellow," said the old man quickly; "what more could you have done?"

"I don't know," he said desolately. "Tell me; I want to help--to serve you all if I can, and yet I seem to do nothing."

"There is nothing that we can do," said the old man solemnly. "Time must be the only cure for their trouble. Look at me, Duncan Leslie; I came to live up here with the fewest of necessities--alone, without wife or child, to be away from trouble, and you see I have failed. I cannot even help myself, so how can you expect to help them? There, leave it all to time."

"And your brother, how is he?"

Leslie felt that he had been speaking for the sake of saying something, and he bit his lip, as the old man gave him a peculiar look.

"How is a man likely to be who has lost a son as he has lost his?"

Leslie was silent.

"And now you would ask after my niece, young man, but you feel as if you dare not."

Leslie gave him an imploring look.

"Broken-hearted as her poor father, Leslie, seeing nothing in the future but one black cloud of misery. There, let's go out and sit in the sunshine and think."

Leslie followed the old man without a word. He longed to ask his advice about that future, and to question him about the friend in France, for in spite of himself he could not help feeling a thrill of satisfaction at the thought that for a certainty there must be an end to that engagement. No scion of a great house could enter into an alliance with the sister of a man whose career had ended as had ended Harry Vine's.

But he could not lay bare his heart to that cynical old man, who read him as easily as the proverbial book, and on whose lip there was always lurking the germ of a sneering smile.

He accompanied him then to his favourite seat among the rocks, just in front of his cottage, and they sat in silence for a time, Leslie hardly caring to start a topic lest it should evoke a sneer.

"Let's go down into the town," said Uncle Luke, jumping up suddenly.

Leslie rose without a word, and looked wonderingly at the old man, who, with his eyes shaded by his hands, was gazing along the rugged coast towards where, looking like dolls, a couple of fishermen were standing by something lying on a pebbly patch of sand.

Leslie looked at Uncle Luke, but the old man avoided his gaze, as if unwilling to lay bare his thoughts, and together they walked pretty quickly down the steep slope.

"Yes," said Uncle Luke; "the doctor says he will pull him through."

"Mr Van Heldre?"

"Yes. Why don't you go and see him?"