Of High Descent Part 106

He drew in a long breath as if her words were cutting him. Then raising her hands to his lips he kissed them tenderly.

"Like you," he said gently, "like you, my child. There, I have nothing to say, nothing to hear."

"But, dear Mr Vine," cried Madelaine, as she clung to him, and her tears fell fast, "I am sure--"

He smiled down at her lovingly, as he kissed her hand again.

"Spare me, my child," he said. "Never mention her name again."

"But, Mr Vine--"

"Hush, my dear! It is like you," he whispered. "Good, gentle, and forgiving. Let the whole of the past be dead."

"But, Mr Vine, Louise--"

"Hus.h.!.+" he said sternly. "There, come and sit down and talk to me. No, my dear, I had a nasty fainting attack last night, but I am not mad.

You need not fear that. Let the past be dead, my child. Will you bring me some tea?"

Madelaine's face worked pitifully, as she clung to him for a few moments, and then, as he resumed his place at the table, she felt that the hour was not opportune, and turned to leave the room.

At that moment there was a gentle tap at the door.

"See who that is, my child," said Vine, quietly; "and do not let me be interrupted. If it is my brother, ask him not to speak to me to-day."

Madelaine crossed quickly to the old man's side, bent over him, and kissed his forehead, before going to the door, to find Uncle Luke waiting.

"Maddy," he whispered, "tell my brother that Margaret wants him to see her. Ask him if she may come in."

Madelaine took the message, and felt startled at the angry look in the old man's face.

"No," he cried peremptorily. "I could not bear to see her. Maddy, my darling, you are almost like a daughter to me. You know all. Tell her from me to keep to her room, I could not trust myself to see her now."

Madelaine clung to him, with the tears gathering in her eyes. From her earliest childhood she had looked up to him as to some near relative who had treated her as he had treated his own child--her companion, Louise-- and now as she saw the agony depicted in his face, she suffered with him, and in her womanly sympathy her tears still fell fast.

"But, dear Mr Vine," she whispered, "forgive me for pressing you at such a time, but there is some mistake."

"Yes," he said sternly; and she s.h.i.+vered as she saw how he was changed, and heard how harsh his voice had grown. "Yes, Madelaine, my child, there has been a terrible mistake made by a weak, infatuated man, who acted on impulse and never let his mind stray from the hobby he pursued--mine."

"Mr Vine!"

"Hush, my child, I know. You are going to say words that I could not bear to hear now. I know what I have done, I see it too plainly now.

In my desire to play a kindly brother's part, I let that of a father lapse, and my punishment has come--doubly come."

"If you would only let me speak," she whispered.

"Not now--not now. I want strength first to bear my punishment, to bear it patiently as a man."

It seemed to be no time to argue and plead her friend's cause, but she still clung to him.

"Bear with me," he whispered. "I am not going to reproach you for what you have said. There, my dear, leave me now."

Madelaine sighed, and with her brow wrinkled by the lines of care, she stood watching the old man as he bent over his microscope once more, and then softly left the room.

"Well?" said Uncle Luke eagerly, as she joined him in the hall. "What does he say?"

"That he will not see her. That he could not trust himself to meet her now."

"Ah!"

Madelaine started, and turned sharply round as a piteous wail fell upon her ears.

Aunt Marguerite was standing within the dining-room door, wringing her hands, and looking wild and strange.

"I can't bear it," she cried. "I can't bear it. He thinks it is my fault. Go in and tell him, Luke. He must not, he shall not blame me."

"Let him alone for a bit," said Luke coldly.

"But he thinks it is all my fault. I want to tell him--I want him to know that it is no fault of mine."

"Can't convince him of impossibilities," said Uncle Luke coldly.

"And you think it, too!" cried Aunt Marguerite pa.s.sionately. "I will see him."

"Go up to your room and wait a bit. That's the best advice I can give you."

"But George will--"

"Say things to you that will be rather startling to your vain old brain, Madge, if you force yourself upon him, and I'll take care that you do not."

"And this is my brother!" cried Aunt Marguerite indignantly.

"Uncle Luke is right," said Madelaine quietly, speaking of him as in the old girlish days. "If I might advise you, Miss Vine."

"Miss Margue--No, no," cried the old lady, hastily. "Miss Vine; yes, Miss Vine. You will help me, my child. I want my brother to know that it is not my fault."

The old contemptuous manner was gone, and she caught Madelaine's arm and pressed it spasmodically with her bony fingers.

"You could not go to Mr Vine at a worse time," said Madelaine. "He is suffering acutely."

"But if you come with me," whispered Aunt Marguerite. "Oh, my child, I have been very, very hard to you, but you will not turn and trample on me now I am down."

"I will help you all I can," said Madelaine gravely; "and I am helping you now in advising you to wait."

"I--I thought it was for me best," sobbed the old lady piteously.

"Hus.h.!.+ don't speak to me aloud. Mr Leslie may hear."

She glanced sharply round to where Leslie was standing with his back to them, gazing moodily from the window.