Of High Descent Part 80

Louise looked at him appealingly; but he was perfectly firm, and she went on with her friend.

"I fear, in the midst of my trouble, Perrow, that I had forgotten my engagement with you."

"Like enough, master, and no wonder. There was no hurry."

"Yes, but there is," said Vine slowly. "Will you come to my house to-night or to-morrow morning? and I'll give you my cheque to take to the bank."

"For how much?" said the man eagerly.

"One hundred pounds; the amount I promised you."

"Ay, but that was for taking the poor boy across. No, Master Vine, we've been talking it over, the five on us, and there's the boat, and one night's fis.h.i.+ng gone as might have been a good one or it mightn't been nothing; so we're going to ask you to pay us a pound apiece."

"But--"

"Good-day, Master Vine, busy now. I'll come on in a day or two."

The man turned away abruptly, and, with his brow heavily wrinkled, as he felt moved by the man's generosity, Vine walked slowly on, and overtook Louise and Madelaine.

Mrs Van Heldre was waiting in the hall as the little party entered, and she hurried forward with extended hands, and her lips parted to speak, but no words would come. She could only press their old friend's hand before leading him up to where Van Heldre lay, his face ghastly pale beneath his bandaged head.

As they entered he held out his hand to Vine, who stood gazing at him without an attempt to accept the friendly grip.

"Louise, my child," said Van Heldre, turning to her; and she stepped quickly across to take the extended hand. "Now leave us," he said quietly; and, in obedience to his wish, the rest quitted the room.

"You did not take my hand, George Vine," said Van Heldre, as soon as they were alone.

"How can I, after the wrong you have received at mine?"

"Hah! that is why I sent for you," said Van Heldre. "I have lain here insensible and ignorant of what was done, else those proceedings would never have been taken. You have much to forgive me, Vine."

"You have much to forgive me," said the latter slowly.

"Then take my hand, and let us forgive, if there is any call for such a proceeding on either side. Vine, old friend, how you must have suffered, and I not there to say one kindly word!"

"Van Heldre," said Vine slowly, as, holding his friend's hand, he slowly seated himself by the bed's head, "did you ever know what it was to pray for death?"

"Thank Heaven, no," replied Van Heldre with a slight shudder, for there was something weird and strange about his old friend's manner. "Since I have regained my senses I have prayed to live. There seems so much to be done at times like this. But, Vine, old friend, what can I say to you? For pity's sake don't look at me like that!"

"Look at you--like that?" said Vine slowly.

"Yes; your eyes seem so full of reproach. I tell you, my dear old fellow, that I would rather have died than that poor boy should have been prosecuted for my sake."

"I know everything," said Vine slowly. "I do not reproach you, John. I reproach myself, and at times it seems more than I can bear."

"Louise," said Van Heldre softly.

"Louise! Ah, Louise!" said Vine eagerly. "Without her I must have died."

The two old friends sat, hand clasped in hand, in perfect silence for quite an hour before there was a gentle tap at the door, and Madelaine entered.

"He is so weak yet, Mr Vine," she said, taking and separating their hands.

"Madelaine--my child!"

"Mr Vine may come again in the evening for a little while," said Madelaine, smiling, as she bent down and kissed her father's brow.

"So stern and tyrannical," protested Van Heldre.

"Only to make you well, father," replied Madelaine, smiling: and she led their old friend from the room.

"He spoke as if he wanted my forgiveness," said Vine as he walked slowly back, noting as they went the kindly deference paid to them by those they met.

"Mr Van Heldre, father?" said Louise gently.

"Did I speak aloud, my child?"

"Yes, dear."

"Ah, these thoughts are too keen, and will not be crushed down. Yes, child, yes. My forgiveness, when it is I who should plead, for all the horrors of the past, plead for his forgiveness, Louise. He must have suffered terribly to be brought down to this."

Louise looked wistfully in her father's face, whose sunken cheeks and hollow eyes told of mental suffering greater far than that which their friend had been called upon to bear.

"Will time heal all this agony and pain?" she asked herself; and it was with a sigh of relief that she reached the gate, and her father went straight to his chair, to sit down and stare straight before him at the sunlit grate, as if seeing in the burning glow scene after scene of the past, till he started excitedly, for there was a ring at the gate-bell.

Louise rose to lay her hand upon his shoulder.

"Only some visitors, or a letter," she said tenderly.

"I thought--I thought it might be news," he said wearily. "But no, no, no. There can be no news now."

"Mr Leslie, miss," said Liza from the door.

"To see me, Liza? Say that--"

"No, sir. In the drawing-room, sir. 'Tis to see Miss Louise, if she will give him an interview, he said."

Louise looked wildly at her father.

"Must I see him, father?" she said, with her face now ghastly pale.

He did not answer for some moments, and then slowly said the one word--

"Yes."

She bent down and kissed him, and then summoning up all her courage, slowly left the room.

Volume 2, Chapter XXI.