"No, madam; but I am very glad to hear it, for that being the case Harry Vine must be innocent."

"Innocent!" she cried scornfully. "My nephew Henri! As if it could be for a moment in doubt!"

"I shall strive hard to help Mr Vine, your brother, to clear him from this disgrace."

"Disgrace, sir? It is no disgrace. If the _canaille_ cast mud at one of n.o.ble lineage, does it disgrace him? No. The disgrace is where some plebeian--some trading person--is mad enough to advance his pretensions, and dares to address a lady as I heard you address my niece. Let me see, sir, did I not once give you to understand that Miss Louise des Vignes would in all probability be soon married to a gentleman of Auvergne--a gentleman whose lineage is as n.o.ble as her own?"

"I did understand something of the kind, madam; but until I see Miss Louise Vine another's wife, I shall boldly advance my pretensions, hoping to the last."

"Even supposing that her brother has committed some _faux pas_?"

"That would be the greater inducement to me to stand by her in her time of need."

"Most gratifying, I am sure, Mr Leslie, and highly creditable to one of your nationality," said Aunt Marguerite sneeringly, as she raised her gla.s.s to her eye, and gazed at him in an amused way. "Now may I ask you to leave me? My brother and my nephew are from home, and I cannot entertain you as I am sure you would wish. Good-evening, Mr Leslie-- good-evening."

She bowed him out with a sneering smile upon her thin lips, and Leslie hurried back towards the town.

"What shall I do?" he muttered. "Oh, that sneering old woman, how she does raise one's gall? Poor Louise! she did look more gentle toward the last; and I don't believe in the Frenchman of great lineage. If there is one, let's do battle as they did of old, if he likes. What a fool I was to speak as I did just when she was so full of trouble! I must have been mad--a declaration of love, and an announcement that the poor girl's brother was in trouble. The young idiot! The scoundrel! How I should like to have his drilling for the next five years! What shall I do? I must help him. It's true enough, I'm afraid; and he must have the best legal help. If I had only someone to consult with. Van Heldre would have been the man."

There was a pause as the young man thought deeply of what steps he ought to take next.

"Yes, with all his sham cynicism and silly whims, the old man is shrewd, and can help when he likes. Uncle Luke?"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A BROTHER'S APPEAL.

Louise Vine stood trembling in her own room, listening till she heard the door close, and Duncan Leslie's step on the gravel. Her agitation was terrible, and in place of being clear-headed and ready to act in this emergency, she felt as if her brain was in a turmoil of contending emotions. Indignation on her brother's behalf, anger against Leslie for his announcement, and another form of anger which she could not define struggled with a desire to go to her brother's help, and at last she placed her hands to her head and pressed them there.

"What shall I do?" she panted.

"Louise, Louise, my child!"

It was Aunt Marguerite's voice, and there was a sharp tapping on the panel of the door after the handle had been turned.

"Louise, my child, unlock this door."

She made no reply, but stood with her hands clasped together, listening to the sharp voice and the quick tapping repeated on the panel. Both ceased after a few minutes, and Aunt Marguerite's door was heard to close loudly.

"I could not talk to her now," muttered the girl. "She makes me so angry. She was so insulting to Mr Leslie. But he deserved it," she said aloud, with her cheeks burning once more, and her eyes flashing, as she drew herself up. "My brother--a common thief--the man who injured Mr Van Heldre! It is not true."

She started violently and began to tremble, for there was a sharp pattering on her window panes, as if someone had thrown a few small shots. Would Duncan Leslie dare to summon her like that? The pattering was repeated, and she went cautiously to the window, to make out in the gloom a figure that certainly was not that of Leslie.

She opened the cas.e.m.e.nt with nervous anxiety now.

"Asleep?" cried a hasty voice. "There, stand aside--I'm coming up."

There was a rustling noise--a sharp crack or two, a hand was thrown over the window-sill, and, panting with exertion, Harry clambered in.

"Harry!" cried Louise in alarm, for his acts, his furtive way of coming to the house, and his manifest agitation did not suggest innocence.

"Hush! Don't talk aloud. Where's the governor?"

"Father is at Mr Van Heldre's."

Harry drew a quick spasmodic breath.

"And Aunt Marguerite?"

"In her room. But, Harry!"

"Be quiet. Don't talk. Let me get my breath."

Louise stood before him with her hands clasped, and a flow of agonising thoughts seemed to sweep her reason away. All was confusion, but above the flood there was one thing to which she clung--Harry was innocent.

In spite of everything in the way of appearance, he was innocent; nothing should turn her from that.

"Well," he said suddenly, "haven't you anything to say?"

There was a savage vindictive tone in his voice which startled her more than his previous threatening way.

"Yes; where have you been? Why do you come back like this?"

"Where have I been? Up on the cliffs, wandering about among the rocks, and hiding till it grew dark and I could come home. And why did I come home like this? You know. Of course you have heard."

"Mr Leslie came, and--"

"Mr Leslie!" cried Harry with a mocking laugh. "Save us from our friends."

Louise's sympathy swung round on the instant to the side of the attacked; and, hardly knowing what she said--

"Mr Leslie came to bear some terrible news, and to offer to help you."

"To help me!" cried Harry with the eagerness of him who catches at straws. "And you--what did you say?"

"I said the information was false--a miserable invention. And I repeat it. Harry, it is not true?"

He made no reply for a few moments while, sobbing and terrified, Louise clung to him.

"Harry," she said excitedly, "why do you not speak?"

"Don't talk to me," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "I'm thinking."

"But, Harry, I laugh at Aunt Marguerite's follies about descent and our degradation; but it is your duty to make a stand for our father's sake.

Who has dared to accuse you of all this?"

"Don't talk to me," he said in an angry whisper, as he ran to the window and listened, crossing the room directly after to try the door.