The Haute Noblesse - Part 62
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Part 62

Vine burst into a discordant laugh.

"From disgrace--to save us from disgrace? And is this part of your childish aunt's teaching?"

"Father! Pray!" whispered Louise, rousing herself and clinging to his arm.

"Silence, my child!" he cried. "I am not angry with you. I blame myself. Weak and indulgent. Tolerating that foolish woman's whims, that her old age might pa.s.s peacefully away, I have allowed all her follies to go on; but I did not believe these seeds could strike so deep a root. To save us from disgrace! So this is being the aristocratic gentleman of French descent! The man who would prefer death to dishonour--the man who scorns to sully his hands by embarking in some honest trade! And I, wrapped in my pursuits, riding my weak hobby, have let things go on till they have ended thus!"

"But, father, think! Be merciful."

"Think? I dare not, girl. Merciful? No. He is no longer my son. We must bear the disgrace as best we can; hide our shame elsewhere. You and I, father and sister of a miserable convict, who in the pursuit of money and t.i.tle could stoop to rob."

"No, no, father; not rob."

"Scoundrel! don't speak or I may forget myself, and strike you down as you struck down your benefactor, the man who stretched out his hand to save you from the ruin that dogged your heels."

"It was a miserable accident, father. I did not steal."

"Bah! Lies come easily to such as you; but I have no words to waste, there is no time for that."

"No, father; quick before it is too late," whispered Louise. "Let him go; let him escape to France--to repent, father. He is your son."

"No. I disown him. And you counsel this--you, girl?"

"Yes, father, you will spare him," sobbed Louise; "he is my brother."

"He has broken those ties; neither son nor brother to us, my child. He has blasted your future by branding you as a convict's sister, and embittered the few years left to me, so that I would gladly end them now."

"Father!"

"Hush, my child! I am rightly punished for my weakness. I hoped that he would change. I was not blind, only patient, for I said that these follies would soon pa.s.s, and now I am awakened to this. My son in the hands of the police!" he laughed in a wild, discordant tone. "Monsieur le Comte des Vignes, I must have been mad."

"Go on!" said Harry, fiercely. "Trample me down. There, let me pa.s.s.

Better in the hands of the police than here."

"No, no?" cried Louise excitedly. "Father, he must escape. It is one great horror, do not make it worse by letting him go there."

"Worse, girl? there is no worse!" cried Vine, sternly. "I thank my G.o.d that we are living in a land where stern, good laws are pre-eminent, and where justice rules with unswerving hand. You know not what you say."

"Yes, father--dearest father, help him to go and repent the evil he has done."

"Go and repent? Yes, that is the only hope; but it shall be as the honest repentant man, ready to acknowledge and bear the punishment of his crime."

"Father!"

"Yes; look at him--look at the base, cowering wretch, ready to go and hide his face in any shelter to escape the fate he has earned! Look at his guilty conscience, branding him even now! And you say, let him go!"

"Yes, father. What could I say?"

"Nothing!" cried Harry, turning round, as the trampled worm turns beneath the boot that crushes it into the earth. "It is true; I struck poor old Van Heldre down; but whatever I may have thought before, I did not go to steal that money. I did not steal it. And now what do you want me to do?"

"Go; act as a man who claims such descent as ours should do, in the country which opened to him its arms, and whose laws he has transgressed. The police are here from London. Go and give yourself up; suffer your punishment as one who would atone, and years hence in the future, when you are freed, come to me and ask my pardon--kneeling humbly by my grave."

"Father!"

"No more. The way is open now. Go at once, before you are dragged through the streets handcuffed like some common felon. To save us from disgrace, you say--that is the only way."

He stood erect, with his eyes flashing, his brows, and nostrils quivering, pointing to the door, while with his left arm he supported Louise, whose face gazed wildly into his, no mean representative of that _Haute n.o.blesse_ which had sought refuge here when persecution drove them from their land.

"Father! Harry!" cried Louise, but only the latter spoke.

"Yes," he said, drawing himself up. "You are right, I'll go."

He strode quickly toward the door; but before he reached it, Liza threw it back.

"Miss Louise," she cried, "the police!"

With hasty strides the old man rushed to the door and thrust it to.

"Oh!" he gasped, and then after a pause, there was one low, hoa.r.s.e appeal to heaven for aid, "My G.o.d!"

The adjuration spoke volumes, and for a few moments the old man stood there as if in a catalyptic state. Then a change came over him, his pale face flushed, the veins in his forehead stood out and throbbed, and he dashed to his son.

"Quick, Harry! France!"

As he spoke, Harry broke from him, and dashed to the window, threw it open, and was about to spring out, but he drew back. There was no fancy this time; two policemen could be dimly-seen below.

"Too late, father," he said calmly.

"No, my boy! this way, hush!"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed open the door, and a quick-looking, well-knit man stood framed in the entry.

"Ah!" he said sharply, as he fixed Harry with his eye, "Mr Harry Vine, I arrest you on a warrant. Robbery and attempt to murder."

"No," roared the father frantically; and he flung himself upon the officer. "Run, Harry, run!"

Louise stood clinging to the ironwork of her bedstead, sick with horror, as a terrible struggle ensued. It only lasted a few moments; and as she saw her father and the detective officer wrestling together, her brother clenched his fists, set his teeth, and dashed at them.

"No, no; run!" roared the father in a voice she did not know; and in obedience, Harry dashed through the doorway and was gone.

"You're mad, old man!" cried the detective, tearing himself free, drawing back, and then rushing towards the door.

But with a wonderful display of activity and vigour, the old naturalist sprang at him once more, and with clenched fist struck him so fierce a blow full on the cheek, that the man swerved sidewise, and would have fallen but for the wall.

"When I come back!" he roared savagely, as he recovered himself, and, springing through the door, he bounded down the stairs after Harry Vine, father and sister staggering to the landing just as the door across the hall swung to with a heavy bang, and the sound of feet rapidly beating the shingle rose loudly on the silence of the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.