Part 58 (1/2)
”Because I love you!” he cried pa.s.sionately; and he caught her hands in his, and held them tightly. ”Because I knew that the horrible charge must soon reach your ears, and that it would be better that it should come from me--when you were in trouble--when you wanted help.”
”It is not true--it is not true!” cried Louise, excitedly.
”Where is he? Let me see him. I may be able to advise and help.
Louise, dear Louise, let this terrible time of trial be that which brings us together. Let me prove to you how I love you by being your counsellor, your aid in this time of need.”
She heard his words, uttered with an earnestness which told their truth; but their effect was merely to arouse her indignation. How dared he take advantage of her agony and weakness at a time like this, and insult her with his professions! It was an outrage.
”Don't shrink from me,” he whispered. ”I will say no more now. Forgive my clumsy blundering out of the words I have for months been longing to speak. Only let me feel that you understand me--that I may love; and then you will turn to me for help in this time of trouble.”
For answer she pointed to the door.
”It is false,” she cried; ”my brother a common thief!”
”It must be false,” he echoed, against his own belief; ”but the charge has been made, and he must be warned in time.”
”Warned in time?” she cried. ”And you, who profess to be our friend, stood by and heard this charge made, and did not strike down the villain who made it.”
”Miss Vine--Louise, you are hasty. The shock I know is terrible, but we must be prepared to meet it. He must not be taken unawares.”
”My brother can meet such a charge as a gentleman should. It is not the first time that so foul an attack has been made against an innocent man.”
”You are too hard upon me,” he pleaded. ”How could I, loving you as I do--”
”Loving!” she cried, scornfully.
”What have I done?” he groaned. ”I ran up here directly to try and be of service. In my excitement, I spoke words that I should have kept back for a time, but they would have vent, and--No, I am not ashamed of what I have said,” he cried, drawing himself up. ”Louise Vine, I love you, and I must help you and your brother in this terrible strait.”
”Then go back to the town, and tell all who have dared to say my brother committed this crime that what they say is false, and that his father, his sister will prove his innocence. Go!”
”Yes, go!” said a shrill, harsh voice. ”Louise, go to your room and let me speak to this man.”
”Aunt, you have heard?”
”Yes, from the servants. And I heard his last insulting words. Go to your room, child.”
She threw open the door, and, accustomed to obey from her childhood, Louise moved slowly towards the hall; but as she turned slightly to dart a last indignant look at the man who had set her heart beating wildly as he at the same time roused her indignation, she saw such a look of agony that her courage failed, a strange sense of pity stole through her, and she stepped back and took her aunt's arm.
”Hush, aunt dear,” she said, ”there is no need to say more. Mr Leslie has made a great mistake in bringing up that cruel report, and he will go now and contradict it for my brother's sake.”
”And apologise for his insult,” cried Aunt Marguerite fiercely. ”Child, I bade you go to your room.”
”Yes, aunt, I am going.”
”I must speak to this man alone.”
”Aunt, dear--”
”Pray go, Miss Vine,” said Leslie, approaching and taking her hand.