Part 106 (1/2)

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.