Part 62 (1/2)
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?”