Part 62 (2/2)
”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 flas.h.i.+ng, 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, hus.h.!.+”
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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ngle rose loudly on the silence of the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
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