Part 82 (1/2)
”Louise, my child,” said Van Heldre, turning to her; and she stepped quickly across to take the extended hand. ”Now leave us,” he said quietly; and, in obedience to his wish, the rest quitted the room.
”You did not take my hand, George Vine,” said Van Heldre, as soon as they were alone.
”How can I, after the wrong you have received at mine?”
”Hah! that is why I sent for you,” said Van Heldre. ”I have lain here insensible and ignorant of what was done, else those proceedings would never have been taken. You have much to forgive me, Vine.”
”You have much to forgive me,” said the latter slowly.
”Then take my hand, and let us forgive, if there is any call for such a proceeding on either side. Vine, old friend, how you must have suffered, and I not there to say one kindly word!”
”Van Heldre,” said Vine slowly, as, holding his friend's hand, he slowly seated himself by the bed's head, ”did you ever know what it was to pray for death?”
”Thank Heaven, no,” replied Van Heldre with a slight shudder, for there was something weird and strange about his old friend's manner. ”Since I have regained my senses I have prayed to live. There seems so much to be done at times like this. But, Vine, old friend, what can I say to you? For pity's sake don't look at me like that!”
”Look at you--like that?” said Vine slowly.
”Yes; your eyes seem so full of reproach. I tell you, my dear old fellow, that I would rather have died than that poor boy should have been prosecuted for my sake.”
”I know everything,” said Vine slowly. ”I do not reproach you, John. I reproach myself, and at times it seems more than I can bear.”
”Louise,” said Van Heldre softly.
”Louise? Ah, Louise!” said Vine eagerly. ”Without her I must have died.”
The two old friends sat, hand clasped in hand, in perfect silence for quite an hour before there was a gentle tap at the door, and Madelaine entered.
”He is so weak yet, Mr Vine,” she said, taking and separating their hands.
”Madelaine--my child!”
”Mr Vine may come again in the evening for a little while,” said Madelaine, smiling, as she bent down, and kissed her father's brow.
”So stern and tyrannical,” protested Van Heldre.
”Only to make you well, father,” replied Madelaine smiling; and she led their old friend from the room.
”He spoke as if he wanted my forgiveness,” said Vine as he walked slowly back, noting as they went the kindly deference paid to them by those they met.
”Mr Van Heldre, father?” said Louise gently.
”Did I speak aloud, my child?”
”Yes, dear.”
”Ah, these thoughts are too keen, and will not be crushed down. Yes, child, yes. My forgiveness, when it is I who should plead, for all the honours of the past, plead for his forgiveness, Louise. He must have suffered terribly to be brought down to this.”
Louise looked wistfully in her father's face, whose sunken cheeks and hollow eyes told of mental suffering greater far than that which their friend had been called upon to bear.