Part 82 (2/2)

”Will time heal all this agony and pain?” she asked herself; and it was with a sigh of relief that she reached the gate, and her father went straight to his chair, to sit down and stare straight before him at the unlit grate, as if seeing in the burning glow scene after scene of the past, till he started excitedly, for there was a ring at the gate bell.

Louise rose to lay her hand upon his shoulder.

”Only some visitors, or a letter,” she said tenderly.

”I thought--I thought it might be news,” he said wearily. ”But no, no, no. There can be no news now.”

”Mr Leslie, miss,” said Liza from the door.

”To see me, Liza? Say that--”

”No, sir. In the drawing-room, sir. 'Tis to see Miss Louise, if she will give him an interview, he said.”

Louise looked wildly at her father.

”Must I see him, father?” she said, with her face now ghastly pale.

He did not answer for some moments, and then slowly said the one word:--

”Yes.”

She bent down and kissed him, and then summoning up all her courage, slowly left the room.

CHAPTER FORTY.

DUNCAN LESLIE SPEAKS OUT.

Duncan Leslie was standing at a table on which was a photograph of Louise, as she entered the room silently; and as, after a long contemplation of the counterfeit, he drew a long breath, and looked up to see the object of his thoughts standing just inside the doorway, too much agitated to give notice of her presence, he coloured like a boy caught in some act of which he was ashamed.

”Miss Vine,” he cried, advancing quickly with extended hands.

Louise did not speak, but slowly raised one hand for him to take, and suffered him to lead her to a chair.

He remained standing before her as she looked up at him in a wild, frightened manner, as if imploring him not to speak, and for a few moments silence reigned.

”You will forgive me,” said Leslie, at last, ”if my visit is ill-timed, for I am a busy man, ill-versed in the etiquette of such matters. I was in a dilemma. I wished to try and show my sympathy, and I was afraid to stay away for fear of seeming neglectful.”

”Mr Leslie need have been under no apprehension,” said Louise slowly, and speaking as if sorrow had exhausted itself, and there was nothing left but resignation. ”My father and I have thought very deeply, and can never be sufficiently grateful for all that has been done.”

”You have suffered so,” he said in a low voice, ”that I am going to beg of you not to refer to the past. Of course, I know,” he added quickly, ”how easy it is to speak plat.i.tudes--how hard to express what one feels at a time like this.”

”Mr Leslie need not speak,” said Louise quietly. ”He has shown his sympathy in a way that no words can express.”

Leslie gazed down at the piteous, sorrow-stricken face before him; and, as if wrenching himself away, he walked to the window, and stood gazing out for a few moments while Louise sat watching him, and fighting hard with her emotions. She felt weakened by all that had gone by, and as if, had he extended his arms to her, she could have flown to him, nestled in his breast, and begged him to help her in this terrible strait. And yet all the time her sorrow had strengthened, as well as enfeebled, for she was able to master her weakness and follow out the course she had planned.

Leslie returned to her side.

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