Volume Two—Chapter Nine.
In Defence of his Young.
“Louise! Where is Louise?” The step on the stairs sounded like that of a younger man; and as the door was tried, Harry had reached the window, from whence he was about to climb, when he fancied he saw some one below, and he hastily closed the casement, and drew back trembling. “Louise! open this door.”
“No, no,” whispered Harry. “He must not know I am here.”
“Not know?”
“Am I to break this door?” was thundered from the other side.
Harry glanced once more at the window. It was fancy. Nne was below now that he could see; and he was in the act of unfastening it when there was a crash, the door flew open, and his father strode into the room. It did not seem to be the same man, and Harry shrank from the fierce, erect, angry figure which approached.
“As I might have guessed. You coward! So you would strip your sister of what money and jewels she has and then escape!” Harry stood before him silent and with his head averted. “You did not counsel this flight, Louise?”
“No, father,” she said, in a low voice full of pain; and she looked from one to the other, as if mentally stunned, and unable to realise the force of all that was taking place.
“I thought not. You abject, miserable wretch!”